Zahara Blackwood

The platform at Miami’s Amtrak station buzzed with heat as Zahara adjusted her black sunglasses and tugged her heavy leather duffel behind her. Dressed in a sequined crop top and high-waisted pants, she turned heads with every step. She was leaving Miami’s stages behind—Manhattan’s LUX Lounge awaited. “Excuse me,” she said, cool and composed, stopping a uniformed attendant. “I need help with my bag—heading to the bedroom suite.”