When colonists from east and southeast England arrived in eastern Massachusetts, their speech was distinctive for its lack of an r sound. And the dialect of those who stuck to the coast flourished into something sonically distinct from the rest of the colonized United States. Nogueira, who grew up south of Boston, rarely produces a hard-r sound. Many TikTok creators use voiceovers in their content to, for example, narrate how they arrange their designer sunglasses. But Nogueira’s voice is low and hypnotic, studded with swear words, delivered on pure throat muscle. It has helped make her one of the most popular people on one of the most popular apps in the history of telecommunications.
“I have a very interesting life story,” she says, and then pauses. “It’s very dark.” The hometown was small, and Nogueira’s family was quirky. Her mom, an artist and school social worker, dressed young Nogueira in neon colors and loud prints, arranging her hair in ponytails and embellishing them with clips. “I struggled to fit in a little bit,” she recalls, but ended up surrounded by friends anyway. From a young age, Nogueira could find an audience anywhere.
In middle school, as cliques began to form, Nogueira found herself feeling alienated, and then angry about feeling alienated. “I hated that I felt like I needed to fit in,” she says. She wanted to differentiate herself as much as aesthetically possible. Her clothes turned black and grew spikes. She dyed her hair bright, burning crimson. She was 11. Bullies came and went, but Nogueira could handle them.
She started wearing makeup around this time, because… “Growing up, I looked a little bit more masculine,” she begins. “I have a deeper voice and I was kind of tomboyish and all my friends were guys. When I found makeup, I used it to feel like a woman because at the time that’s all I could think of that would make me feel just beautiful.” She is almost laughing. “People always ask me, ‘Where did you get your start with makeup?’ And it’s like, ‘I started wearing makeup because I hated myself.'”
To her audience, Nogueira speaks like a circus barker peddling beauty products. Her mouth is a taffy puller for vowel sounds. Of a newly launched E.L.F. foundation, she might say that “they just fuckin’ dropped it on us, bro.” In quieter circumstances, like a meeting with her manager or during an interview, her accent dims, she speaks softly but clearly, and occasionally dispassionately. Displays of emotion can be saved for the front-facing camera. So it is with remarkable composure that she starts to describe the most traumatic period of her life, beginning with her rape, at age 12. “That absolutely changed my entire life,” she says. “That’s when I lost myself.”