Words by Ann-Kathrin Riedl

Mette Towley at GEN SHOX Berlin: Nothing to prove, only to share

Before her performance at the Zalando x Nike GEN SHOX event in Berlin last Saturday, we sat down with Mette — Los Angeles–based dancer, performer, and musician whose path to art has never been straightforward but always inevitable. Born in small-town Minnesota, raised on Anita Baker and Lauryn Hill, she discovered early on that movement and music were her first languages. A mid-2000s concert, where powerful female dancers commanded the stage, set her on the path to formal dance training — a journey that later led to touring the world with Pharrell and her breakthrough role in the iconic N.E.R.D x Rihanna “Lemon” video, where shaving her head on camera became a moment of creative transformation. After years on the road, London sparked her shift into music, turning old poems and voice notes into songs like “Petrified” and “Mama’s Eyes.” Today, Mette moves fluidly between dance and sound, using both as tools of identity, vulnerability, and expression. In our conversation, she reflects on creativity, self-discovery, and what drives her forward.

Ann-Kathrin Riedl: Every time I meet someone who lives a very free life, I wonder whether that freedom came easily or if they had to fight for it. So please tell me about your background and the role that creativity and self-expression played in your upbringing. Was it something you were encouraged to explore?

Mette: Freedom and autonomy are such core themes in my life. I’ve always tried to express myself as openly as possible. But there’s this duality: freedom and discipline. I grew up in a small town in a household that valued discipline, and when I started dancing, I realized the entire art form is built on discipline – of the mind, the body, the self. Those two things, freedom and discipline, have always been like shadow twins in my life, one balancing the other.

 

I didn’t have stage parents. My mom would drop me off at rehearsals and go to the bookstore while I was backstage gluing on eyelashes at twelve, trying to figure out how to draw the perfect eyeliner wing. I often felt like an outsider but film, TV, music videos, old musicals and discovering Josephine Baker was my escape. The freedom of the performers was electrifying. When I’m on stage now, I feel the freest too because I can’t hide.

I can relate to that. I grew up in a small town too, and when I started dressing eccentrically as a teenager, it felt like creating a persona or an alternative reality because I was actually so shy. It took time to merge both sides of myself.

I think everyone holds multitudes. When I was growing up, I surrounded myself with icons – Vogue covers everywhere, posters of my favorite pop stars and queens. I think I needed to feel them near me, like I was building my own little universe in my bedroom. I learned to dance there first, alone, where nobody could judge me. That room was my sanctuary.

 

Tying all of that together – discipline, freedom, identity – will probably be a lifelong pursuit. I have to remind myself constantly: it’s okay to let your guard down, it’s okay to be yourself. My life motto is something my teacher Marciano once said: nothing to prove, only to share. 

What does it feel like to reveal such personal emotion in front of an audience? And in what way can that process feel healing?

Being vulnerable lets people see your humanity, and that’s powerful. But you also need boundaries. You can’t be doing metaphorical open-heart surgery every time you’re on stage. In LA, when I was dancing professionally, I had to play so many different characters just to get in the room. Art and commerce blur. You start questioning what’s truly yours. Music helped me reclaim that. My lyrics are deeply personal because they’re mine alone.

“Dance is my first language – it’s how I learned to communicate when words didn’t come easily.”

Is there something you can express through music that you can’t through dance?

Such a hard question. Dance is my first language – it’s how I learned to communicate when words didn’t come easily. There are definitely things language can’t express. But honestly, I think there’s nothing dance can’t express. Dance is universal. Everyone has a body. 

Speaking of the body – what is your relationship to physicality and to fashion? Since fashion is also a form of communication.

Fashion can be armor, but it can also be honesty. My relationship with my body has evolved so much. For years I believed pushing myself harder made me a better performer. I was harsh on myself, the way many women are. Ballet at 8 a.m., multiple technique classes, rehearsals, shows, then more rehearsals – no warm-up, no rest. Now I listen: What does my body need? Am I tired? Do I need softness? That took me fifteen years to learn.

