Firstly I am curious, how did you find yourself entering the modeling world? Is that something you always wanted to do as a kid or did it come later for you?

Firstly, thank you for taking an interest. I really appreciate the opportunity. Oh boy, y'all are asking me to do some excavation work.

I’m just a Midwest kid from a small town in Missouri. 995 was the number on the population sign. I was running around in the woods, riding four-wheelers on my friends’ farms, baling hay, working on roofs, helping my grandpa at his used-car dealership, going to the Lake of the Ozarks, fishing, and swimming—typical Midwest stuff. I was busy goofing off with my brothers and friends and playing sports. I thought I was going to play in the NBA or run in the Olympics.

Around middle school, people would ask me if I modeled. That might have been what planted the seed. I didn't even know that was a job. It definitely wasn't a thing for a kid in the middle of Missouri.

My mom had heard on the radio that a Model Search America (M.S.A.) event was coming to Kansas City. She paid the fees, booked the room, and we headed up to the city to attend this model search.

I remember standing in a long line, walking past all these desks with agents from all over the United States, just holding up pictures of myself. My face was stuck between embarrassed, a smolder, and a smirk. I had no clue what was going on.

Not one agent took interest.

I was 13, and I think my head was probably too big for my body. I think I had an adult head on a kid’s body. At least my brothers were making fun of my big head.

Two years later, M.S.A. came back to Kansas City and did the whole dog-and-pony show again. This time, every agency that represented young men or youth wanted to meet with me and represent me. I couldn’t comprehend why this curiosity would be planted in me if I wasn’t meant to be on this path.

I ended up signing with L’Agence Models in Atlanta because my dad is from Atlanta, but it didn't make much sense. I lived in Missouri, and I was so green I had no clue how the business worked. I ended up signing with Talent Unlimited out of Kansas City. It felt like any time a client needed a mixed-race kid, I was off to Kansas City for a gig. I found something that was just mine. It was outside of my brothers’ and friends’ worlds. I found a lane that was just mine.

It’s obvious that you’re an artist. Where do you think that drive to create comes from?

It’s written all over me, huh!

I just had this discovery a few weeks ago. There was a period in middle school when my parents were fighting a lot, and I discovered journaling and retreated into my notebooks. That eventually turned into poetry. That turned into noodling around on the guitar.

These things just fall out of me. I just followed these impulses.

My mom was in the military. 21 years in the service. The whole deal, uniform, hair up. Very masculine. I didn’t witness much of her feminine side. I would come back home with notebooks full of sketches, and my mom recognized something. She came back with one of her high school notebooks and showed me that we were doing really similar work.

I think this is my cute way of saying maybe it’s hereditary.

My mom had to suppress that version to pursue her career, but I’ve had the freedom to play and express.

Photographing nature is what excited me. It was solitary. It felt meditative. Once again, it was just mine. I don’t remember anyone else in my family or among my friends being interested in it.

I’m making some discoveries as I dig into these questions. I don’t remember any conscious, intentional thinking around it. I just wanted to capture my surroundings and see if I could make something beautiful. Maybe shoot these ordinary things my way.

Something special about film, patience is part of the process.

This was my own private little escape. Behind the lens, with a guitar in hand, or staring at a blank journal page, I could get out what was going on inside.

Maybe just a little breadcrumb to remind myself I was here. It’s interesting looking back, because at the time, I was fueled by impulse.

As an appreciator of Vintage clothing, I’ve always admired your sense of style and ability to put together an outfit. How would you say your taste has been formed in regards to style and how do you approach self expression through style.

That is quite the compliment coming from you, sir, as I have admired your fits. Come to think of it, I think I’ve only seen you rocking a Canadian tuxedo. Which I am a fan of, but you also sport a beard that I am highly jealous of.

Okay, back to the question: Growing up in that small town, my dad was one of only two Black guys. So from the moment I stepped outside, I knew I was different. My olive complexion and fro stood out. What I saw was uniforms, Levi’s, Carhartt, and camouflage. It just seemed like everybody was wearing a uniform.

