Karla Q León: "As Latin Americans, we need to take charge of our narrative"

We have to stop waiting for others to define us or tell us what our culture is. I’m tired of that—we need to take charge and show the world who we are," said Karla Quiñonez León, who hosted her exhibition at Royal Oak Yard in Bermondsey in October, a vibrant celebration of her Ecuadorian roots. The showcase brought her heritage into conversation with London’s dynamic creative scene.

The outspoken hair and makeup artist was recently named one of this year’s New Wave Creatives by the British Fashion Awards, an honour spotlighting 50 groundbreaking talents from around the world. The awards ceremony was held on Monday, 2 December 2024, at the Royal Albert Hall in London.

I sat down with Karla to talk about her journey—why she was hesitant to work with hair at first, her experience collaborating with Skepta and how she decided to leave makeup school behind to master her craft on her terms.

How did you get into makeup?

I took a course in Belgium at an American makeup school called MUD. I did a lot of research before enrolling. I remember calling them to ask, 'Do you teach how to do makeup for people of colour?' They assured me they did, which was very important to me. The reason I wanted to learn makeup was that I used to see how Black women were represented in magazines. Their makeup often didn’t match their skin tone, and they were given lipstick shades that didn’t suit them. I knew I could try to do better.

But when I got to the school, there was only a half-day course on dark skin and eyes—that was it. The entire course was €2,000 and lasted three weeks. So I prefered to just figure it out on my own. They later invited me to a six-month course, saying I had talent, but I declined. By then, I had already seen what they were teaching. I decided to learn from YouTube and books.

Later, I found a mixed-race woman in Belgium who was looking for assistants, so I reached out to her. She agreed to let me assist and gave me advice on what to do and what not to do, which was invaluable. I learned a lot from her. She also did hair and insisted I learn at least the basics, even though I didn’t like it. I would say, 'No, I don’t want to touch hair,' but she explained how important it was.

When I moved to London, I started looking for jobs through Facebook. I would apply for everything, and that’s how I got started. I quickly realised that the best makeup artists in Belgium didn’t even come close to the talent in London. I reached out to people like Ana Takashi and younger artists to assist them. Some would ask if it bothered me that they were younger. I’d say, talent has no age. I can learn from you just the same.

How was it growing up between Antwerp and Ecuador? How did that influence your practice?

I moved to Belgium when I was nine, in 2001. I studied there, learned Dutch and French and spoke English from a young age. In Belgium, I started drawing a lot and became more immersed in art. But in Ecuador, life is more about being out on the streets. I had so much energy to burn, so I would draw to keep myself busy.

Creating came naturally to me, but I didn’t recognise it as a calling. Later, during my teenage years, I drifted away from it. Still, I always loved getting ready, doing my makeup and hair. I’d wake up early to style myself for school, sometimes even wearing heels.

Every summer, my mum sent me back to Ecuador. I’d return to Belgium full of reggaeton vibes, CDs and letters from my friends there. I’ve always felt like half of me belongs to Ecuador and half to Belgium. But I try to highlight Ecuador more because it doesn’t get enough attention. At the same time, I recognise the privilege I had in Belgium—access to museums, art events and creative spaces in Antwerp.

Sundays, for instance, we’d go see Dries Van Noten’s shop windows. That was just part of life—being surrounded by fashion and art. Antwerp is so fashion-forward, but it’s effortless. People just live it every day.

At home, though, my mum made sure our Ecuadorian roots stayed alive. But I also understand European culture deeply and know how to connect it to my art. My stepdad, too, exposed me to art and music, which built my confidence to explore creativity. I knew I loved makeup. But I felt I had started late—I didn’t truly pursue it until I was 28. Now, at 33, it feels like everything has come together.

Tell me about working with Skepta.

I did Skepta’s grooming—it was his first Met Gala, which was so exciting. I worked as his main groomer for four years. Last year, I went to the Met Gala with him, and also last year’s British Fashion awards, he even paid for my ticket. Working with him was very inspiring, he helped me dream even bigger and see how far I could go.

Eventually, we parted ways. I realised I didn’t want to be tied to one artist or their schedule—I needed to stay open to other opportunities. I was so focused on helping him achieve his dreams, but I needed to focus on my own too. I used to tell him, “I want to help you, but I can’t just be Karla Q León for you. I want to be Karla.”

I wanted to diversify, work with new people, and gain more experience. The job took up so much of my time although I loved it. I am incredibly grateful. But it was time to carve out my own path.

Photos: Madelayne Arroyo Bedoya itsmadyab2.0 

The exhibition was a way to talk more about your culture and bring this multicultural dialogue to the London creative scene too. Tell me more about it.

This is why I called it Para Ecuador Con Amor (For Ecuador, With Love). My country is going through such a difficult time, and I wanted Ecuador to make the news for something positive, not just the usual bad headlines. It’s part of what I try to do because it hurts. There is so much richness.

[At this point, Karla and I went off on a tangent about how bad the situation is across so many countries in Latin America, if not all of them. We talked about the corruption, the lack of safety and the scarcity of opportunities. Coming from Venezuela, I shared my experiences, while Karla described how unsafe her home country has become.]

I have a contract that allows me for certain freedom so I can pick projects strategically, making sure to balance commercial jobs with things that resonate with me. This is especially important when I take on Latin-focused projects.

Helping other Latinos move forward is a priority for me. I support people whose work I admire and who I connect with as individuals. We have to stop waiting for others to define us or tell us what our culture is. I’m tired of that—we need to take charge and show the world who we are.

My exhibition showed me it’s time to engage directly with brands, organise more events, and create new opportunities. I’ve also started workshops, like one with a Zumba instructor, to give women a space to dance, relax, and reconnect with themselves. I want Latin American women to step out of their comfort zones and explore beyond their communities. Sometimes we get stuck only socialising with our people, but meeting others can open minds and spark new ideas.

We need to be proud of who we are. I always say, first and foremost, I’m Ecuadorian. People often try to label me as just Latina, but I remind them—Ecuadorian comes first. We’re not less than anyone. We’re talented people who are only now beginning to get opportunities. The doors that were closed to us are finally opening, but we need equal chances to prove ourselves.

You said sometimes you felt intimidated because you didn’t have that same kind of formal training other hair and makeup artists had. But there was a way you did hair that no one did, and that sparked interest.

I never went to hair school, so the way I work is different from how a traditional stylist would. For me, hair is a form of expression—it’s a medium, but not in the usual way people think about it. I see it very differently.

I see how people look at me and my work. They try to understand or even imitate it, but it’s impossible—they don’t know where my inspiration comes from. It’s something I saw when I was a child and inspired me. I wanted to create it, so I did.

Sometimes I do feel nervous—not like I’m less than anyone, but sometimes when I saw someone who was super trained or educated, it made me anxious. Then I realised they often think the same about me. That was a turning point. I thought, “Stop. Everyone has their own thing.”

I’ll never forget when I was giving a workshop and finishing a girl’s hair. Sam McKnight was there and said, “Oh my god, how do you do hair like that?” It’s because I know from personal experience—I know things they don’t. But there are also things I want to learn from them. It’s a mutual admiration. No one is better than anyone else.

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