THREADS OF IDENTITY WITH ZINA LOUHAICHY

As we talk to Zina, we can feel, with all our senses: we touch the ripples of memory, the roughness of candid memories, which come to light with smells and tastes.

In an instant we are immersed in the labyrinths of Harlem; we dry our sweat on a sultry day, resting our faces between our elbow and forearm. Then, in a flash, we find ourselves with her, sitting at a white table, in Casablanca.

We caress the golden sands of the Sahara, too. Our gaze becomes intoxicated and dresses itself in the light of Zina's memories.

She tells us about her inspirations, her nostalgia, which is also a creative engine. Thus, she introduces us to her latest collection: “All My Exes Live in Morocco”.

Simple messages, engraved on t-shirts, like scars: they are signs of life, scratches of the history of Zina Louhaichy - an actress, artist, designer and storyteller.

Zina merges her Moroccan roots with the electric pulse of New York City, weaving tradition, nostalgia, and bold self-expression into every aspect of her work. She is not the voice of one generation; her creativity unites and fuses multiple voices.

In projects like “All My Exes Live in Morocco” and “BLADI”, the designer rediscovers the narrative of North African identity, challenging stereotypes and creating space for authentic, multifaceted stories.

In a world where identities often seem fragmented, Louhaichy’s mother stands as a powerful voice for those who live in the vibrant “in-between,” a place of beauty and endless creativity.

In this conversation, Zina invites us into her luminous world, stitched together by golden threads of nostalgia, rebellion, love, and the unshakeable belief that our roots are the truest form of freedom. This is a story of renaissance and resilience. The echo of these words speaks to us of inextricable roots.

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Who is Zina?

Tell me about a memory, a moment that you often return to, even just absent-mindedly. Can you describe a scent or a feeling that has stayed with you? I want to know the girl who, with such audacity, speaks about her roots.

Harlem in the summertime.

The 1 train.

Sneaking through my grandma’s closet and finding old family photos and caftans (and trying all of them on).

Rose water.

Sticking my head out of the window when driving through the Atlas Mountains.

Hearing my meema pray.

The call to prayer in Morocco.

The sunset in the Sahara.

Talk to me about your Moroccan roots and how they have mixed with other experiences without ever being uprooted. What is the strongest connection you feel between Morocco and the other places where you have lived?

Both New York City and Morocco are in my blood. I can’t choose one or the other. People always ask me which one I feel closest to, and yet, they show me different things.
Your aesthetic is clearly a means of making people feel seen and heard,especially through your voice and your ideas. For you, is fashion a language? How does it intertwine with your artistic and personal expression?

Fashion is everywhere. It’s how I speak, wear my hair, or dress myself. It’s what people see before I even open my mouth. And for me, I wear my identity in every way I can. My nose and curls come from my father. My smile comes from my mother. I often do my own henna, connecting myself back to Morocco in times I can’t necessarily do so physically. Fashion is how I share, and it’s how I connect with others. It is a daily conversation.

If you were to close your eyes and return to the first moment when you felt the need to create, what do you see? What do you feel? I would like to return to the zero point of your artistic vocation, when art was not yet a profession but a visceral need. Was there a moment when you could no longer do without expressing yourself creatively?

I needed a way to merge what inspired me into one thing and make it my own. I have always had a vision, starting when I was little and recording my barbie dolls in the sink, improvising lines, directing their stories, dressing them, and editing the videos. I even went viral a few times on YouTube, getting millions of views at just seven years old. I noticed a gap in the barbie doll market and put the Louhaichy spin on it.

In a way, I do the same thing now. I create for those like me because there wasn’t a proper space catered to us–those who feel in between cultures. Since we were little, we were told to hide where we came from. But now, our generation is fed up with it. Our culture is what makes us unique, and it is so rich and beautiful. I create to share everything with my people.

Have you ever been afraid that words or images would betray you, or that they wouldn't be enough to express what you were feeling? How do you deal with creative block when art becomes a necessity and not just an act? What does silence mean for you at that moment: a refuge or a threat?

I’m a very go go go person. These last two years, I’ve really taken the time to slow myself down, and truly take my time with my art. You can’t rush a good idea without something slipping through the cracks. I also believe in divine timing. What Allah (SWT) has planned for you is there. You just need to work hard, have patience, and work more.