When it came to seeing my likeness, it was Lenny Kravitz and Prince on television. These guys were gods to me. Meanwhile, I was getting called gay in these little Missouri towns simply for wanting to dress differently from everyone else. Looking back, it's funny, the people I admired most were celebrated for their individuality, while I was getting teased for mine. I guess that's where I learned not to care so much about fitting in.

As a kid, I remember my parents asking me which shoes or jacket they should wear when they were headed out on a date. What the hell did I know about fashion, and why were they asking me? That might be where it started. Deciding which shoe went with Mom's dress or which shoe matched my Dad’s outfit. Outside of that, I stole from everywhere. Watching movies, I was drawn to the guys who looked cool. I would test it out the next day.

I would pop into New York to work on GQ shoots and presentations with Jim Moore, and I’m right there watching how he works and styles outfits. Incorporating the best and sexiest brands in the world. I was a fit model for William Rast when Johan and Marcella Lindeberg were the creative directors. The gig is to stand there, shut up, and wear the clothes. I would be in the fittings, and they would ask me what I thought about pocket placement or where the buttons should be. I was brave enough to give my two cents. I think I even named one of the denim washes. I’m always astonished when I’m asked how I would wear something, for my contribution, as I’m standing there in awe of their side of the craft. I’ve had the privilege of working with incredible stylists over the years. I got to see how the best put outfits together. I’ve just been stealing ideas since I was a kid. I love vintage. Vintage has character. Vintage tells a story as soon as you walk into a room, before you even say anything. Right now I’m into these vintage dress pants I picked up in Paris and an old army PT shirt, or a tank top, with an old cashmere sweater around my neck. I go back and forth between boots and loafers. I’m currently wearing my grandpa's old Seiko. It feels like I’m preserving something. Keeping spirits alive. I’ll go from looking like a mechanic in the 50’s to a farm hand in the 80’s. Maybe I just got off the dance floor at a disco in the 70’s. I don't really dress for the weather; I just pick a character and walk out the door.

I know that you do a bit of painting. How often are you picking up the paint brush and is there a particular approach or theme that you find yourself coming back to?

It comes and goes like the seasons. Sometimes I’m in a season of poetry and inspired to write poems. Sometimes I’m behind the camera and in a season of taking pictures and videos. I don't think of photography, painting, writing, or filmmaking as separate pursuits. They're all part of the same conversation. Just different tools to tell the story.

If you think about it, I had just left everything I knew and loved back in Missouri. I moved to Los Angeles two months shy of my 20th birthday. I didn’t know anybody. I had all these emotions building up; I didn’t know how to articulate or express them, and it felt bigger than journaling.

I had a huge blank canvas I bought that followed me from two or three different apartments. I was completely intimidated by it. One of my first jobs in LA was working at Trapo. It was this awesome vintage clothing store-slash-art gallery on Cahuenga and Selma. I think they had an original Jean-Michel Basquiat piece that was painted on the back of a stop sign. I met The Art of Chase and Gino Perez. This was my introduction to real, living, breathing artists. I remember Gino one day looking over my shoulder and mentioning something about my sketches or poetry, and asking if I painted. I told him I didn’t know how to paint. He simply said, " Buy a canvas and some paint and paint.” This is around the same time I learned I was going to become a father. I took the rollercoaster of emotions I was going through to the canvas. I didn’t know what I was doing. I was just following impulses and pushing paint around, mixing oil, acrylic, and calligraphy ink without following any rules. Looking back now, I remember the feelings and emotions I had around those paintings. They were less about technique and more about survival. Now my approach is different. Nature is a muse. I’ve started to incorporate poetry or a line here or there, an attempt to evoke something. I’m enjoying the playfulness of collages. I don’t visit painting season too often, but I feel that chapter is coming. It will be interesting to see what I have to say with paint now that I am a little older. I can’t seem to shake the flower motif. Nature keeps finding a way into the work. I have a line I put on an art piece; it’s not a painting, but it’s part of this mixed-media collection I was working on. “Even a broken flower reaches for the sun.” If I can create something that inhabits a little pocket in the world, quiet the noise for a moment, and help somebody feel safe and not alone, how beautiful is that?

