Nxdia: “Poems became an escape for me”

What Made Me — In this series, we ask artists and rebels about the forces and experiences that shaped who they are. Today, it’s Egyptian-British alt-pop shapeshifter Nxdia.

In the music video for Nxdia’s latest single, ‘Boy Clothes’, they half-sing, half-yell over a rolling guitar line while waving an axe around: “I use his VO5 / I wear his aftershave / I feel fantastic and I can’t behave / In my boy clothes.”

Switching between vintage ’70s style suits and tank tops, it’s a middle-finger raising, fun nod to their own form of gender expression and refusal of binaries. As a third culture kid who was born in Cairo before moving to Manchester at the age of eight, fitting into traditional boxes has never been a natural mode for them.

It’s something they have taken to their music as well, effortlessly switching between English and Arabic in their lyrics, just as easily as their music can flip-flop from punk angst to tender folk. To hear more about why they do it, and what shaped them into the artist they are, we asked them: “What made you?”

Nxdia: Music was always in my mind. I was a bit of a loner as a kid growing up in Cairo – I got on with everyone, but I also spent a lot of time alone, writing, playing pretend and humming. I didn’t always know how to articulate how I was feeling or processing the world around me, but I always found that writing, pen to paper, the words flowed out so much more and helped me to make sense of stuff. My journals and poems became an escape for me. I’d listen intently to the music mum would play me – she was an activist, still is – songs like ‘Behind the Wall’ by Tracy Chapman, ‘Mercedes Benz’ by Janis Joplin and Donia Massoud’s version of ‘Betnadini’. These were songs I really remember, loved and connected with because of her. While we were still in Cairo, I discovered big pop artists like Britney Spears and Katy Perry, and I became so obsessed. I’d put on shows for my mum, completely immersed in the feeling of pop.

Then we moved to Manchester and I remember feeling even more like a loner. There were things I didn't understand culturally, people were friendly enough, but everything around me had changed. I’d literally never seen so much rain in my life. I’d gone from having my entire family nearby and food I’d grown up with in our flat in Cairo, to a completely new place, it was a huge change.

The humming and the whirring words in my head intensified. I still kept my journals and wrote poems to try and figure out my feelings. I’d write all these little songs on my ukulele and eventually a bit on a classical guitar, then I started to do YouTube covers and originals. I wanted to share music, but I didn't know how. It was just my way of understanding my inner dialogue and the new world I was in. I’d watch so much slam poetry, struck by how people would play with words, it was like a new world was opening up. Then one day when I was singing a song I’d written under my breath, a girl called Safiya shoved her ear in my face. “What are you singing? What song is that?” I told her it was just one I'd made up, and she smiled wide and went “Oh, you should be a singer!” and there the seed was planted. It had never occurred to me that you could just want to be singer.

As I started to dream, I imagined a community where I fitted in. And actually, starting my journey into music immediately brought me a sense of connection I hadn’t had before, it made me feel less like a freak, less like I was doing life wrong. I felt like there were people out there who knew what I was going through so intimately, because they were singing things that felt like they'd been cherry-picked from my brain. Marina and the Diamonds was huge for me, her Family Jewels album and Electra Heart meant so much to me, the self-reflection, the darkness in big pop and clever writing. My Chemical Romance had me reeled in for the drama – so much conviction and theatrics in their performances and music – their song ‘Mama’ had me like: “Fuck yeah, we’re all going to hell.” And P!nk meant the world to me in a different way – she was tomboyish, straight talking and so kick-ass, I thought she didn’t give a fuck and was just doing everything her own way. She was not what I had in mind in a pop star. She was so free, so liberated – I wanted to feel that freedom so bad.

At this point, music was just something that had to happen, but I had no idea how. Everything kind of clicked into place when I went to my first live show at 14 to see Jon Bellion. I remember my best friend and I were screaming every lyric, and I was feeling like: “Holy shit, we’re all connected right now, we’re all here to see him perform, all experiencing different things, connecting to different songs, but connected to each other.” It felt spiritual to me. I was genuinely shocked. He shouted out: “Are there any musicians in here?” I stuck my arm so far up I couldn’t help myself, I felt seen in a room completely full of people. I didn’t feel such a weirdo anymore.

It wasn’t until I was 20 that I’d shared music in English and Arabic. I’d written in Arabic and English before and I was kind of shot down by some people around me at the time, saying they didn’t get it or it didn’t make sense, which knocked my confidence a lot, seeing as I’d been teased a lot about my heritage and background. I even used to talk to my mum so quietly on the phone in Arabic that no one would hear me. One day I was talking with my friend and mentioned I wanted to sing in both languages, so my music felt like me completely. She literally just said: “Who cares, do what you want to do,” and I felt like my brain just opened up and refused to be limited anymore. I remember the first time I included Arabic in my songs, I was bouncing off the walls, so excited that I could finally be me. I felt free.

Recently, I’ve felt free in a different way. It’s genuinely a privilege and an honour that I get to make music and perform now, that there are people listening, who feel seen and connected with me, that we see each other for who we really are and that makes me happier than I can explain. A big thing for me was always a certain disconnection I felt with my body, a dysphoria I guess - it felt like another bridge between me over there and the “real” me. After years of feeling like a part of me wasn’t meant to be there, wearing binders and imaging clothes fitting a certain way, I finally had top surgery a few months ago. Suddenly, I’m experiencing another feeling of freedom, the lifting of a huge weight (literally), I've never felt more like I'm forming into myself, like I’m doing what I want without asking for permission. ‘Boy Clothes’ is a celebration of that, the confidence to not to give a fuck, wear what I want, sit how I want, be whoever the fuck I want. I spent too long being scared to voice what I wanted and to be who I am, but I’m over that now, I want to be free. I want to put myself out into the world and speak out loud all the thoughts and feelings that have been playing on loop in my head since I was a kid.