With over two hundred music videos directed in a single year and a growing creative empire, The.97 has become a defining force in Canadian visual culture. His work with artists like Coi Leray, Fridayy, Chris Brown and Yung Bleu has earned international recognition, and his influence continues to expand far beyond Toronto. We sat down with him to talk about his journey, his creative discipline and what it takes to build a legacy in today’s visual landscape.
Rolling Stone: You recently did a panel with Gary Vee’s VaynerMedia at their New York office. That is a major crossover moment between creativity and business. How did that come together, and what was that experience like for you?
The.97: Gary DM’d me personally one day, completely out of the blue. It caught me off guard because I had followed his content for years, and seeing him recognize my work meant a lot. He invited me to his New York office, and that visit turned into something much bigger. I met Mike Boyd and the whole Vayner team, and it instantly felt like I was in a room full of people who understood brand storytelling and creative scale. After that, they brought me to Cannes for their events, and that experience shifted my mindset. You see how the biggest agencies in the world think and how they connect art and commerce seamlessly. It was validating and inspiring. It reminded me that Toronto creativity belongs on that same world stage.
You have also been working closely with Yung Bleu, directing visuals for his entire new album. How did that collaboration start?
We met at a club in downtown Toronto, completely by chance. I was not expecting to talk business, but he recognized me right away and said, “You’re The.97. I’ve seen your work.” From there, we connected. Bleu’s energy is special because he cares about how his visuals connect to the emotion of his music. We built a mutual trust, and before long I was conceptualizing the entire visual rollout for his album. When I take on a project like that, I am not just directing. I am building a world around the artist’s sound. That is what I live for.
You have directed over two hundred music videos in a year. That is a huge output. How do you balance that workload and stay consistent?
Passion. I’m obsessed with visuals. From the edit to the final color grade, every step is something I genuinely enjoy. I do not see it as work. My workflow is built on efficiency, and my team knows exactly how I like to move. I am constantly editing, scouting and developing concepts. I treat creativity like a muscle. The more you use it, the stronger it gets. Consistency does not come from motivation. It comes from discipline. When you truly love what you do, burnout feels different. You evolve through it.
Your Rolling Stone Québec editorial features Sarah Caamaño alongside you. Tell us about that choice and your history together.
Sarah and I go back more than ten years. We met on the set of Roy Woods’ “Get You Good.” I was working as a photographer and she was modeling. Neither of us knew where our careers would go. Fast forward to 2020. I had just launched my production company, The.97 Collective, and the first model I ever booked was Sarah. That meant a lot. Now, to be on set again for this editorial felt full circle. Our paths have intertwined in a way that reflects everything I value: loyalty, growth and building through real connection.
You are known for creating opportunities for other creatives in Toronto. What is the scale of what The.97 Collective has built?
We have worked with and employed hundreds of creatives across the city, including DPs, editors, stylists, designers and producers. The goal has always been bigger than making videos. It is about creating a system where talented people can thrive. I have always been open to collaboration. If you bring the right energy and the drive to create, I will work with you. Toronto has so much hidden talent that needs opportunity and infrastructure. The Collective became that bridge. Seeing people build careers and support their families through our work is what legacy looks like to me. It keeps me grounded.
What does a typical day look like for you?
I am a night owl. My most creative hours start after midnight. I eat once a day because that is how my body and mind stay locked in. My days are structured but flexible. I usually wake up late morning, review edits and handle meetings in the afternoon. Once the sun goes down, I get into my zone, whether it is editing, writing treatments or planning shoots. Routine keeps me consistent. Everything in my life right now revolves around focus. I cut out distractions because peace of mind is my real currency.
For the next generation of creatives coming up, what is your biggest piece of advice?
Create your own opportunities. Do not wait for anyone to validate you. Reach out to people, shoot your shot and build your network through energy and intention. When I started, no one gave me anything. I had to make it happen. Manifestation is not just a word. It is a practice. You have to see your future before anyone else does and work every day like you already have it. Believe in yourself even when the results are not visible yet. That is how you move from dreaming about success to living it.
