Letting the World In

Producer: Antheny Raiy

Photographer: Ricardo Nelson

Videographer: Aj Pie

Video Editor: Dante Williams

Fashion: Apuje Kalu

Makeup: @makeupbymila for @basicwhiteshirtltd

“If I can tell you something I’ve never told anybody,” Karamo asks assertively. “I’ve had one consistent struggle throughout my career—which has been a hat. A fitted hat.”

It’s a Friday morning, and Karamo and I are on a call to discuss his career—one that spans decades and countless corners of media. Host, activist, entrepreneur, and reality TV star. He’s worn all these titles proudly, yet none of them seem to fully define who he is. Karamo is never exactly hidden, but there’s a certain mystery around him. You never quite know what he’s up to—only that whatever it is, it means more than what’s on the surface.

But first: Let’s chat about the fitted.

“We know the racism that happens when you go into restaurants and spots where you can wear a cowboy hat but not a fitted hat. When I was on The Real World [Philadelphia], they did not want me to wear a fitted hat. They were like, ‘you can’t wear it,’ and I fought against it. In the opening credits, I had gotten this fly little pink outfit—[It was Sean John, but we are not rocking with that anymore]—and had a pink Phillies fitted hat that went with it. I was like, ‘Yo, I’m about to rock with this,’ and they were like, ‘No.’ When I tell you, it was the first time I ever interacted with executives and corporate people who came down to set and opposed. I had to stand my ground and was like, ‘nah, I’m wearing this.’ The reason I stood my ground in this case is because it's who I was. Of course, now, older, I realize the deeper implication of what I was trying to say—without having the words—was…”

“You’re not going to erase this part of my Blackness. You’re not going to erase a part of my gayness. This is who I am. This is what we wear. This is how I rock it. If you want my full story to be put on TV, you’re going to show me in the opening credits looking how I look. Not in puka shells and tanks and shorts like how they were trying to dress me.”

This moment wasn’t just about wardrobe—it was the beginning of a career-long negotiation between authenticity and expectation and a refusal to shrink himself to fit anyone else’s frame.

Twenty years later, Brown has figured it out. He’s the current host of his own daytime talk show, Karamo, which was just renewed for its fourth season. He’s also one of the beloved co-hosts of Netflix’s Queer Eye and the co-founder of MANTL, a skincare line dedicated to those who are bald or balding. Brown is wearing many hats, indeed.

Karamo Karega Brown was born on November 2, 1980, in Houston, Texas—the youngest of four, raised in a household rooted in Jamaican and Cuban traditions. With three older sisters and a cultural backdrop that didn’t exactly celebrate queerness, his awareness of identity came early and with a dose of reality.

“The first time I knew my identity could be powerful was probably based in trauma,” Karamo shares, candidly. “I come from a Jamaican household, and early ‘90s reggae had very homophobic songs that were popularized, played at family reunions, at parties, and everything. I knew very early on my existence created real emotion. When I realized at 9, 10 [years old], I knew if people really hated it that much, there had to be something passionate about it. If these grown adults were affected by someone living their life, there had to be power behind it.”

At fifteen, Karamo made a decision to live openly, or as he puts it, to “let the world in.”

“I don’t use the term coming out. I think it’s antiquated. I prefer the term ‘letting people in.’”

That need to feel seen was partially fulfilled by what he could catch on television—long before Instagram feeds or TikTok For You pages. Representation was scarce but not invisible.

“The person that always comes to mind first is Ru[Paul]. I saw Ru on their show, and I used to think, ‘OMG, this person is sitting on stage interviewing people in a full dress being Black.’ I used to be ‘WTF,’ and I was hooked.”

Then came a more personal connection.

“Do you remember Pedro Zamora from The Real World?” he asks. Of course, I responded.

“It wasn’t Pedro,” he continues, “it was his boyfriend. I used to watch that show for Pedro’s boyfriend—Sean Sasser—like you can’t even imagine. I was just thinking, this man is so loving, caring, and supportive. And yes, Pedro’s storyline was important. But when his partner would walk in, in those jeans and those white button-downs, my heart would start to flutter.”

Those early glimpses of possibility shaped his own ambitions—not in the polished, PR-driven way most celebrities craft origin stories—but in something far more raw and lived-in.

“Those two people—RuPaul and Sean Sasser—if I'm really being honest with myself, inspired this desire to want to be seen on a public stage, to talk to people, but also to have this deep empathy and love,” Brown says. “And it was from those individuals.”

Naturally, I assume it was this representation that led him to audition for The Real World a decade later. But Karamo quickly corrects me. There was no master plan—just a recent grad from Florida A&M looking for a good time.

