“Let them be their natural trans fabulous selves”: D. Smith on telling trans sex workers’ stories

With her new documentary Kokomo City, director D. Smith presents a rollicking, unexpected, and deeply affecting portrait of Black transgender sex workers. The film spotlights not only the women’s complicated experiences of sex work — from harrowing encounters with clients to the impact their work has had on their sense of selves — but also their experience of Black trans womanhood, their relationships with men, and their relationships with the broader Black community.

But Smith, like her subjects – which include Daniella Carter, Liyah Mitchell, Dominique Silver, and the late Koko Da Doll, among others – resists the victim narrative. The film is clear-eyed about the circumstances (the lack of opportunities, transphobia, racism) that lead Black trans women to sex work. But it also showcases their unvarnished perspective, their humor, and their refusal to be reduced to tragic stereotypes.

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Smith, a Grammy-winning music producer who has worked with Billy Porter, Lil Wayne, and André 3000, has said that she lost everything after coming out as trans. Earlier this year, she told Out in New Jersey that after the music industry rejected her, she was homeless for a time, sleeping on friends’ couches, and thinking about the lengths some trans women have to go just to survive.

The result is Kokomo City, which had its world premiere at the 2023 Sundance Film Festival where it won both the NEXT Audience Award and the NEXT Innovator Award. This week, the film hits theaters in New York, expanding on August 4. Ahead of the release, LGBTQ Nation spoke to Smith about bringing these refreshing and timely stories to the screen.

LGBTQ Nation: I think we have to start by acknowledging and honoring Koko Da Doll, who appears in the film and was murdered in April. Has her death changed the way you think about the film, and what has it been like for you promoting and talking about the film in the wake of that tragedy?

D. Smith: Koko was an absolute vessel to make this film’s message even more urgent. Accepting and processing her death really elevated the purpose, and also it just made it more clear and evident why we need to protect trans women. It’s a very vulnerable state of living that they have to endure to survive.

LGBTQ Nation: The film opens with Liayh Mitchell telling what seems like a pretty scary story about an encounter with a client, but with humor and a kind of unbothered frankness, and the music and imagery in much of the film echo that tone. What were you hoping to convey with the film’s tone?

DS: Sometimes when people hear the stories of transgender trauma — a lot of these stories are statistics and numbers— we kind of just become noise. It was a style that I wanted to create. Yes, it was a dangerous story, but to have suspenseful music or even sad piano music, it’s like, it plays with the mind, in a kind of profound way. As creators, we should be allowed to do that no matter what story we’re telling. I was not going to confine myself, conform myself to any expectations and rules to create this film.

LGBTQ Nation: The range of perspectives in just this small group of women is really fascinating. What do you want people to understand about Black trans women’s experience of and relationship to sex work?

DS: So many times in transgender narratives, trans women are deemed the victims, but also the villains. We’re often villainized. Especially Black women. And what I wanted to just show, without the trans women having to be defensive or having to plead their argument, is to just let them be their natural transgender fabulous selves. And that’s why I really discouraged any makeup or any extra glam. Because I really wanted the truth to just be centered. I think that was a really impactful way to draw people into this narrative.

LGBTQ Nation: The film deals with so many issues, but one that I found particularly moving was how some of the women in the film talk about love and sexuality. What did you discover in your interviews about how sex work has shaped these women’s perspectives on that aspect of their lives?

DS: There is a moment when Koko mentions in the film, “This is why it’s so hard for me to love. This is why I don’t trust people. This is why I don’t trust men, because I’ve dealt with all kinds of men and I know how they treat their wives and their girlfriends, and I know how filthy they can be.” Or, you know, how emotionally unbalanced men can be because they’re not accepting who they are. So, sometimes it really traumatizes trans women in terms of just really wanting to invest in a healthy, real relationship. A lot of times trans women – all trans women, not just sex workers — you just become alone, because it’s very discouraging.

LGBTQ Nation: There is of course a movement in the U.S. advocating for the respect and dignity of sex workers and for decriminalization. Do you see your film as part of that movement? In conversation with it? Did it change your perspective on sex work in any way?

