Amelian Kashiro Hamilton, founder of Sisters With Invoices, on creating work environments of respect, autonomy, and abundance

As told to Deem
Portrait Photography by Whitney Gibson

Community Photography by Archie Cajulao, Megan Kelly, Jordan Ring, and Shan Wallace

My name is Amelian Kashiro Hamilton. I’m a wardrobe stylist and visual artist. I do performance and paintings inspired by Whoopi Goldberg as well as creative management and consulting. I’m also the founder of Sisters With Invoices, an organization committed to providing safe spaces, resources, and advocacy for marginalized freelance creatives of color.

I'm half African American—my father is the descendant of slaves—and half Japanese—my mother immigrated to the U.S. from Tokyo. My parents met in Anchorage, Alaska where I was born and raised. My dad was the first freelancer I ever knew, though I didn’t think of it that way at the time. He’s always taken on various jobs for income. He knows how to work on cars; he can do carpentry; he advocates for minorities in business; he coached baseball. He did it all, but I never realized that he was essentially a freelancer until I became one too. My mom has a stable job as a tailor and worked her way up from Nordstrom in Alaska to Balmain, where she is presently employed as a luxury tailor. She taught me a lot about styling and repurposing wear. She showed me that clothing is malleable and that’s how I see almost everything, because of her. I'm one of four daughters and growing up we didn’t have any money. She would make and alter our clothes. We would go thrifting and she would always say, “I can fix that.” I'd look at something and say, “It's too big” and she’d say, “You can change it.” I learned flexibility and resourcefulness from my mother and father.

I grew up pre- and post-internet, as I was born in 1984. In Alaska, I started using the internet as soon as it was accessible as a way to find community, probably beginning in 1998 when I was about 14 years old. That year I set up the family computer myself and made an AOL moniker: KASHIRO98. I learned how to use HTML and do lots of different things like talk in chat rooms, download music, coordinate with kids at other schools on AIM, and join social networks like Black Planet and Asian Avenue. College was my escape from Alaska, I fled to University of Nevada, Las Vegas, with zero knowledge of Vegas. I discovered styling because the MAGIC trade show brought “fashion” to Vegas, around 2006. I made a decision to become a stylist, so I moved to LA. A friend gave me the names of five stylists and I worked for every one of them. But since I didn’t really know anyone in LA and didn’t have much experience as a stylist, I thought, “Well, the easiest and most affordable thing I can do is to make myself look good.”

“My dad was the first freelancer I ever knew, though I didn’t think of it that way at the time.”

People wanted to hire me because of the way I presented myself. In time, I assisted a variety of people; I worked for Monica Rose for a few years while she worked for the Kardashians, before anyone knew or cared about them. I came to realize that in LA, it was all about who you knew; that was how the system worked. I was also scouted to model right out of college. I was actually discovered on Myspace. I was active on various social media platforms—I was blogging, writing, creating my own websites from scratch and even doing them for other people. Jeremy Scott approached me on Myspace and asked me to model for his look book collaboration with Adidas at the very same moment that I was pursuing wardrobe assisting, so this turn of events seemed to tie in naturally with my hopes and goals. Everything felt right about these opportunities: working with Monica and modeling for Jeremy. Well, at least I thought it was right, until it wasn’t.   

After the shoot for the look book, people started coming up to me like, “Oh, wait. I saw you. I saw your picture in New York. It’s so tight. You're the Jeremy Scott girl. Wait, I saw you in London.” I was like, “What?” Photographs of me from that shoot had been used for a full-blown global campaign. I was never asked, I was never told, and I was never paid. I signed nothing. My photo was everywhere and I was young, unprotected, and ill equipped. I was the only woman of color in the campaign alongside white-passing agency models. I had essentially been exploited, but that idea was very hard for me to process, much less have the language to express the systemic disparity that continually happens to African Americans due to our abhorrent history behind the scenes of the entertainment industry. This created a skewed sense of self-worth. I had no idea how to put a number on my image yet it was fodder for the world. I didn’t know my rights. I didn’t have an agent. 

“Modern society, and the corporate work environment, are structured around and by the victors of colonization.”

At that time, there was a tremendous cult around Jeremy Scott. My friends were part of it. I had thought he was my friend up until the year before. He had been very kind to me. He lamented about how he was “inspired” by me, by my culture, by my biracial identity, and by digital capital via Myspace. It was strange and surreal. Little did I know I was nothing but a mood board. These days, there’s a lot of language to describe trauma that simply wasn’t accessible then. I didn’t have the right words to express myself or what was happening to me. I couldn’t express what had historically happened to black women and images of black women in media and marketing. I couldn’t express how kids with magic and identity are coerced with, “Hey, here’s some free clothes” in lieu of being fairly compensated. I found out that everybody on the shoot was paid except for me—the other models, the make-up artists, everyone. I was told there was no budget for me. Instead, I received a few complimentary garments that Jeremy had selected. Before I knew it, I was the Jeremy Scott girl. Nobody would hire me as a model because my image was so over saturated, so me thinking this would help me get more work was a total bust. Also, in this time it was challenging to make moves in fashion because I was working for Monica Rose and her clients were the Kardashians. People looked down on me because my full-time job was to help a reality TV family with their wardrobe, and Monica treated me poorly as her fame grew. In interviews with other stylists or editors they would ask me questions like “well what do THEY do?” I couldn’t explain what the Kardashians were doing in 2009; honestly, could they? It was a job, a way for me to eat. I wasn’t invested in fame like that—I just wanted to make a decent living doing what I loved. It was the most depressing time of my life. It’s actually astonishing to see how highly worshipped both Jeremy and the Kardashians are at this time, comparatively.

