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For starters, A24, the studio behind the movie, is giving Zola perks usually reserved for a film’s stars, including both a car - a big black Escalade with a driver who will idle outside while we do whatever - and a PR ambassador: a white woman in a J.Crew-shirt who spends dinner fretting that she won’t be able to get into Magic City because she’s a white woman in a J.Crew shirt. Something about this night feels exceptional. They agree to share a filet mignon.įrom top: The tweet thread that started it all Riley Keough and Taylour Paige in Zola. NiChelle laughs and drapes her arm around her daughter’s shoulders and pulls her close. They’re best friends, NiChelle, 46, tells me with a big, beaming smile. She dips her head toward her mother, and they whisper into each other’s ears about which cut of meat to order. She wants to show me that no story about her life is a match for the real thing. But Zola, a 26-year-old with the nightlife stamina of a 26-year-old, could start at a club with a stack of a thousand $1 bills and end anywhere. Is a strip-club tour a little too thematically consistent? Maybe. Along the way, maybe we’ll stop at a strip club where her friends work, or maybe we’ll swing by Magic City because you can’t not go to Magic City. The plan, she shouts to me and her mother, NiChelle, over steaks at one of those restaurants where a DJ plays music at a conversation-annihilating volume and a waitress delivers chilled tequila shots to you with a sparkler, is to eventually end up at a queer dance party at a favorite bar, Friends. An occasion for which she put on an Easter Sunday lilac wig, selected a going-out top that pushed her titties up to high heaven, slid her feet into heels that wouldn’t force an early end to the night, posted a callout on Instagram (“if ur in ATL&wanna come out tn, DM me”), and got ready to rage. So for her, this night isn’t just a foray back into her old life but a celebration of things finally, finally coming to fruition.
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After a five-year wait, the movie will premiere at the end of this month. The tale spread fast and far enough to earn a place in the internet canon as “the greatest saga ever tweeted.” Those tweets became the basis for a lengthy, detailed Rolling Stone article that was adapted into a much-belabored screenplay that became a buzzy, A24-produced, long-delayed movie, Zola, about her and named for her - or at least for the name she gave herself and prefers to her legal one, A’Ziah King. It started in a rosy flush of friendship, turned into a wild, careering two-day nightmare, and ended (maybe) with a gunfight.
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She wrote the Twitter thread in 2015, chronicling a true-enough story about a trip to Florida with a fellow exotic dancer named Jessica.
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But mostly, she has been waiting for the movie based on her life - well, a specific incident in her life, one she originally relayed in 148 viral tweets - to come out. She has been living in the suburbs just 30 minutes outside Atlanta with her mother, her younger sisters, and her daughter for more than a year now, writing, painting, recording music, birthing and taking care of a second daughter, and posting Instagram Stories and OnlyFans content. But tonight, at this dive bar– cum–strip club where Zola is sipping a gin-and-tonic, waiting for the room to fill and the energy to surge, she has just noticed a dancer, Amira, the woman who will temporarily become the object of our collective affection. Or it’s possible that she’s adhering to that subclause of the laws of attraction, the one dictating that on any given night in any strip club in America, someone will fall a little bit in love. Zola maybe notices her because of the neon-green rhinestoned leotard she’s wearing, or maybe it has something to do with the campy, USO-lite theme that permeates her stage persona, or it could be her beret, a quirky choice even here at the Clermont Lounge, where dollar-throwers come more for the kitsch than the sex appeal of the dancer.