What does nostalgia and the future mean to you? Are you more connected to the memory of what was, or to the anticipation of what is yet to come?

A mixture of both is what I strive to cultivate in my work, especially with Louhaichy. I’m drawn to the timelessness and guarding the memories of past traditions, while making space for women to feel seen, heard, and beautiful.

When did you realize that your perspective on the world was different from others? How did you learn to trust that difference and turn it into a strength in your Creativity?

Growing up Moroccan in America, I heard endless racist remarks. I think it was in middle school when I realized my perspective would always be different. Instead of letting it discourage me, I learned to lean into it. It became my strength—the thing that makes my work honest and unapologetic.

If your work were a room, how would you describe it? What would it smell like? What light would inhabit it? And most importantly, what sound would we hear as we enter?

The lighting is a deep yellow and moody, casting soft shadows. It smells like oud and rose. Warda plays in the background. Lace, chiffon, and Yankee brims fill the space. Gold jewellery, belly dancing chains, and the scent of chocolate lingers.

Have you ever met someone who, even unknowingly, changed you, or experienced something that radically transformed the way you see life and art? Tell us about a moment that profoundly marked you.

My mom, Grace Roselli, is the hardest-working woman I know, and she inspires me every single day. She is an artist who has devoted her entire life to her craft, and she pushes me to strive for greatness by constantly questioning the world and what art can be.
Meeting Ramy Youssef two years ago also changed me. I see myself in him — an actor, filmmaker, writer, producer, and director who is carving out space for MENA people in the entertainment industry. As an actress, having starred in Kasbi (dir. Farah Jabir, 2024), which premiered at Tribeca, and Tea (dir. Blake Wrice, 2024), which premiered at Cannes, I feel even more driven to keep telling stories that reflect the nuance and multifacetedness of my culture and people — especially the women. I want to build community through my work, open others to our stories, and create space for future generations to see themselves.

How has your experience as a child of the diaspora influenced your vision of a space that is both familiar and rebellious? Do you feel that Louhaichy could be your special place? A place where every one of your stories finds its voice—a voice it might not have otherwise? Who inspires you in this mission?

Louhaichy is my love letter to both New York and Morocco, and I use it to dismantle Western views of North Africa and how women from my cultures are “expected” to dress. As children of the diaspora, we exist in so many ways. It’s often easier for the West to put people of colour in a box and tell us there’s only one way to be. But I created Louhaichy for the women who live in between all of this. It’s a space where everyone finds their own voice. Louhaichy isn’t just a fashion brand — it’s a lifestyle. It’s about wearing your in-between identity proudly, on your sleeve.

Talking about “All My Exes Live in Morocco”

“All My Exes Live in Morocco”: What inspired you to choose this title for your release? Is there a story behind that title, or is it a way to express a broader vision?

Someone always tells me they’ve had a Moroccan ex—we’ve kind of become the heartbreakers of the MENA region (which is fair). There’s this stereotype that Moroccan girls are the crazy exes, and Moroccan guys are just cheaters (also fair). I wanted to flip that narrative and reclaim it in a way that felt bold, funny, and real to me. The idea stemmed from a tee Gavyn Winchester designed that said ALL MY EXES LIVE IN BROOKLYN. I bought one, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it—it says so much: your background, your humour, your story. Eventually I hit him up saying, “Let me reimagine this—but Moroccan style.” From there, I built ALL MY EXES LIVE IN MOROCCO into its own thing: a visual story and a feeling from the Louhaichy perspective.

How do nostalgia, identity, and home intertwine in your designs? Let's talk about it.

I bring my identity into everything I create. I mix what’s inspiring me in that specific moment — old Hollywood glamour, Moroccan silhouettes, colour, timelessness, ‘90s New York, old Arab pop stars. My work lives at the intersection of memory and reinvention, pulling from the past to create something that feels personal, but also timeless and new.

The release explores relationships, love, gratitude, and emotional distance. How was it for you to address these themes through your art? Is there something personal in these tees, or do they represent a more universal idea?