You have built an empire out of creativity. What comes next?
Expansion. I want to take The.97 Collective global. We are building relationships in New York, Los Angeles and overseas. I see us creating films, branded content and possibly a studio space where Canadian creatives can develop projects that compete internationally. The mission has always been the same. Build something bigger than myself. I am not chasing fame. I am chasing legacy.
How did The.97 Collective start, and when did you realize it had grown into something much bigger?
The Collective started from pure obsession. There was no business plan and no announcement. I built it project by project. I was directing, editing and making connections, and before I knew it the name carried weight. I was so focused on growing the company that I stopped paying attention to how far we had come. One day I looked up and saw how big it had become and how many people were depending on us.
It was not overnight. It was years of staying up until sunrise and making sure every project outdid the last one. People talk a lot about balance, but when you are building something real, obsession becomes part of the process. I never saw the hours as a sacrifice. They were an investment. There should be no regret in giving everything you have to your craft. Every sleepless night, every long edit and every setback became part of the foundation of what The.97 Collective is today.
We did not chase validation. We built consistency. That is what separates passion from hobby. You treat it like your life depends on it, and in my case it did.
Mihailo Andic
Mihailo Andic
Christine Wonsley with her husband, Elmore (second from left), attorney Ben Crump (left), and Rev. Al Sharpton (right), during a memorial service for her son Nolan Xavier Wells.Gerald Herbert/AP
Abu Asada, the current-day star of calisthenics, has built a cultlike following with his high-energy videos. Jason Motlagh
Weighted pushups on a bar are a staple of battles. “The bars don’t lie” goes one old-school mantra. Jason Motlagh
“In the world of calisthenics, the world is your gym,” one Houston-based battler says, “so you can get it in anywhere.” Jason Motlagh
Abu Asada (center, standing) with competitors in Houston. “He really opened eyes to life-or-death [training],” says one athlete. Jason Motlagh
Marshall Sampson celebrates his win surrounded by a raucous crowd in Brooklyn, New York. Sacha Lecca
An exhausted Sampson post-battle. “Pressure exposes everyone,” Abu Asada says. Sacha Lecca
The crowd cheers on the Calisthenic Prince, who calls himself a “bar magician,” during a battle in Brooklyn. Sacha Lecca
The Prince and a competitor called Xtra Money go head-to-head on dips. Sacha Lecca
The warriors take to the bar for muscle-ups. “This is the most physical thing you’re gonna see people do without being violent,” Abu Asada says.Sacha Lecca
Xtra Money cranking out 75 goblet squats with a 65-pound dumbbell. Sacha Lecca
The Prince accepts defeat in what Abu Asada calls “the most hostile even I’ve ever been a part of.” Sacha Lecca
Donald Trump and FIFA President Gianni Infantino stand as Spain celebrates its World Cup victory, on July 19, 2026.
America Got the World Cup It Deserves — Good and Bad
For the past six weeks or so I’ve been having a recurring fight with my friends. The dispute is over whether or not it’s ethical to support the U.S. national team in the World Cup.
To the vast majority of people reading this article, this is an absurd question: of course you can and should support the United States Men’s National Team, you weirdo. And look, I’m with you. But despite the fact that my friends are pompous dorks who are no fun to watch the game with, the question they raise is valid: Are our national teams avatars of the administration in power, or of the people and promise of that country?
If you believe the former, then yeah, it’s pretty fucking weird to support the USMNT. In doing so, by that thinking, you’d be engaging in a sort of athletic nationalism on behalf of a country run by Donald Trump, the most corrupt president in history, who forced the Iranian national team to flee across the border immediately after the final whistle of each of their games, whose federal police have shot numerous civilians dead in the street during a brutal immigration crackdown, who has started a war and supported a genocide while covering up his close personal friendship with the most notorious pedophile in modern history.
