One month after 19-year-old mall clerk-turned-rapper Kitty Pryde released a goofy video for her song “Okay Cupid” and experienced a remarkably quick (if divisive) rise to stardom, she wrote on her Tumblr: “NO REALLY GUYS I AM DEFINITELY IN LONDON I AM SITTING IN A BIG WHITE BED CRYING BY MYSELF BECAUSE I HAVEN’T SLEPT IN 2 NIGHTS AND I DON’T LIKE BEING ALONE IN FOREIGN COUNTRIES.” Most nights, Kitty sleeps in Daytona Beach, Florida, where she lives with her dad in a condo with an ocean view. Just days before traveling to New York to play a show (with her dad in tow as chaperone), she talked to us about why she’s not quite ready to leave home for good and shared her tips for peacefully coexisting with parents while living your own wacky life.
I live with my dad most of the time in a condo really close to the beach. I have my room and my own bathroom, my own closed-off little section. My room is like a huge pile of clothes. I have a poster on my wall of the criteria for dating me: I listen to Ke$ha and you can fucking deal with it. Stuff like that. Everything I’ve ever recorded, I’ve done in my closet. I use the built-in Mac microphone, and I gotta have enclosed space or else it comes out super echoey. The closet has the best acoustics.
My dad’s more like my roommate than my dad. He knows that I don’t get in trouble, so he doesn’t put a lot of restrictions on me. I skipped a grade, so I was always a year younger than everybody else. When I was 13, I was rebellious and crazy. Then once I turned 17, I was like, now it’s time to be a grown up. I’ve been in college since I was 16, and I’m almost done with my bachelor’s. Nowadays I don’t really do any bad stuff. I especially hate weed. It’s boring.
It’s general knowledge that my dad can’t tell me what to do. I always get my way because I’m a little princess. Still, we fight about the dumbest things. He’s all about this pristine white carpet. My boyfriend was drinking beers that were my dad’s, and we didn’t have anywhere to put the bottles, so I set them down in my room and I was like, hopefully my dad won’t come in here. He came in and saw, and he just threw them away. Then he saw a stain on the carpet, this teensy red stain—makeup or something. He flipped his shit. Really? The stain instead of the beer? I don’t understand. He also cares if boys sleep over.
My mom is more set in her ways than I am, so if she wants me to do something, I just do it. She used to be really strict. Every time I would fuck up she’d say, You know what? This is why. This is why I told you not to do it. I learned a lot from that, and I also learned about sneaking around and getting my way. I’m really good at sneaking out now.
My dad doesn’t make me pay rent, but he won’t buy me gas. I have to buy my own stuff and clothes. He pays my car insurance, but he’s threatening to stop because I totaled my car. I got a job at Claire’s because I spent so much money there anyway. I love hanging out with little kids, and I’m good at putting together outfits. That’s my calling.
When I started making music, my family had no idea. My dad didn’t really care until I was like, Dad, I’m in the fucking New York Times. Now my parents are grateful because they have bragging rights. I keep them involved because I want my whole family to get to do all the cool stuff that I’m getting to do.
I could move if I wanted to, but like, why do that? I always want some-one to talk to. When I move out, I’m probably gonna have to order checks. I’m gonna have to, like, establish credit or some shit. I know how to cook, so I’ve got that down. I always wanted to leave Florida, but now that I’ve been traveling I’m like, I like Florida. It’s nice and warm, and it’s full of sunburned people. I love corny shit.