DS: I’m going to start with the latter part of that. It did change my perspective because I went in, like most people, with this pre-judgey, pre-conceived notion about sex workers. Even strippers, dancers, you know? It’s just how we were raised. It’s our culture. It’s very dehumanizing. But talking with these girls, even sitting with them before I filmed them really humbled my ego. I had to kind of change my approach a lot of times as a director. Because I kinda thought I was going to come in as the savior. In some ways I did. But, like anyone else, sitting with these women and talking to them, you really get to understand how deep and complex and yearning for love they are. At the end of the day, I don’t care how strong they try to be, but we all, as humans, especially as women, we really need and want that validation.

I didn’t make the film to advocate for sex workers, to be honest with you. I did it for a broader conversation for Black people — that dichotomy between trans women and the Black community. This time, I really wanted to hone in on sex workers because they’re not the ones normally with the podium and the microphone. That was my reason for using them as opposed to the trans girls with the agents and the PR. But, obviously I hope that it trickles down — or up — to help that cause. I do support sex workers. I don’t encourage it. I do want other options to be presented to trans women.

LGBTQ Nation: You also devote a significant amount of time to the women discussing and parsing cis men’s — and particularly Black cis men’s — attraction to trans women. Why was it important to deal with that and what do you hope people will take away from those discussions?

DS: This is part of why I had the guys in the film. Because we more than often see Black men being shamed out of coming forward or coming out. We see them running out of hotel rooms. It’s like the most disgraceful, dishonorable thing. I was so excited to have men come into this film voluntarily, with authority, confidence, and assurance, and complete comfort in saying, “You know what? These are women. These are my people. I’ve got trans friends. I’m in love with a trans girl. I’m here to support trans women even though I’m not into them.” There’s a various amount of reasons why these men wanted to be a part of the film. So, it was important that I show that portrayal of Black men stepping up.  

LGBTQ Nation: Your film is being released about a month after Kristen Lovell and Zackary Drucker’s The Stroll. Does that indicate anything about trans filmmakers’ ability to get their work made?

DS: I’m so happy for the creators of The Stroll. I’m proud of them. We’ve talked numerous times via social media or text messages, and I couldn’t be more proud of them. Listen, the more people we have telling this story, obviously, the better, right? I commend HBO for helping create that film in such a dignified way.

At the end of the day, trans people are wonderful people, but we’re not perfect. And we shouldn’t be treated like we’re above anyone else. I do love the fact that trans women are being shown in a humanized way. Not a super-humanized way that is intangible, or like dirt. We’re treated in these films like humans. And so, to see more of that would be a step forward.

LGBTQ Nation: But do you think the release of these two films says anything about opportunities for trans filmmakers in the film industry?

DS: On my part, as a trans woman, I want to do more than tell trans stories. As a trans woman, it wouldn’t be fair for me to have to stick to that. Right now I’m working on another film that’s completely opposite, but still, it deals with cultural relevance. But…to be honest with you, we will have to see. I think the more we talk, we should probably call more of these powers-that-be out by way of not just letting us shine during Pride Month. That’s still a form of segregation, to me. Why are we on the cover of Vogue’s LGBT issue? Why is it Netflix’s LGBT department? It’s very degrading, to me. It’s very segregating. We still have so far to go, but I do feel like there’s a light that’s shining on the transgender, queer narrative. And we gotta f**king double down and keep it moving.

I don’t know if you consider this a spoiler, but the film ends with an incredibly powerful image of Dominique Silver nude. Why did you want to end the film that way?

DS: It was really, really important. I’m proud of myself for that moment — and I’m extremely proud of Dominique. But I’m proud of myself for that moment because it was so significant as a creator to create that image and to show that image without it being pornographic. Dominique was known back in the day as a porn actress, and she was killing it. She has a huge fanbase and she looked great and she’s drop-dead gorgeous, obviously. But I wanted to show, not just her, but a trans woman in her absolute divine transgender-ism, in the most f**king iconic, powerful way. Just as a director, I wanted something iconic.

But it was very significant because when I brought the idea to her, she kinda gave me pushback. She was so uncomfortable. She was definitely defensive. I had to break it down for her and say, “Listen, you’ve done porn. But here, as a trans woman in your house, with another trans woman, no one’s here, you’re safe, it’s private, and I’m asking you to do this, and you’re giving me pushback. What does that say about you as a trans woman, just standing in your absolute truth? What does it say about us as a society, because it’s been so demeaning to have breasts and a penis?” We’ve been subjected to this expectation of what a trans person should be. And this is who we are. We’re officially in a new day and age.