Sexyy Red: Keeping It Real

Sexyy Red walks onto set like she’s already said everything you were about to ask. Her hair is slick, her nails are loud, and her presence is unmistakable. No one else in the room needs to raise their voice. She has the mic and the moment under control.

The self-proclaimed “hottest princess” from St Louis is not here to convince you of anything. She doesn’t need to be palatable and she doesn’t need to be polished. What she is, though, is real. Hilariously real. Brutally real. Unapologetically herself. "I know I might seem crazy," she says, looking dead into the lens, "but I’m nice. I’m a good person."

It’s not a defence. It’s a declaration.

Because the headlines will always focus on the chaos. The baby daddy speculation, the viral moments, the raps that cut like switchblades. But sit with her long enough and you notice something else. Patience. Sharpness. Heart.

Before shows, she just wants quiet. She sits alone, drinks water, gets her thoughts together. "I like to just get my thoughts together," she shrugs. "I be needing that."

And when it’s time to get loud, she flips the switch.

Sexyy Red raps like she’s lived five lives and had to fight through all of them. But the origin story is pure St Louis energy. Raw, bold, loyal. "I love my city because they ghetto. And I wouldn’t be who I am if it wasn’t for them," she says. "I’m a product of my environment."

The confidence is heavy but it’s not hollow. She’s not just trying to flex. She’s trying to flip her reality into something bigger. She wants to bring her kids with her too. "When I be out and I can’t hang out with them, I come back and I take them shopping. We go to the arcade. Just do fun stuff. I like being with my kids."

The best steakhouse in St Louis is her go-to spot. Been that way since her tenth grade boyfriend, now her baby daddy, took her on a date there. "It’s a tradition now," she says. "Holiday, date night, feeding our son… we go there. Same food. Same place."

She speaks in stories. Her answers aren’t media-trained. They’re lived-in. Ask about her rider and she hits you with Slim Jims, beef noodles, Vienna sausages, Hot Cheetos. No caviar. Just chaos. And she says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Sexyy Red is an introvert, believe it or not. "People be in my face like… don’t even look at me," she says. "I mess with my fans, but I just gotta get used to everybody coming at me like that." Her ideal fan interaction? "Don’t come up to me screaming. Just be cool. Say hey, then keep it pushing."

There’s a tenderness in there too. She writes lyrics constantly. If she hears a beat, a tapping, anything rhythmic, the bars start playing in her head. She’ll stop what she’s doing and jot it down. The music never really leaves her. It’s in her all the time.

You can hear the influence when she rattles off who she came up on. Chief Keef. Gucci Mane. Three 6 Mafia. Trina. Nicki. She lights up when she talks about Ice Spice’s pink fur fits. She might clown a bit, but she sees style for what it is. Self-expression. Her own other dream job? "Fashion designer. Or a hair stylist."

Oh, and if there’s one mystery she’d like solved? "I want to know where the aliens at. Like, is it really aliens out here? Mine."

No PR polish. No industry script. Just energy. That’s the Sexyy Red blueprint.

As the cameras wind down and the room gets quieter, she’s still locked in. No façade. No filter. Just the same girl from St Louis with her head up, her nails done, and her focus firmly on the next bag.

She smooths her hair, checks her phone, and smirks. "I just show up," she says, laughing to herself.

And honestly? That’s all she needs to do.