The Influence of Protests, Skin-Walkers, and Trans Rights on Cavetown’s ‘Cryptid’ Music Video

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In the 2020s, discussions surrounding transgender identities have surged compared to earlier decades. However, this change does not uniformly favor the LGBTQ community. Politicians and commentators across the spectrum frequently engage with trans issues, often using them as a political tool, while authentic voices from the community struggle to be heard. As Cavetown, a trans artist, points out, it can feel as elusive as finding cryptid representation in mainstream media—talk of cryptids is common, but their voices are rarely represented.

Cavetown’s new music video for “Cryptid,” from the album Running With Scissors, uses clever allegory to portray a marginalized community of cryptids that rises to claim their existence. The video, released by Futures Music Group, a collaboration between Neon Gold and Avenue A Records, showcases the journey of these vibrant creatures as they confront prejudice without resorting to violence.

Directed by Eden Mili, an Australian-born filmmaker based in New York City, the “Cryptid” video transitions from sewers to streets, illustrating the empowerment of deer-like cryptid figures. Cavetown (Robin Skinner) and Mili recently discussed the video’s creation, its nods to queer history, and influences on Running With Scissors.

Did you know each other prior to making this video? How did the collaboration come about?

Eden Mili: No, the first time we met in person was the day of the shoot, which was kind of crazy. But we had obviously spoken about it before.

Cavetown: I had a basic idea for the world and storyline that I wanted to create, and I needed to find someone to help fill in the gaps. As soon as I read Eden’s treatment, I was just comparing all the others to hers. I thought the graphic design was beautiful, all the colors, the font choices, the attention to detail. Eden’s felt like it was already in the world that I was imagining aesthetically.

The main thing that drew me to it was that it was very nonviolent. Many treatments had misconstrued the message as “the uprising is the deer killing the hunters.” While there’s certainly justification for that perspective, that’s not the message we aim to convey.

Part of the goal of the video was, if a hunter in the real world—a Republican or someone similar—were to watch it, I want them to see that the cryptids aren’t the enemy. There are many misconceptions about the queer community and protests being violent. I’m trying to create a world where these cryptids are marginalized yet proud, united in their identity. Their uprising is about demanding recognition, not violence against aggressors.

Mili: The video includes specific references to queer history and real-world uprisings. For instance, the name tag worn by the diner host, who is on the hunter’s side, refers to Phyllis Schlafly, a prominent anti-trans figure. The purple sashes sported halfway through the video echo those worn during the Stonewall Riots. These details reflect my experiences at protests, many of which are filled with more peace than violence.

How did you find your star, Léoh Hailu-Ghermay, for the video?

Mili: I had another actor initially, also trans, but they became unavailable. I asked if they knew anyone, and their roommate was Léoh, which turned out perfectly. Originally, the cryptids were going to wear masks, but while reviewing Léoh’s Instagram, I realized the makeup they wore matched what we envisioned, drawing inspiration from their real-life style.

Robin, what inspired the deer-like horns for the cryptids?

Cavetown: That idea came from the lyrics referencing trail cam footage. I wanted to create a metaphorical representation of marginalized queer communities. Deer-like cryptids, inspired by skin-walkers from Navajo culture, emerged as a powerful image. Just as trail cam footage often distorts trans identities, I wanted the aesthetic to resonate with that experience.

A beauty and grace.

Cavetown: They are indeed beautiful, but also possess a sharpness. I hadn’t fully realized the deeper meanings behind choosing a deer-hybrid creature until now.

While “Cryptid” isn’t an angry song, it carries more intensity than some of your other works. Perhaps a sense of frustration?

Cavetown: Absolutely. It conveys a frustration I’ve felt for a long time, which I’m increasingly empowered to express through my community. In the past, I felt pressured to ensure that any statement I made was constructive or revolutionary. You can feel powerless in that space.

But I’ve realized that I control a form of power that no one can take away from me: the demand to exist. We will always manage our community; it cannot be destroyed despite the oppressive laws enacted. Although my anger informs this, it is also a source of empowerment—the assertion of my right to exist.

What was the shooting experience like? Cathartic?

Cavetown: I was nervous because I’m relatively new to the city. Moving here meant fostering new friendships, especially within the queer community. Despite creating music for that community, I had isolated myself, which was counterproductive. I felt apprehensive about stepping into an environment filled with other queer individuals, wanting to honor the message. However, I bonded with wonderful people, including Léoh and Eden, as well as numerous local queer extras who enhanced the experience.

Mili: For many, this was their first time hearing the song, and their immediate reactions were powerful. One of the actors, who played Phyllis, mentioned her son had come out during school, but sadly faced bullying that led to his tragic passing. She was eager to contribute to a project that could shine a light on such experiences.

It’s heartbreaking but also illustrates the strength within the queer community to transform pain into creativity and solidarity. Robin, could you share about another song from Running With Scissors, “NPC”? What inspired that title?

Cavetown: “NPC” takes inspiration from an imaginary friend I had as a child, Mr. Nobody, who represented absence. He was always absent, holding a briefcase and seemingly on a never-ending work trip. This concept resurfaced as I navigated my challenges with touring. Feeling overwhelmed by transitions, I realized that I have become my childhood imaginary friend, representing the aspects of my life that resonate with being constantly on the move.

That realization was comforting, as it symbolized my journey. Mr. Nobody reflects a part of me I have always recognized—a traveler. It serves as a reminder to find grounding within myself, recognizing that my body is the constant I carry wherever I go.