Leila Antakly never set out to build a media platform. What began as a hobby—a way to celebrate the creative people in her orbit—quietly grew into something far more enduring. Ninu Nina, the platform she founded, is equal parts editorial journal and love letter to the artists, photographers, designers, and changemakers she finds compelling. The name itself gives everything away: borrowed from the whimsical 1970s comedy Mork & Mindy, it carries the same lighthearted irreverence that runs through every interview, every post, every choice she makes.
Early-career creatives, bold ideas, strong visuals—these are the coordinates of Leila's editorial compass. She describes her ethos in terms of MTV's old war cry: "you hear it first." Before the algorithm decides what's relevant, before the industry validates what's important, Ninu Nina is already paying attention.
Ever since I can remember I've been obsessed with MTV and music videos. I think I've always wanted to be a video director. Working in editorial has allowed me to be in this world somehow.
Inspirations: From Music to Nature to Fashion
Leila's influences resist easy categorization. Music—spanning genres, eras, and moods—sits at the center, orbited by a deep reverence for nature and an eye for fashion that is anything but conventional. She gravitates toward brands that treat clothing as art, toward independent designers who prioritize craft over commercial cachet.
Her high-end touchstones—Jil Sander, Helmut Lang, Miu Miu—are worn with the same ease as a good pair of jeans and a plain t-shirt, which she'll readily tell you is her happiest uniform. The through-line isn't a brand; it's a point of view. "Part of style is being able to explore, mix and match, and let your personality shine through. You can't just go into a store and dress in a brand from A to Z."
New York City shaped her fashion consciousness in ways she traces directly to specific people. Stylist Camilla Nickerson and the legendary Patricia Field are major reference points—the latter a figure Leila intersected with more than once, collaborating on editorial production with Field associate Miri Krispin. That creative network extended further: interviews with Floria Sigismondi, Todd Oldham, and Pierre et Gilles put her exactly where she always wanted to be.
Her mother's wardrobe from the seventies and eighties represents what might be her great sartorial regret. "I love my mother's style and wish she had kept her outfits from the '70s and '80s. I wish I could find them somewhere—but with all the moves..." The sentence trails off the way certain losses do. A scent, at least, anchors her differently: Issey Miyake for Men, worn for years, with no sign of abandonment on the horizon.
The same philosophy she applies to fashion she applies to collecting art. "I'd rather buy or collect photography than fashion. And just like with fashion—forget what the industry tells you is valuable. Buy things you love that speak to you."
Designers & Creatives She Champions
- Magnetic Midnight
- Sarah's Bag
- Paula Mendoza Jewelry
- Jade Tribe
- Jil Sander
- Helmut Lang
- Miu Miu
- Cacharel
- Moschino
The Director Who Never Was—and Always Has Been
Had things gone differently, Leila Antakly might have been calling shots on a music video set. Her creative north stars—Mark Romanek, Anton Corbijn, Floria Sigismondi—are the directors who turned the music video into a visual art form during the eighties and nineties. Their work still shapes how she thinks about imagery, storytelling, and the relationship between sound and vision.
Her path curved through film production instead, landing her on projects she describes with characteristic self-deprecation as being "among the worst-rated on Rotten Tomatoes." And yet she speaks of that time not with embarrassment but with a quiet pride—the kind that comes from doing the work, from being inside the machine, from learning what she loved through proximity to all of it.
I love the arts and photography. I just don't think I'm very good at it. But working in editorial has allowed me to be in this world somehow—and that means everything.
The Future of Ninu Nina
Ask Leila about monetization and she deflects cleanly. That was never the point. Ninu Nina has remained ad-free by design—a choice that keeps every editorial decision rooted in genuine interest rather than commercial obligation. There are no sponsored features, no brand arrangements colouring the coverage. What you read is what she actually finds worth talking about.
The moments that matter to her are simpler than any growth metric. Someone writes in from another country asking to contribute a piece. A featured artist shares an interview with their community. A conversation starts. "I am happy when people write to me and ask if they can feature an interview or contribute content—that's the point. For me there's nothing more important than connecting with people all over the world and learning about what inspires them."
Ninu Nina will continue to grow the way it always has: organically, on its own terms, led by curiosity rather than strategy. A space where creativity and connection are the only currencies that count. Where the rule is simple—if it's worth your attention, it's worth a feature.
