Blending biting humor with raw honesty, Exzenya stands out as a fearless storyteller unafraid to explore the messy intersections of human behavior, consequence, and emotion. With her latest single “V.I.P.”, she transforms a serious subject—the “Victim’s Impact Panel” experience—into a sharp yet empathetic piece of satire, proving that laughter and truth can coexist.

Drawing on her background in psychology and communications, Exzenya crafts songs that reveal what hides beneath the surface of our choices. In this interview, she opens up about authenticity, irony, and the power of music to confront reality with both grit and grace.

“V.I.P.” turns a serious topic into a bold piece of satire. What inspired you to reimagine the concept of “Victim’s Impact Panel” through music?

Honestly, it came from real life and curiosity. I’ve studied a lot of different areas—psychology, behavior, communication—and part of that curiosity means I’ll sometimes go sit in courtrooms just to observe how people move through the justice system. On one of those days, I was watching cases involving DUIs and talking afterward with a few attorneys about the ripple effects those charges have—losing a license, losing a job, spending a night in jail, feeling like a criminal over one mistake. It’s heavy, and it can send people into a downward spiral.

While we were talking, they mentioned that one of the required consequences was attending a Victims Impact Panel run by MADD—Mothers Against Drunk Driving. And as soon as I heard that phrase, the acronym hit me like a visual: V.I.P. I literally saw it in my head like a movie reel and laughed—because it’s ironic. I said, “So basically, when someone gets a DUI, they become a VIP.” Everyone chuckled, and right then, I had the song. It’s satire, but it’s also empathy. I wanted to show how quickly the line between “ordinary person” and “offender” can blur—and to use humor to make people think about it.

The track blends humor and heavy themes seamlessly. How did you balance the dark reality of DUI consequences with your signature wit and energy?

That balance comes from how I see human behavior. People cope with guilt, fear, and regret in strange ways—sometimes through laughter, sometimes through denial, sometimes through creativity. Humor doesn’t make pain smaller; it makes it bearable. With V.I.P., I wanted to shine a light on the absurdity that sits next to tragedy—the way a single bad decision can flip someone’s life upside down, yet still be wrapped in this bureaucratic irony where a “Victims Impact Panel” turns into a “VIP event.”

My goal wasn’t to mock anyone; it was to humanize that moment of reckoning—to remind listeners that even serious mistakes happen to real people with emotions, jobs, families, and stories. By using energy, irony, and a bit of swagger in the delivery, I kept the track from becoming preachy or somber. It’s that tension between satire and sincerity that gives V.I.P. its heartbeat.

You’ve described “V.I.P.” as “gritty, funny, and brutally honest.” What message or feeling do you hope listeners take away after hearing it?

I want people to understand that making a mistake doesn’t make you a bad person. We’re human—every one of us slips up at some point. What matters is what we do with it. V.I.P. isn’t about glorifying or condoning anything; it’s about perspective. When something like a DUI happens, the consequences can be brutal—financially, emotionally, socially—but behind that label of “offender” is still a person who made a human mistake.

I wanted to create a song that lets people breathe for a second, to be able to laugh at the situation while still feeling its weight. Humor can be healing. It lets people see that they’re not alone, that countless others have found themselves in the same gray area between right and wrong, choice and consequence. And sometimes, even when life hits you with something serious, it’s okay to find the irony, to laugh a little, and to keep moving forward. That’s growth. That’s resilience.

With Clean and Club versions of “V.I.P.” coming soon, how do you plan to expand the song’s story through these alternate mixes?

Each version of V.I.P. tells the same story, but through a different emotional lens. The Clean Version keeps the humor and humanity intact but makes it more accessible for broader audiences—radio, the higher educational system, and public awareness campaigns—without losing the bite of the message. It’s still real, still satirical, but it’s a way for people who might shy away from explicit content to connect with the story and recognize themselves in it.

The Club Version carries a different kind of energy. That one leans into the irony—the bass hits harder, the delivery is looser, and it highlights how nightlife, celebration, and consequence can collide. It’s designed to make people move and think at the same time.

Together, the versions mirror real life: the same story can hit differently depending on your environment and your mindset. Whether you’re reflecting, laughing, or dancing, V.I.P. meets you where you are.

You’ve been described as a storyteller, satirist, and genre-bender. How do you see these roles influencing the way you create music?

For me, those roles aren’t separate — they’re just layers of who I am as a person, as an individual, and as an artist. Storytelling is how I make sense of the world. I see my life, and the lives of others, as stories unfolding all around me. It’s how I visualize things — everything becomes a scene, a movie, a narrative.

Satire is how I cope with it. It’s how a lot of people cope. Humor gives us room to process hard truths without being crushed by them.

