Uganda. That’s where it all started. I was 14 when I had the opportunity to visit the East African country and, honestly, it changed everything. In a world that didn’t make sense to me, that trip gave me clarity and also gave me a new purpose in photography. I had an interest in photography from an early age, and was gifted with a camera a year before I went to Uganda. Whilst I was there, I got to explore and capture picturesque images of this beautiful land. And when I got back to the UK, I put on my first solo exhibition, Uganda: The Country, which really sparked my creative journey.

After finishing school, I interned at Jenny M. London, a fashion label based in the Sussex countryside. That experience opened my eyes to the fashion industry in a new way—it gave me a hunger for more, which is what led me to apply for a place at Central Saint Martins; I got in and joined the Fashion Communication course. That should’ve been the start of a dream, but instead, that’s when things started to spiral. Through a mix of abusive relationships and an addictive personality, I developed a psychoactive disorder, with psychosis as a major symptom. It flipped my world upside down. I’d find myself waking up in A&E, not knowing how I got there. It was terrifying.

Over the course of a few years, I was sectioned and admitted to psychiatric hospitals three times. But it was during one of those hospital stays that something shifted. While I was there, I started working on an idea, a brand, something I could build that was mine. I called it Panic London. I didn’t know exactly what it would become, but I knew it had to mean something. Around that time, one of the nurses saw my photography and asked me to give a talk to the other patients. That moment changed everything for me. For the first time, I realised I might actually be good at something. Something clicked, almost on a spiritual level.

When I left hospital for the last time in December 2024, I was determined to turn my life around. I started reaching out to the people who unknowingly helped me survive, musicians I would listen to while I was struggling. I offered them free shoots as it felt like a way to say thanks for all the inspiration. The first artist to say yes? Sneakbo, the Brixton-born rap legend.

He didn’t know it at the time, but that shoot was the start of Panic London. It was a success and, from there, I kept going. If one person didn’t reply, I moved on to the next. I just stayed consistent. Within a few months, I went from having a university portfolio full of fashion coursework to shooting some of the UK’s most well-known artists: ArrDee, Swarmz, Deno, RV, Trizzac and, of course, Sneakbo again—I shot his album cover in the final week of university to thank him for believing in me when no one else did. He set the tone for what was to come.

Panic London was born from chaos, but now it’s growing into something far bigger than I ever imagined. I’m building a full creative studio that brings fashion, music, film and photography together under one roof. Photo-shoots. Music videos. Live sessions. Visual storytelling with meaning behind it. A place where real stories are told: raw, unfiltered, and unapologetic. I want Panic to be a platform for the overlooked, for the ones who’ve been through it and made it out the other side. I’m working on collaborations with new talent, pushing boundaries visually, and launching projects that speak louder than just trends—stories that stay with people.

I’m also developing a podcast called The Panic Room, where I sit down with creatives and musicians and we talk about everything from mental health to hustle to healing. Because this isn’t just about aesthetics: it’s about real life. There are exhibitions in the works, a clothing line, freestyles sessions, a short film about the rise of Panic—from the psych ward to the studio. But more than anything, I want to keep telling stories that matter.