“I wish there was some deeper mission at the time. We were at the age where that was cute to be on TV. I had lived my life as a gay man. I was on an HBCU campus as a proud gay man. I already had been living my life going to DC Pride, Atlanta Pride, Miami Pride, etc. Going on The Real World, it wasn’t about this mission of me showing the world who I was. I was fully authentically feeling comfortable in who I was when they said, ‘Do you want to be on the show to show who you are?’ I was like, ‘I’mma be there.’”

That sense of comfort—of already having come into his own—was rare for the early aughts, when queer Black visibility in mainstream media was still nearly nonexistent. Karamo didn’t just walk into the frame; he owned it. But it didn’t exist without its fair set of challenges.

“It was the first time I had been rejected by the gay Black community, and it broke my heart. I remember going to the clubs and everybody scattering from me. I remember trying to talk to people who were Black and gay, and they would shun me out. I get it. It was a different time. We weren’t vocal and as out, but it made me feel like a man alone on an island.

“Then, at the same time, I’m young, and I’m told I need to be an activist. I went on this show to drink and have fun, and now I’m being told I’m the first Black gay man on reality television. I’m like, ‘I’m 23; what do you mean I have to show up?’ It was a very dark time for me. Though I was being celebrated by the rest of the world, I was in a state of trying to kill myself almost every single day.”

Gay Pride [or Pride as it’s referred to by members of the Gay community] traces its roots back to the early morning hours of June 28, 1969, when LGBTQ+ patrons at the Stonewall Inn in New York City resisted a police raid—a moment that ignited days of protests and a global movement. Today, it’s become a celebration across the world and has several smaller moments based on location and recent “looks.” Given that Brown has been going to Pride for 20+ years and even sometimes booked as a guest of honor, I wanted to know what his thoughts are on the current state versus back then.

“Pride is a very interesting event. We know that it was made out of protest. Yet, Pride [celebrations] is divisive, and it’s always been divisive. When I was younger, I didn’t realize it because I was a certain height, certain look, and had a certain style that made me feel like I was on top of the world. It wasn’t until after The Real World that my circle became more diverse in sense—lookwise, sizewise, lesbian and trans friends. I realized this pride stuff isn’t as inclusive as we thought. It’s divided, divided, divided. It’s a conversation I don’t think we’re having properly, and I don’t know why. The one month we are supposed to look at each other and say, ‘I see you; I see all of us,’ and you don’t see everyone there. It’s a little shocking to me. I think there needs to be more conversations about what Pride really is.”

While our introduction to Brown was before there was a social media footprint, much of his success has happened in later years, where your private life can be public and the cause of discussion and debate. Yet Brown doesn't seem to be bothered about it; in fact, he seems to welcome eyes into who he is and wants to show all sides of himself as a human, as a man, and as a gay Black man.

“I gave up trying to maintain a private life. I’m very public. I realize part of my journey is to be seen in all spaces. I’m the person you’re going to see at the club at 4 o’clock in the morning. The girls don’t need to whisper because I’m not doing anything shady. Luckily before social media and my drug days and all of that was back in the day, so now I’m just there to have a good time and kiki with the rest of them.”

“On my talk show, I do these segments. My son came on, and he talked about this drug addiction. My son’s mother comes on, and we talk about our journey. I talk about trifling niggas I date. I talk about everything. I do this because I understand the same way I was looking at Ru or Sean is the same way someone is looking at me. I don’t want them to get one side of some picture. People are entitled to have an opinion of me, but if you are going to have an opinion of me, have it holistically.”

Karamo has been pretty open about his dating life, including his past partners. It’s been a year since he announced splitting with photographer Carlos Medel. Yet Brown isn’t sitting heartbroken; he’s open to finding a partner again.

Brown laughs before offering, “I can tell people how to have great relationships. I ain’t learned it yet.” I’m 44 and single. I don’t know what to do. I’m about to celebrate a year of singleness. So I can learn the advice I give to other people.”

Brown always gets to the core of the people he talks to. Offering antidotes and asking the questions that get you to think about the life you’ve led and how you want to live authentically in the future. It’s something that, as a journalist, I admire about him, and so I couldn’t help but ask a final question that might do the same for him. I asked him what he would say to his 80-year-old self.

“My 80-year-old self? Bitch, you made it to 80? Werk!” He laughs.

“I say that with a joke and a little seriousness because most of my life, I didn’t think I would make it to 30. When I made it to 30, I was shocked, and when I made it to 40, I was doubly shocked. I’m now trying to embrace the fact that I’ll make it to 50. I’m not trying to be morbid. The way the world informed me, I didn’t think I would live this long. I have a smile on my face because I think I would be happy to make it there.”

And whether it’s a talk show, a skincare brand, or a 4 a.m. dance floor, Karamo Brown will live his life on his own terms—and he might still be wearing that fitted hat. And you better not dare tell him to take it off.