These tees are a playful way to wear your identity — your humour, your background, and your values — right on your chest. They’re conversation starters, whether you're talking about a Moroccan ex or North Africa in general. I want people to meet, laugh, and connect. That’s what life is about. If I can be the spark for that, then I’ve done my job.

Morocco, with its strong cultural identity, is a central element in your work. How do your Moroccan roots reflect in your work and creative process? What did you feel in front of your aunt-models while they posed? What did you feel while shooting in Casablanca? How did you feel that day? Tell us about some episodes from that day.

Shooting in Casablanca, my family’s city, felt like a full-circle moment, capturing different generations of Moroccan women — me, my friend Sarah, my aunties, and the local community. We shot in the Habous, where my great-grandfather worked, Allah yerhamo. It was my first shoot in Morocco, and to be there, with my family, in a place so connected to my heritage, made it even more special. The day was filled with warmth, laughter, and so much pride in where we come from. It felt like a nostalgic homage to love and culture, a small glimpse into the Louhaichy world.

Your art is global, but the words and emotions you convey through your projects are always very intimate. How do you balance the desire to speak to an international audience with the need to stay true to yourself and your personal story?

This is something I’ve been reflecting on a lot lately as I expand my art and brand. I’ve always made it a point to never compromise on my identity or force it to be palatable for the West. I create for my people, to bring us together and elevate us. The goal is to challenge the West to question their preconceived notions, to open dialogues, and to create space for us. Staying true to my roots while speaking to the world is a delicate balance, but it's one I will never sacrifice.

Speaking of relationships, how much does the concept of diaspora influence your view of life and love? What role does Morocco play in telling stories of bonds that cross borders, cultures, and languages?

The concept of diaspora is central to everything I do. We have such a rich tradition, history, energy, and unique silhouettes in North Africa, and I want to share that with the world. I mix it with New York influences, shake it up, and create it in the Louhaichy way. My mission is to never let anyone feel ashamed of their North African heritage. I want to inspire little girls like I was—girls who didn’t have a model to look up to.

Talking about “BLADI”

“BLADI”, which in Arabic means “my country”, is a word that evokes a lot. What does it represent for you, and how does it translate into a concept of "home" that goes beyond just a physical place? How does it allow you to explore your identity in your works?

As a child of the diaspora, home is everywhere for me. We exist in the in-between. As a kid, I used to feel frustrated by this, wanting to reject it. It’s not like I live in this little American town with American food and American music. I grew up in New York City, surrounded by other immigrant families, but on the outside, big buildings that towered over me. Inside, Moroccan music, Sedaris (still have no idea how they brought those over here), Moroccan food, Moroccan TV at 7 in the morning waking me up in the salon. Inside, it’s a rwina. Outside, it’s even more rwina. That’s where my energy comes from.

In BLADI (بلادي), I explore that feeling. I pause time to honour the Moroccan women who came before me. Without them, I wouldn’t be here. These women stood tall through colonization and political unrest—parallels to what we’re experiencing today.

Growing up between two cultures, did you ever feel "suspended" between different worlds? How have you used art to reconcile these two identities? When did you realize that your art had the power to heal and give new meaning to your experience?

I reclaim this feeling of being "suspended" through my art. When I create, I ask questions about a topic, and through the process, something always answers back. Once a piece is finished, it often leads to the next question, which I seek to answer. Sometimes, I may not fully resolve it, so I return to it again. Art is a continuous cycle of self-discovery.

How has this experience of "in-between space" influenced your view of the world, and how do you use this position to give voice to those living in the diaspora?

For me, it's about being proud of where you come from. It doesn’t matter if you were born and raised in Morocco, Paris, or New York. Your blood is North African. That’s all that matters. This “in-between” space allows me to bridge cultures and identities, showing that we don’t have to fit into one box. By embracing this position, I can give voice to those of us living in the diaspora, letting our stories and experiences be seen and heard, celebrating the richness of our heritage no matter where we are.

In the “BLADI” project, there’s a reflection on cultural memory and the stories that get passed down. How do you think your art can influence how new generations perceive their cultural heritage?

