How Keke Palmer Became Hollywood’s Content Queen
It’s a breezy Monday afternoon in New York, and Keke Palmer — actor, director, singer, dancer, professional multitasker — is doing an interview while working on her latest gig: being a new mom. The wind whips through her hair as she pushes her baby down the street, Zooming from her phone. “I’m doing the mom thing,” she says in her signature lilt. “Baby is good, but it’s definitely a lot of pressure to be responsible for someone’s life. I’m tryna to make it, just like your ass is.”
That’s generous, but let’s be honest: Keke Palmer has already made it. While best known for her role as fast-talking horse handler Emerald Hayworth in last year’s Jordan Peele horror movie, Nope, Palmer, 29, has been kicking around Hollywood for 20 years. She made her big-screen debut in 2004’s Barbershop 2 and scored a starring role in the 2006 family film Akeelah and the Bee. Since then, she’s had her own Nickelodeon series, True Jackson VP, become Broadway’s first Black Cinderella, and won acclaim for her sharp comedic timing and emotional depth in films like Hustlers.
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All the while, Palmer has been doing double duty as a creator. Since at least 2007, she’s been active on YouTube, Instagram, and even TikTok’s predecessors Musical.ly and Vine, posting skits and videos with thousands of views. Just last year, she brought her live-wire, meme-worthy personality to TikTok, where she’s amassed 7.5 million followers, and, during her pregnancy, started livestreaming games on Twitch. But as she became more invested in the creator economy, Palmer realized BIPOC creators were shut out of the information pipeline about how to develop projects and get connected with brands. So she decided to do something about it.
Her new content hub, KeyTV — part production company, part mentorship program, part project incubator — aims to give underrepresented voices a leg up in Hollywood. Launched last November, it pairs up-and-coming creators with industry experts to produce their own projects on social media. In its first six months, the network has premiered nine programs, from talk shows to comedy series to short films, picking up millions of views so far. “KeyTV is focusing on people that might have the talent but not [the] experience or the skill in the business aspect of it,” Palmer says. “It’s explaining the craft of filmmaking and working in the industry, and built around knowledge as opposed to getting to this grand finish line.”
People can’t get enough of you online, turning almost anything you say into a meme. How does that make you feel?
It’s appreciated when people do the meme thing. I really do love it. I feel like the memes are [people] recognizing that they see themselves in me, which I think is important. I’ll see it in my mentions, and I’ll laugh, or friends will send it to me. I’m like, “Oh, shit, there’s another one.”
How did KeyTV come about?
This is essentially a second act for me. Yes, I love to entertain, but also, how can I use that for something bigger? KeyTV was an opportunity for me to create a true network of young people feeling that the industry is accessible to them.
People feel like they can’t get forward [because of a] lack of information. The reason [someone] is on the cover of magazines isn’t because they’re better than you. It’s ’cause they paying a publicist $5,000 a month. A big part of this is talking about those kinds of things. It’s more so focusing [on] “How can I be skilled in the moves that I’m making? How do I know what relationships to build and what roles to play that are going to benefit me and help me get to the next level?”
What do you find most frustrating about the current creator economy?
A lot of times, BIPOC creators will create something, trend something, and then they won’t actually get the opportunity to work with the big commercial company. I’ve wanted to be in the forefront of being able to bring those opportunities to other people of color. Our community, we bring eyes, and we deserve those big opportunities to be able to actually create something for ourselves.
Why was it important for your next stage to be about mentorship?
Growing up, I definitely didn’t see the people that I see now. It’s not like it is now, like with Issa Rae, Kevin Hart, or Jordan Peele, or Donald Glover. People like Jordan have helped me in many different ways, trusting me as an actor, just giving me an opportunity. Knowing what my journey was, I don’t want the conversation to continuously be “You’re the first.” It shouldn’t be a surprise when you see Black people out here killing it.
Did you feel pressure to make this a focus of the next phase of your career?
For me, there’s an element to it that says, “[How] am I doing more for my community?” You know, when you think about it, as a Black person, there’s so [many] systemic things that have stopped us from being able to do shit. Personally, for me, there is an attraction to being able to leave something behind and do something outside of myself. But I think that’s, again, com-munity-based, and also my family and how I grew up.
How has your online experience impacted how much you’ve decided to share about your son?
What you have to learn is to be very conscientious and intentional about the things you post. When I posted my son, I did a joke of a Drake lyric: “I’m not hiding the world from my son. I’m hiding my son from the world.” Then I was like, “Just kidding, my son’s face is on the next page.” I do feel like it’s not the end of the world if everybody sees my son. I like to keep things personal because I like to keep things that are precious to me private, but then I also don’t like to take myself too seriously. So I find times in which I feel most comfortable to do that.
If you were Gen Z, do you think you would still have become an actor?
The concept of fame has become bigger than the concept of skill, or passion, or what you love. It’s a crazy-different time. I don’t know how that would translate for me. I am very digital, so I do see me popping out like [TikTok food personality] Tabitha Brown or [Abbott Elementary creator] Quinta [Brunson]. But at the same time, theater is the background of my mom and how I got to the industry. You’re always going to end up where you’re gonna end up. And I truly, 100 percent believe that I was made to be [acting]. I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
How do you balance your online persona with your real life?
When people idolize you, you can no longer get through to them. If I’m thinking about popularity, then it should be more a mayor vibe. That is most comfortable for me, as opposed to people bowing at my feet and assuming that I have this lavish life led by greed and capitalism. At the end of the day, I’m a real person, and I want you to be able to see that. What’s the point of me being at the top of the mountain if, when I reach my hand down, you feel like you can’t touch it?
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