UP CLOSE AND PERSONAL: SYDNEY LIMA

THE ONLINE PERSONALITY OPENS UP TO BEYOND NOISE, AHEAD OF THE LAUNCH OF HER INTERVIEW SERIES ROOM SERVICE.

By Nicole DeMarco

Sydney Lima is many things, but coy isn’t one of them. The model slash DJ slash presenter slash filmmaker slash journalist grew up online, and she’s remained quite intent on letting us into her life. What started somewhat naïvely as an attempt to expose the dark side of Instagram—the online misogyny she’s experienced as a model IRL, and in her DMs—in a Vogue essay in 2018, has led to an impressive career rooted in experiential reporting and characterized by her inimitable dry humor. Her documentary work has taken Sydney to interviews with teen pageant queens and even an “Ex-Russian Spy Turned Millionaire Influencer,” and to far-flung destinations like the most expensive rehab in the world, where she shed tears on screen for VICE. And her most recent column for The Standard is titled: I’m a London It-girl selling pictures of my feet on OnlyFans to boost my income. For Sydney, there is truly no topic that’s off limits.

Between filming a documentary about escorting for Channel 4 and penning a book of essays by the seaside, where the London-native recently moved to escape the buzz of London, she’s also getting into bed with Hollywood’s finest for Beyond Noise’s new series, Room Service. Inspired by TV presenter Paula Yates’s Big Breakfast interviews, Sydney invited her first guest Jack O’Connell to discuss his role in Ryan Coogler’s recently released film Sinners. Ahead of the episode’s release, we sat down with Sydney to discuss growing up in Soho, her relationship with social media, and finding inspiration in Tracey Emin’s writing.

NICOLE DEMARCO: You’ve done a lot of presenting and interviews, but what is it about a project like Room Service that you really enjoy?

SYDNEY LIMA: Funnily enough, it’s always been on my radar to do something that is a nod to the Paula Yates interview series [Big Breakfast]. It takes people out of their comfort zone. I’ve been pushing to get someone in the bath actually. Like, not fully nude. Surely there will be someone up for it, so I’m not letting that one rest… But I think it’s just any vehicle to bring out someone’s character a bit easier, in an interview format. That’s definitely interesting for me as a person.

ND: Yeah, hopefully the walls come down a bit.

SL: I mean, with Jack there were three pillows between us at one point, and we’re like, ‘We should take away a few.’ [Laughs] The pillow equating to the wall. He’s from Derby and I got him a Monopoly board that was a Derby edition, which could have gone either way, because he could have been like, ‘Oh my God, it’s triggering. I live in London now, don’t bring it up.’ But no, it was fun.

ND: This sort of work seems to come so naturally to you. Is it something you’d always considered doing?

SL: I started modeling and I saw that that was not something that could last. And then, I can’t remember how it happened, but I think someone literally DMed me to put me in contact with VICE. We did a screen test where I was walking around interviewing random people. God knows what it was about. From that, I ended up making quite a lot of VICE documentaries. It stemmed from there. Doing the documentary stuff and talks has given me more confidence as a writer.

ND: Was writing a part of your life when you were younger?

SL: There’s a TV show in the UK called The Story of Tracy Beaker, and my mom got me a Tracy Beaker-themed diary. I remember the only thing I ever wrote in it was, like, ‘War’s declared today.’ I think Iraq just kicked off. Pretty sure I thought I was gonna be some sort of, like, sell-out author—thinking I’m Anne Frank or something. I wasn’t really writing much. I loved illegally downloading films and had a fascination with cinema when I was growing up. In general, I grew up in Soho, so there was always quite a weird mix of characters around. My parents are really odd characters, which probably lends itself to my interest in hanging out with even weirder characters.

ND: Were there any writers or role models that influenced you?

SL: I mean, I was a bit of a sucker for misogynistic male writers like John Fante. I was obsessed with his book Ask the Dust and it was because there were very few female writers that I knew of at the time who spoke in that very abrupt, kind of cold way—until I read Strangeland by Tracey Emin. Then I just found loads of female writers that had been hiding from me. But I was obsessed with Tracey Emin; it’s just the world of hers you buy into.

ND: You’ve spoken out about your experiences, whether it’s the darker side of modeling or even mental health. Were you ever hesitant to reveal so much about yourself online? To let the public into your life in that way?

SL: I think it started quite naïvely, but I’m currently developing this book about growing up online. Essentially because I’m of a generation [that remembers] dial-up internet connection. I think it’s the ability to access and be accessed, especially as a young girl. I remember there was like… Basically, I remember going missing with a guy that I met on MySpace.

ND: You went missing?

SL: It was only for 24 hours. It was more of a comedic missing, than a serious, murder-mystery missing. [The book is about] growing up as a woman online and also about identity—how much the internet can pull you in different ways and change who you are at heart, in order to mold and fit these platforms, you know? Then, what you’re left with at the end of it all: I don’t want to be on the internet anymore. I don’t want to be on Instagram, but I’m making an Instagram video series. We all know it’s damaging to our health, but it’s something that no one can put down, particularly when you’re in the creative industry. But is that just a millennial viewpoint? Because you’ve got teenagers who opt to be fully offline.

ND: It’s tricky to navigate. I wonder if younger generations are feeling that identity crisis in the same way, because they grew up with it.

SL: I was looking into it and there’s kids with burner phones because they don’t want to be accessible all the time. That’s another thing—I’m so sick of my friends thinking that, because they can see me, I’m online. I won’t reply to a text and it’s like all hell breaks loose.

ND: I saw that you did a reading of one of the essays in your book, about your failed dominatrix career.

SL: Well, strangely, he’s got in contact recently, because he’s like, ‘Stop talking about it.’ [Laughs] This guy messaged me on Instagram, asking if I was available to be a financial dom. I must have been 20. I was working in production at the time and I was like, ‘What does that entail?’ Actually, that’s a lie—I pretended I’d already done it before. I met up with him that night at a pub. I’d googled it and kind of thought I was going to be handed over thousands and thousands of pounds. But what happened was we had three drinks, he got down on his knees, kissed my boots, and handed me, like, 30 quid or something. That was my brief failed attempt at being a sex worker, I guess, but happy to revisit if there’s more money available.

ND: What other projects do you have coming up?

SL: I’m developing the doc that was on Channel 4 into a longer-form project. Then I’m just focusing on writing, doing more interviews and documentaries, a bit more VICE style. There’s not many platforms that make those anymore, so you have to just make them yourself. I’m actually filming an occultist who’s coming down to the seaside on Friday and he’s going to read my tarot. There’s something about living by the seaside—it’s a place that makes you want to make things.