I think younger generations often feel disconnected from tradition and our cultural heritage, sometimes even rejecting it. When I go to Morocco, I’ve been called “shakuka” for wearing my natural curls out or for wearing traditional gandoras. But we need to reclaim our heritage and be proud of it! Through my art, I want to show that embracing our roots doesn’t mean being stuck in the past; it means celebrating our history and making it relevant to the present. My work aims to inspire younger generations to appreciate and take pride in their heritage, blending tradition with modernity in a way that feels authentic and empowering.

How has your commitment to telling MENA stories and giving a voice to women changed the representation of these stories in cinema and media? Why do you feel the need to change the dominant narrative and bring forth voices that are often overlooked or unheard?

Ever since I started auditioning professionally at 16, I can count on one hand how many auditions I’ve received specifically for my ethnicity. I’ve often been requested to audition for roles written for Black women, Hispanic women—neither of which represent me. For a long time, I wondered why I never saw auditions that reflected my background. Then I realized it’s because the American entertainment industry doesn’t know where to "place" us. Growing up, I always struggled with state exams, not knowing whether to tick off African American or white, because I was neither.

Only in recent years, as Middle Eastern and Northern African people begin to claim space, has this issue started to be addressed. Through projects like Kasbi (dir. Farah Jabir) and Tea (dir. Blake Rice), I’ve begun to create space for people like me. But I want to do more—I want to write, produce, direct, and keep opening doors for MENA stories in the media. Our stories are powerful, rich, and worth sharing with the world. It's time we stop being overlooked and make sure our voices are heard and celebrated.

How has the project “The Diary of a North African Girl in Her 20s” allowed you to explore the experience of living between two worlds? How do you hope this series resonates with other young girls in the diaspora?

The Diary of a North African Girl in Her 20s feels like my personal, talk-show side of my Instagram. It gives me a space to unpack parts of my identity that I never fully understood, and I’ve realized that other girls from my background are going through the exact same things. When I started receiving comments and direct messages, encouraging me to continue or asking me questions, I realized I could create a space for young girls who didn’t have a North African role model growing up.

I want to be that role model in whatever form I can—whether it's through film, social media, acting, fashion, or directing. The series is a way for me to bridge those gaps and hold space for other girls in the diaspora who might feel torn between two worlds, just like I did.

“Diaspora Babies” is a photographic series that explores the stories of those living between North Africa and Europe or the USA. How do you think photography can tell the unique experiences of the diaspora, and what stories do you hope to tell with this project?

Photography captures moments in time, preserving our existence and the stories of women from my background. This series aims to showcase the experiences of diaspora women—those who have grown up around the world but still carry the essence of their home country in their blood and soul. I want to expand the project to include women of all ages, each with a unique perspective on living between cultures. Through this series, I hope to share the beauty, strength, and complexity of our stories.

“Dima alhamdulillah” is a phrase you use in your works. How does your faith and gratitude influence your creative process and artistic vision?

"Alhamdulillah" — All praise is due to Allah. I carry that sense of gratitude with me every day, for the simple blessings of being alive and healthy. My faith is a guiding force in my creative process, reminding me to stay grounded and focused on what truly matters. It’s a reminder to stay humble and to give thanks for the opportunities I have, allowing me to approach my art with sincerity, purpose, and respect.

What stories do you think you want to continue telling in your future projects? How do you plan to keep pushing boundaries and giving voice to your community and those who are often invisible?

I will continue to create art that reflects the heart of my two homes: New York City and Morocco. I strive to make art with my people, knowing it is my duty to create a platform for these voices that remain invisible, ensuring that we are seen and heard on a global scale.

Conclusions

Your figure is multifaceted: how do you condense together being an actress, an artist, a designer, an activist, and a communicator? Do you think the ability to interpret and embody roles comes from your extreme sensitivity?

It can be challenging at times because I’m drawn to different mediums at different moments. I consider myself, first and foremost, an actress, fashion designer, and overall multi hyphenate creative and yet one of my strengths is being able to weave all these aspects together. I bring this mixture to everything I do, allowing me to approach film and fashion with a different eye. I don’t want to box myself in—exploring the freedom to explore, create, and express myself across different mediums.

What is Zina’s message to the world?

Tell your family you love them and never stop questioning the world.

Courtesy of Zina Louhaichy