When is the first official Victor Ross album coming out?

Cute, real cute. I appreciate the push. I've toyed with the idea of finally getting into a studio and recording these songs that have been following me around for years.

We’ve talked a bit about being parents. As a new dad myself I admire how you seem to have a really rad relationship with your son. You’re also very creative. Any advice for those of us raising the next generation in regards to the art parenting?

By the way, I have no clue what I'm doing. I'm making it all up as I go.

How is molding and shaping a human being you're going to introduce into the world not the ultimate art project?

Let them be who they are.

Recognize what is yours and what is theirs.

Don't instill your fears into them.

Years ago, an older gentleman gave me a piece of advice that stuck with me. He told me to take care of my own happiness first. At the time, I was a nervous young dad, and it felt almost selfish to hear.

What I eventually realized is that sacrificing your heart and joy shouldn't be part of the transaction. If I'm exhausted, resentful, or disconnected from myself, I'm probably not showing up as the father I want to be.

Part of parenting is taking care of yourself so you can take care of them.

I've always included my son, River, in my artistic endeavors. We've done paintings together. His work and my work are professionally framed and hanging on the walls. When he was little and I was working on a poem, I'd stop and ask him to help me choose a word. I knew where I wanted the poem to go, but I wanted him to know his voice mattered. That I was listening.

One of my favorite projects was having him record the voiceover for one of my poems. It completely changed the piece. It gave it a perspective I never could have created on my own. I've always loved guitars and made things up as I went along. To this day, I don't know a single chord. In less than two years, he blew past me on the guitar. He can play by ear and is a far better musician than I'll ever be, and I love that. That's how it's supposed to work.

If you're operating at home the way I've been able to witness you operate on set, I think you just keep doing what you're doing. Be silly. Be playful. Admit mistakes. Apologize. Find creative ways to say “I love you.”

My son could outdraw me any day of the week. He started doing it in elementary school. The level of detail was unbelievable.

He's been accepted into his dream school, the School of the Art Institute of Chicago.

I'm crying now just thinking about it.

He's in a punk band called G.B.A. (God Bless America). It's not the music I grew up on, but the boys are really good. He's standing on stages in front of strangers performing original songs. How terrifying and beautiful is that?

Now I go to his shows and ask, "Wait... where is your shirt? Why are you half-naked on stage?" Then I support from the back of the venue so I don't take an elbow to the balls in the pit. Between his momma and me, we put in all the best ingredients we had. I tried to pass along my best qualities, be honest about my flaws, teach manners, and remind him the world is already full of assholes — please don't be another one. Just be a good dude.

Along with his momma, I feel like I helped co-produce this beautiful boy into the world who wants to be an artist.

Do you have a dream or ambition that keeps coming to your mind but you haven’t quite taken the leap? If so what is that?

I've kind of been a go-with-the-flow type of fella, but writing, painting, storytelling, and acting keep finding their way back to me.

For most of my career, I've been judged on the exterior. My looks. That's just the nature of the business. I had nothing to do with the way I look. You gotta talk to mom and dad about that.

These other creative outlets require a completely different vulnerability. They put what's happening in my heart on full display. Now people aren't judging a photograph of me. They're judging my thoughts, my ideas, my stories, and my ability to bring them to life.

I think part of why it's showing up now is that I'm entering a new chapter of life. For the past 20 years, a lot of my energy went toward being present as a father. Now that my son is entering adulthood, I find myself with the space to explore some of the things that have been patiently waiting their turn. It's interesting how timing works. Around the time I started opening myself up to new opportunities, my friend Geoff Ryan asked if I wanted to be in a short film he wrote called Never Leave. He took a chance on me, having never seen me act before. It was a heavy story loosely based on his real-life experiences, and I played a sinister character. It was heartbreaking to dig into, but rewarding to help bring something from the page to life.

More importantly, it lit a fire in me.