And bending genres is how I stay honest to whatever emotion or message wants to come through in that particular piece of music or lyric. I don’t force my sound to fit into a box — I let it take the shape of the story it needs to tell.

At the end of the day, my music lives where empathy, humor, and truth intersect. I want people to feel seen, to think, and maybe even to laugh while doing it. That’s the real balance — truth with rhythm.

Your background in psychology and communications adds a unique layer to your songwriting. How do these disciplines shape your creative process?

They shape everything — not just how I write, but how I feel, how I think, how I see the world around me, how I empathize, and how I understand people and cultures. Psychology and communications help me see beneath the surface — not just what people do, but why they do it. They give me a deeper understanding of why people behave the way they do, say the things they say, or find themselves in the situations they’re in — and sometimes, why they stay there.

I’m fascinated by what drives human decisions — why some people find success while others get stuck, why some stay hopeful, and others fall into despair, or why certain beliefs and values take hold and shape everything they do. It’s about the connection between thought, emotion, and behavior — the foundation of who we are.

Language and music both have the power to heal or harm depending on how they’re used, but I believe music, more often than not, heals. When I write, I’m always looking at what’s underneath — what emotion, thought, or experience a person might be masking or expressing, why it shows up the way it does, and what’s really going on inside that creates what we see on the outside. That’s where the truth lives — and that’s where my songs come from.

You often flip cultural scripts and inject humor into serious themes. What do you think humor allows you to express that traditional songwriting might not?

Humor gives me freedom. It lets me say the things people are thinking but might be too afraid or too ashamed to say out loud. It breaks tension and opens up space for truth. When people laugh, their guard drops — and that’s when the real message can sneak in.

Traditional songwriting can sometimes be limited by emotional expectation — if it’s serious, it has to sound heavy; if it’s funny, it has to be light. But life doesn’t actually work like that. We cry and laugh in the same breath all the time. Humor lets me bridge those contradictions and make people feel while they’re laughing.

Instead of glorifying these cultural scripts, I humanize them. I flip them to the other side — from glorification to consequences — because there are always two or more sides to every cultural script. Humor is more than making light of pain and emotional spirals; it’s about making sense of it and how to cope with it. It’s how people survive. When I write satire, I’m not mocking anyone; I’m revealing the truth that hides inside contradiction, consequences, and emotions.

Your earlier single “Drunk Texting” was inspired by a personal and chaotic real-life event. How important is authenticity in your music, even when it’s uncomfortable?

Authenticity is everything. Even when I use humor or satire, it always comes from a real place — something I’ve lived, witnessed, or deeply understood through others. Life isn’t always happy or sad, it’s a hodge podge of complexities’ with flipped & controversial sides.

With Drunk Texting, the story was wild and hilarious, but it was also human. It showed how chaos, comedy, and truth often exist in the same moment. That’s the same energy that runs through V.I.P. and much of my work — taking something messy, uncomfortable, or even painful, and turning it into the flip side of the spiraling emotion, so we can breathe, laugh at ourselves, and see that we’re human — that others have made the same mistakes too.

As an independent artist running your own imprint, what challenges and freedoms come with full creative control?

Creative control is both the blessing and the battlefield. The freedom is incredible — I can tell the stories I want to tell, the way I want to tell them, without having to filter the truth through a committee. I get to build my sound, my visuals, and my message directly from the source — no dilution, no compromises. That kind of authenticity is priceless.

But it also comes with real challenges. Independence means you wear every hat: the artist, the manager, the strategist, the marketer, the financier. You have to make a thousand decisions that a label would normally handle, and it can be overwhelming. There’s no safety net, but there’s also no ceiling.

The beauty of it is that everything I create is mine — my wins, my mistakes, my growth. I get to take full ownership of the journey. Every lyric, every release, every campaign reflects a piece of who I am — not just as a musician, but as a creator, thinker, and storyteller.

Looking ahead, can you give us a glimpse into what’s next for Exzenya — new releases, collaborations, or creative directions you’re excited about?

There’s a lot coming. V.I.P. is just one piece of a much bigger story. I’ve got multiple tracks and albums in motion that explore completely different sides of human experience — emotions, thoughts, beliefs, and the world as a whole. Some are deep and emotional, others satirical, raw, or socially reflective. I like keeping listeners guessing as well as myself — I never really know what I’ll choose from my catalog to work on next. It depends on what emotion feels the most alive at that particular moment, or what story I’m motivated to tell.

You’ll see more genre-crossing, more cultural fusion, and more storytelling that makes people feel something real — whether that’s laughter, empathy, or release. Every new project is another layer of this journey, told through music, message, and meaning — and I’m just getting started.