These experiences are a huge part of why I started Sisters With Invoices. Over time, I came to see and understand all the moving parts behind the scenes—the underlying design—that make up the creative process in which human meets art. There is a dysfunctional relationship between these parts that not only allows but actually enables exploitation to occur.

“I learned that, for the most part, corporate environments are not built for people of color to thrive. They’re not built for femmes of color, especially Black women, to thrive. They’re not built for feelings; they’re not built for fairness.”

I got a job at NBC. That was my first real position as a regular, full-time stylist. I did it for the steady money but I didn’t think about how it would fit into my journey. I stayed for five years. I realized a lot of things during that time. I came to understand that corporate structures were invented and designed by white colonizers. Modern society, and the corporate work environment, are structured around and by the victors of colonization. Therefore, in my opinion, these structures actually embody and reflect the shadow of slavery. They’re meant to uphold and support the power and advantage of a select few, while keeping everyone else shackled, boxed in, and homogenized. I also noticed that success wasn’t tied to how good you were at your job or how hard you worked. The powers that be are systematically trained not only to protect their chest but also to prevent certain people from growing in certain ways. I learned that, for the most part, corporate environments are not built for people of color to thrive. They’re not built for femmes of color, especially Black women, to thrive. They’re not built for feelings; they’re not built for fairness. Who invented cubicles? Who decided that we should sit at desks for long periods of time? I think it makes you docile. I think corporate environments do that to people, even the ones with beautiful, open space layouts. It’s a trickle down effect of the person calling the shots at the top. I think the cubicle is oppression by design. All this said, I was able to function in a corporate environment, and I did. But I needed somebody to ask me "Well, why do you have to?"

Eventually I realized that actually things didn’t have to be that way. Through a stroke of luck, I got an opportunity to do some freelance assisting for stylist Ayako Yoshida, who is the wife of photographer Michel Comte. At this point, I’m making six figures at NBC but I was miserable and desperately wanted to take on this side gig. I was like, “Sure, give me $100 and then make me wait 60 days to receive it.” I didn't care. I used all my sick leave to work for her and then started taking unpaid days off. As soon as I started,  a light bulb clicked on. The operation was organized and fair. They rehired the same people and they treated their business operation like a family affair. Somehow, all of this seemed effortless. And, the work was excellent! I think the culture of being a freelance creative has a bad reputation for being disorganized and generally willy-nilly. But Ayako and Michel showed me how it could be done in a way that benefited everyone involved, as long as you were willing to work hard.

“I think the culture of being a freelance creative has a bad reputation for being disorganized and generally willy-nilly.”

By the time I left NBC, I didn’t give a shit anymore. In the circumstances of my exit, I was chastised and penalized for attending the funeral of a friend. This further clarified that I was totally disposable. I saw how money had changed my relationship to my artwork and my creativity. I didn't even know who I was. Though I had been making good money, I didn't know what I was doing with it nor was I wise enough to make a plan. If I had known what I know now I would have handled this very differently. I spent four or five months on unemployment. I was in a toxic relationship. I was using drugs and alcohol, which had been a continual struggle ever since I lived in Alaska, as addiction is a way of life back home, unfortunately. I was depressed—too depressed to instigate change or really call it for what it was. I became suicidal. I had to call my dad one day from my LA apartment and say, “Come get me.” He came. I moved back to Vegas, where my parents reside. I painted again and worked on healing myself from this depression. Then I started to have questions that I felt like I had no one to ask—questions about being a creative and being a freelancer—and I yearned for answers. I never had access or proximity to artistic professions or to anyone who could tell me that this was a realistic possibility for me. I would think “Man, I wish I knew Lysa Cooper; I wish I could talk to Rei Kawakubo, Kerry James Marshall; I wish I could talk to Whoopi Goldberg. I wish I could talk to RuPaul.” Whoopi was a really big inspiration for me. I would read about her all the time and I believe her spirit helped pull me out of my depression.

I didn’t even want to be a stylist anymore, so I started painting. I even managed my friend Kesh on her art tour with 1.1 gallery out of Switzerland, feeling I was forever finished with styling. Nobody had taught me how to be an artist, right? But no one had taught me how to be a stylist either. So, like everything else I had done in my life, I just went ahead and started. My goal was to have a solo show. I was also managing friends who were artists. I was doing so much for them—helping run tours, helping them explain themselves to others—that I realized, “If I can do this for someone else, I can do it for myself too.” I started painting and put together my first show. I painted people's shoes, and called my show #WHOOPITAUGHTME because she truly taught me so much with her transparency and her true sense of self. I was still incorporating clothing in these works with the message of putting yourself in the shoes of others, hence the viewers having an eye level perspective of feet from the knee down.