As a kid watching commercials, I always thought a cool job would be writing the words—not the actor, but the person behind the story. Recently, some good buddies of mine gave me the opportunity to write the copy for a spec commercial using poetry I'd written. It wasn't until we wrapped that I realized I had checked off something I'd daydreamed about as a kid. It made me want to explore my poems and other ideas, see if I have the chops to take what lives in me and put it on the screen.

I love that you always bring a camera with you to our shoots. A lot of the time your job is being in front of the camera, but I wanted to learn more about your passion for being behind the camera as well.

I think around 14, I started playing with a 35mm camera and taking pictures. As a kid, I would ride my bike around town and down gravel roads, taking pictures of hay bales, wire fences, phone lines, old barns, windmills, trees, rocks, and ponds. Ansel Adams was my guy. I didn't even think about fashion.

It was something that was just mine.

My brothers and friends never really showed interest in it. There was something very meditative about it, just waiting for a moment. I think I feel invisible behind a camera. These were film days. You had to be patient. There was excitement in not knowing whether you had captured the moment until the roll came back. Even when a frame didn't turn out the way I intended, there was usually something beautiful to learn from it. Maybe that was the appeal—taking something people normally walked past and seeing if I could find a story in it.

Looking back, maybe I was testing the idea that a picture is worth a thousand words. Seeing if I could tell a story in a single image.

I did a project years ago where I walked around Los Angeles and other cities I had modeling jobs in and photographed rooftops and steeples.

People kept asking:

"Where is that?"

I kept reminding them:

"Just look up. It's here in your city. Look up."

Okay getting a bit deep here but what is it you want to be remembered for in life. What comes to mind?

That I attempted to leave something beautiful behind.

How incredible would it be if something I created inspired someone to continue?

I remember a few years back before we began working together your photos would pop up from time to time on Instagram and you’d be wearing Imperfects. How did you find the brand and what was resonating with you about the designs and approach?

I think it was an Instagram post.

The first thing that caught my attention was probably the fact that Mike looked like he could be a longlost cousin. I still haven't figured out if we're related. The verdict is still out.

Looking back, I think what resonated wasn't just the clothes. I was born in California, but my family moved away when I was one, first to Germany and eventually Missouri.

The surf, skate, workwear, and creative culture surrounding the brand felt like a world I might have grown up in had my family never left. Then, as I learned more about Mike, I started noticing familiar threads— fatherhood, art, poetry, and the desire to make things that last. The clothes got my attention, but the philosophy kept me around.

That philosophy shows up in the clothes themselves. I recently passed my first Imperfects workwear kit down to River. He was surprised I was giving it to him, and he loves it.

I was a fit model for years. Mike's pocket placements are perfect. His attention to detail is off the charts. His designs are brilliant; he could get away with using cheaper fabrics, but he just can't do it. I'm a sucker for little details—things like tab closures and thoughtful hardware. They signal that someone actually cares. That's what stands out to me about Mike's approach.

Imperfects didn't feel like a brand I wanted to wear. It felt like a community I wanted to be a part of.

I still need to ask him who his daddy is.

Lastly are there any personal, non work related projects that you’re working on or wanting to work on heading into the future?

I think it may be time to start teaching. I've been doing this professionally for more than 25 years, and I'd love to help the next generation of guys learn how to move on set, conduct themselves professionally, and pose for different types of projects.

I'm submitting pieces to The Sun Magazine. I have photographs from Paris that I took earlier this year. Maybe there's a coffee table book in there. Maybe the photographs live somewhere else. I'm still figuring that part out.

I have a children's book idea that's been floating around for a while.

As I mentioned, I'm on the other side of parenting. My son is entering adulthood, and that's given me a different perspective on time, creativity, and who I am outside of being Dad every day.

For a long time, a lot of my focus went toward helping shape a young person. I'm realizing I'm still shaping myself. Maybe that's the real project. Leaning in. Checking my blind spots. Giving myself permission to keep evolving.

I don't know exactly what comes next, but I feel like something is brewing beneath the surface.