This column feels deeply personal to me.
The women I am writing about are not names I discovered through headlines or algorithms. They are women I have crossed paths with, worked alongside, or quietly admired over time. I have witnessed their discipline, their growth, and the way they move through spaces that were not always built with them in mind.
When I think of a filmmaker today, I am not thinking of a single role or title. I am thinking of a way of seeing. The women in this piece move fluidly across disciplines, directing films, shaping music videos, crafting fashion narratives, and building visual worlds that exist far beyond one format.
The idea of a filmmaker has never been as fixed as we sometimes imagine. Many of the most celebrated directors have long moved between cinema, music, and fashion, treating each as part of the same visual language.
I remember a conversation I once had with Spike Lee about directing Michael Jackson’s They Don’t Care About Us. When he referred to it as a music video, Michael corrected him. “It’s a short film,” he said. That distinction has stayed with me.
It was never about the format. It was always about the image. Some of the most respected directors have always moved this way. David Fincher directed Madonna’s Vogue and Express Yourself, alongside campaigns for Nike and Chanel. Sofia Coppola continues to shape fashion through her long-standing collaborations with Chanel. Spike Jonze brought the same cinematic language to music videos like Fatboy Slim’s Weapon of Choice.
Across fashion, music, and film, image-making has become one of the most influential forms of cultural expression. For a long time, Arab women have existed within these images. Today, they are shaping them, not only participating in the narrative, but defining it.
There is a shift happening, quietly but unmistakably.
The following women are part of that shift.
Born and raised in Jeddah and now based in Los Angeles, Farah Idris moves instinctively between music, fashion, and film. Her work carries a balance of precision and intuition, navigating global collaborations while remaining grounded in a clear creative perspective.
On a moment from her work that has stayed with her:
“Filmmaking has shaped me in ways that feel inseparable from who I am. It has taken me into rooms and places I wouldn’t have otherwise known, and into proximity with people and perspectives that continue to recalibrate how I see the world.
In 2024, I directed and produced a music video for H.LLS titled Up in Dreams. It came after nearly two years of focusing more heavily on producing. Supporting other directors sharpened my instincts, challenged my perspective, and ultimately clarified what matters most to me in my own work. While producing and directing require different kinds of attention, I’ve come to see them as complementary. Producing has made me more attentive, more resourceful, and more intentional when directing.
Up in Dreams came together with a rare kind of ease and sincerity. It starred my friend Juliana Nalú, who was also the bridge that connected me to H.LLS. We worked with almost no budget, shooting on 16mm over two days alongside cinematographer Brandon Hoeg and a small but deeply committed group of collaborators.
What stayed with me wasn’t just the outcome, but the return. A reminder that the work I want to make is still accessible to me. That I don’t have to choose between roles, but can move fluidly between them. It brought me back to instinct, and to a way of working that feels closer to why I began.”
Sarah Bahbah’s work is instantly recognisable, merging cinematic imagery with confessional text to explore intimacy, desire, and emotional liberation. Her practice gives form to inner worlds often left unspoken, resonating across cultures and borders.
On a moment from her work that has stayed with her:
“There are honestly too many moments to distill into just one. My career has felt like a series of quiet confirmations, moments where I chose to trust my intuition, even when it didn’t make logical sense, and was met with something far greater in return.
If I had to sit with one body of work that has stayed with me most deeply, it would be 3ieb! (Shame On Me!). Creating that series was not just a creative process, it was a deeply personal act of rebellion against the guilt, shame, and restriction that had been ingrained into me from birth. It was me confronting the invisible frameworks both my culture and the West had placed around me, and choosing to step outside of them and define my own sense of freedom.
What I didn’t anticipate was the scale of its impact. In liberating myself, I unknowingly gave others permission to do the same. I received thousands of messages from people around the world who saw themselves reflected in that work. Even now, years later, people still stop me to tell me how much it meant to them, how it shifted something within them.
It made me realize that this kind of work is never just about the self. It taps into something collective. We are all, in some way, trying to break out of the boxes we have inherited or been placed in. I have come to believe that emotional freedom begins the moment you choose to release yourself from within, even though I know that choice is not equally available to everyone.”
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Lyna Zerrouki is an Algerian director and producer, and a graduate of NYU Tisch School of the Arts. Her work spans short films and music videos, including Diva and Exile for Saint Levant, and she is currently developing her first feature film.
On a moment from her work that has stayed with her:
“There’s a moment from Diva, the video I directed for Saint Levant in Algiers, that never really left me.
I’ve always been obsessed with capturing something real on camera, something that escapes performance. For this scene, Marwan was meant to walk out of his hotel and casually sing as he made his way to his car.
I chose not to tell him how many people were waiting outside. We had put out a call for fans, and even with the wrong date circulating, people still came. I remember watching the crowd grow, the light fading, and that pressure on set when you know you might lose the moment before you even get it.
When he stepped out, he froze. He was overwhelmed. He didn’t sing or hit any of the marks. He just started hugging people. It was instinctive, completely real. I was crying too, while shouting that we were losing the light.
There was something about the energy of that moment, the joy, the chaos, and the connection, that you simply cannot manufacture. It reminded me that sometimes the most important thing on set is knowing when to let go and allow the moment to unfold.”
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Hadda Tamene works quietly, but with precision. Her visual language is rooted in memory, identity, and place, unfolding through a cinematic lens shaped by both personal and political perspective.
On a moment from her work that has stayed with her:
“I will always remember my first journey into the Algerian Sahara. The silence was almost tangible, an absolute stillness that felt both vast and grounding. The raw beauty of the landscape and the people moved me deeply, both personally and creatively.
As a Tuareg proverb says, ‘God created the lands with lakes and rivers so that man can live there, and the desert so that he can find his soul.’
In that space, I felt a rare sense of alignment, as if I was finally meeting myself. That moment of introspection gave birth to a photographic series shaped by an inner struggle, a quiet search for peace.
Since then, I’ve been developing a cinematic and photographic language that seeks to translate those emotions into images, guided by the belief that the world begins to change when we do.”
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Jumanah Shaheen approaches storytelling through both technology and emotion, building worlds that exist between the physical and the digital. Her work reflects a belief that even the most constructed images can carry something deeply human.
On a moment from her work that has stayed with her:
“One moment that has stayed with me was during the making of a Billie Eilish music video. We were reviewing a sequence that relied heavily on VFX, and something wasn’t landing. The conversation began technically, but it became clear the issue wasn’t execution. It was emotion.
Once we aligned on that, everything shifted. The visuals came through with clarity, as if we had translated something invisible into form. I remember the room going quiet when we watched it back. We knew we had found it.
VFX is often seen as something that distances us from reality, but I see it as a tool for expression. Even when something isn’t real, we still feel it. That shift from the impossible to the possible is deeply human.
It deepened my sense of purpose. If a camera captures emotion, VFX allows us to create the experience of it.”
What draws me to these women is not only their work, but the way they move through it. The fluidity, the refusal to be defined by a single title, and the instinct to create across disciplines rather than within one.
I have never found it easy to answer the question of what I do. My work has taken me through different roles and different worlds, but at its core, it has always come back to the same thing. A way of seeing and of telling stories.
These women reflect that same instinct. They are not confined by titles or formats, but defined by their ability to create, adapt, and shape visual culture while remaining rooted in who they are.
And in doing so, they are not just changing how stories are told. They are deciding who gets to tell them.