“Everyone needs to learn their value, their standards, their needs, their relationship to money.”

I was joking around with a friend, NaiVasha Thomas of Undo Ordinary, about Sisters with Voices (SWV) and somehow, a little drunk as we were walking the streets of downtown LA, I came up with Sisters With Invoices. We cackled; it was a hit as we continually throw puns and crack jokes. At the time, I was stressed about a job and SWI was a joke—a pun about being Black and freelance. But it stayed in my mind, so I bought the domain. When I have an idea, I always buy the domain. I tell everyone at our meetings to do the same. I thought about Sisters With Invoices every day for two years. I wondered what it meant and what it could be. I became involved in community groups in LA and Oakland, where my dad is from. I was looking for ways to heal and beginning to feel a lot better. I was reading all these different books and thinking critically about the sociology and psychology of freelancing. I was talking openly on social media to another freelance creative out of London, Loren Platt from Work IT, about our experiences with depression. She introduced me to Clarissa Pinkola Estés’s Women Who Run with the Wolves and this book, along with Whoopi, changed my life. I am so grateful to Loren for sharing this with me. I was thinking about the kind of community I wanted to create for myself and how Sisters With Invoices could be that thing, even in the exchanges and resources I was able to pull from being honest about my true mental state without shame. I wanted to find a way for other people to know the things that I didn't know, but  I don’t see myself as a one-stop shop or all knowing being. I also wanted to collectively swap and share because I myself was yearning for more knowledge. I also began to thoughtfully practice self-care. I stopped paying for vanity services. I reset my relationship to money because I had to get rid of all my bills and live a super minimal life. In doing so, I turned into this whole different Amelian. I became available to others around me in a way that I had never been. That new Amelian is what made Sisters With Invoices possible. I had to be open to what people were going through by being real that I’m continually and simultaneously rebuilding from the shit I'm going through.

“I feel that critique and transparency have been my greatest tools.”

 I had an honest conversation with a friend about the Jeremy Scott campaign and she was one of the first people to actually validate my outrage. She told me I had been exploited. I start crying and I thought, “I’m going to launch this space and at the first meeting I will be completely transparent about what happened to me.” I hosted our first event and people came. I spoke about my experiences in front of an audience for the first time. It was cathartic.

Sisters with Invoices is about sharing knowledge and teaching people the skills and tools they need to protect themselves. These lessons don’t just apply to wardrobe styling; they apply to music, film, art, even to roles in corporate environments. Everyone needs to learn their value, their standards, their needs, their relationship to money. I think there’s a lot of opportunity out there for people who know how to advocate for themselves and for their colleagues and employees, and for people who understand the importance of mental health, self-care, how you position yourself, how you demand respect, how you treat others.

“I’m at a point where I can look at something and want to change it, but then what does it become? How will I design a system that works for me?”

I want Sisters With Invoices to be a safe space. We’re non-binary because I believe that gender is oppression. It is crucial that we collectively speak up and fight back. This means giving direct feedback to employers. This means writing a long email saying, “Hey, this wasn’t cool to creatives. Your creative was actually oppressive.” Or saying, "XYZ made me feel some type of way as a woman of color and making the women of color on this set feel some type of way is a problem. Let’s talk about that.” Each of these conversations is a form of protest. We are teaching people how to do this. We are about to put out some podcasts and turn our attention more to media and education. I’ve learned that once a community has maximized its purpose, it turns into a function. We started as a community. Now we are becoming a function.

I want freelancers to know that we’re not being paid enough to keep industry secrets. Transparency is worth so much more. Freedom is worth more. Critique is worth more. We need to take control of creative critique and produce our own media so that we can influence the ways in which we are represented. I feel that critique and transparency have been my greatest tools. As a creative, if you can’t handle criticism of your art, or criticism of whatever it is that you’re doing, then you need to reflect on what you’re doing wrong.

Sisters With Invoices just hit its one-year anniversary. My biggest challenge moving forward will be figuring out what structure looks like. I’m at a point where I can look at something and want to change it, but then what does it become? How will I design a system that works for me? One answer is facilitation.

I want every meeting or event to be democratic. I want there to be ease of communication. We don’t host panels—every voice is part of the conversation. This openness is what produces a true wealth of knowledge. I want to bring this work to Oakland, to New York, to London. I want to have a physical space and be a trusted resource in terms of documents, contracts, paperwork, mentorship, and advice. I want to pay everybody I work with. Sisters With Invoices needs to make money in order to show that advocacy is actually profitable, that advocacy creates abundance. I hope that we can be the brand for that. That’s my goal.

You can find out more and stay up to date about Sisters With Invoices at sisterswithinvoices.com.