Especially when you grew up so disciplined, gentleness is the harder lesson.

Exactly. Forgiveness is hard. My next single Anxious to Love You is literally about melting away that need to control everything and learning to let myself be seen.

You’ve once mentioned that a concert you saw as a teenager opened the door to dance and performance art for you. Can you describe what you felt in that moment, and what exactly captivated you so deeply?

Yes! I went from my tiny town to a stadium show. Pink was the opener – this was when she started doing the circus aerial stuff. I was stunned. Then the main act’s dancers came out, these femme-fatale, pinstripe, fedora-wearing, Moulin Rouge-style performers. They were so powerful, so resilient. They touched the earth but then leapt off it like superhumans. I saw that and thought: I want that essence in my own life.

“My purpose is to create moments of escapism where people feel seen and also feel expanded.”

And then you became a background dancer yourself, until the big breakthrough moment with Lemon, right?

Yes. I always wanted to make music, but I didn’t know if I could handle the pressure of being in the spotlight. Lemon changed everything. Performing that solo at huge events like the NBA All-Star Game, center court, with people like Jack Nicholson and Spike Lee watching – that was the moment I thought: Okay. Step into your power. And suddenly I wanted to make music seriously. Dance always felt natural because I didn’t need equipment. Music felt intimidating until I embraced the autonomy of songwriting.

Your first EP was called Mette Narrative. If you had to summarize your life’s narrative in one idea, what would it be?

A lifelong coming of age. Truly. I don’t feel invincible anymore; I feel human. A teacher of mine who passed away reminded me how fleeting time is. The body – our first instrument – doesn’t last forever. That made me present. I want to make as much music as possible while I’m here.

And what do you want to say with your art?

Meta Narrative is named after the idea of universal themes connecting us all. My stories, my surreal musings, my vulnerabilities – they’re not just mine. My purpose is to create moments of escapism where people feel seen and also feel expanded. One of my favorite dance scholars, Alonzo King, says we are all greater than any diminutive description of us. Not just “small-town girl” or “dancer” – we are more than that. That’s what my music explores: the possibility beyond our labels.

Tonight is also about community and energy. What do you feel here?

The energy is incredible. This space celebrates everything I love – movement, music, freedom. Dance is my liberation, music is everything else.

“I feel untethered in the best way – unlearning who I thought I had to be and embracing who I actually am. My version of pop is mine.”

Since we're celebrating the Nike Shox Z tonight: sneakers and movement go hand in hand. Do they also symbolize a kind of freedom in your eyes?

Absolutely. Sneakers give you freedom of movement. For years I performed in heels and wigs and body-con silhouettes – trying to be this polished “pop star.” Last year I realized I felt like an imposter. In 2025 I stripped everything back. I even took six months off posting on social media because I didn’t want to be seen. First, I needed to see myself again. I moved, I rested, I lived – and suddenly creativity came back naturally.

And what you rediscovered during this time flowed into your new music?

Completely. Anxious to Love You comes out early next year with a video. I’m working on a full album and releasing music like a waterfall throughout the year. Some songs are club-energy, others are slower, more analog, more introspective – but all of them are danceable because I live life like a movie musical. My sound is becoming even harder to categorize, and I love that.

 

There’s Boil the Ocean, where I talk about people in power who would rather destroy the world than accept themselves. Anxious to Love You even has gibberish in it because that’s truly what anxiety feels like in my brain. I wanted to honor that. Everything is personal.

 

I also started sharing my creative process online – lyrics, early demos, choreography rehearsals – with my listeners. A peek behind the curtain, not just the polished performance.

It sounds like everything is coming together now – dance, music, identity.

Yes. I feel untethered in the best way – unlearning who I thought I had to be and embracing who I actually am. My version of pop is mine. My life, my art, my movement – it all comes from that freedom.

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