I mean just look at him. On Sunday he waddled down onto the field to present Spain with their trophy, lingering on stage with the victorious team as they tried to celebrate. The presence of Mexican President Claudia Steinbaum and Canadian Prime Minister Mark Carney did little to dilute the image of Trump standing next to his crony Gianni Infantino, grinning at all the trappings of their power, hands caressing a trophy they’d done nothing to earn, lingering well past his cue to leave Spain to their glory. This World Cup, literally, had Donald Trump’s fingerprints all over it.
And yet, this was one of the most thrilling, beautiful World Cups in recent memory. That’s America, baby — contradictions abound.
Over the past five weeks of the greatest athletic competition on Earth, we’ve seen games that will literally never leave my memory. The final, which I attended yesterday in New Jersey, was remarkably forgettable — a 0-0 draw until the 106th minute, with Spain dominating every second of play and yet unable to score, undone time and time again by their insistence on tricksy passing and the personal heroics of Argentina’s goalkeeper Emi Martinez. The rest of the tournament, however, delivered. Cabo Verde, refusing to lose until the very last moments of the first knockout round, battling back again and again against both teams that would eventually play in the final. The sheer dominance of France’s Kylian Mbappe in front of goal, scoring at will, rivaled only by the aging GOAT Leo Messi and the Norwegian warlord Erling Haaland. England’s heroic stand at the Estadio Azteca in Mexico City, 45 minutes in the rain, a man down, holding out for the win and singing “Wonderwall” with what felt like half the stadium when it ended. Off the pitch, too: the Algerian national team being welcomed with open arms by Lawrence, Kansas; Scottish braves drinking Boston dry and partying wildly with Haitian fans that overcame so much just to be at the tournament. In Mexico, of course, the World Cup was everything, and its fans threw joyous South Koreans pumped full of tequila into the air, and celebrated in the streets with opposing fans even after their hard-fought defeat to England.
For the United States, what the 2026 World Cup was — what our team was, what our fans were, what our performance as hosts was — is a reflection of two things at once: what our nation is and what it can be.
Our star striker, Folarin Balogun, was born here by accident, a citizen only because of a birthright system that our president is currently trying to erase. We have Ricardo and Giovanni and Freeman and Zendejas. We have another striker whose name is Haji, for goodness sake. I look at that team and I see the country America can be, one in which any soul born in or living within our arbitrary borders can become part of a great national project that seeks to improve the lives of everyone it can. And yet, I can also look at that team and see a reflection of what the country is, because there is an anchor around its neck. When Balogun was — albeit unjustly — suspended for a crucial match, Trump himself stepped in. Cronyism saved the day and got Balogun reinstated, but ruined the fragile harmony the team had enjoyed. On the pitch against Belgium, they came apart. Temperamental star Christian Pulisic tried to go alone and then quit, aging defender Tim Ream’s legs failed him when he needed them most, a young goalkeeper slipped and fell when he had no good options for support.
What more can you say about a team, about our country? The team is an entity that is capable of more but still has so far to go, that is vulnerable to the same forces of avarice and selfishness and fear that plague our national identity writ large.
It’s possible to end the story there, to say good riddance to another failed year and fractured team. But I think that’s a mistake. I think if you believe that you haven’t really been watching. I think that’s also why it pissed me off so much that some of my friends wouldn’t root for the U.S. Yes, we have flaws, like every country involved in the tournament. Yes, our current team management and political government are filled with morons. But if you won’t put on the shirt you’re essentially opting out of our future. We can’t wait around for a better world, a better team, a better president, before we deign to lend our support. Progress only comes from effort, from caring, from believing in something more.
One of my favorite images of the World Cup was a crowd shot of the opening match against Paraguay in Los Angeles: every race, color and creed of American there is, all covered in red white and blue. It’s corny and trite, sure. But that’s what it’s all about. That’s why we’re here. You have to believe. The U.S. won that game 4-2. In four years, we’ll be even better.