We recently connected with Virian Gonzalez Valdez and have shared our conversation below.
Virian, thanks for joining us, excited to have you contributing your stories and insights. What did your parents do right and how has that impacted you in your life and career?
My parents did many things right, but what stands out most is their unwavering determination and strong work ethic. As immigrants crossing the border through the desert with hardly any money and no English skills, they faced tremendous hardships. Yet, they persevered and ensured there was always food on the table.
Their resilience and commitment to hard work have profoundly impacted me and my career. Their example taught me to approach life and my music with the same dedication: never cut corners, give it everything you’ve got, and push through challenges. This mindset has shaped my journey as an artist, driving me to turn my personal struggles into powerful performances and to remain committed to my mission of helping others feel seen and heard through my music.
Awesome – so before we get into the rest of our questions, can you briefly introduce yourself to our readers.
I’m Virian, a fearless genre-defying artist with roots in LA and Mexico.
I began performing with a blues band in Southern California at an early age, but my musical journey was interrupted by a near-fatal experience, forcing me to withdraw from my community and seek refuge in my art.
In 2014, a chance encounter led to the creation of “1941 (feat. Virian)” by Klaypex, a track that soared on Spotify’s Official Electro Swing playlist and placement in Les Mills, Golds Gym and Sony Music Canada. The success of 1941 reminded me that sharing my music could be a tool for healing.
My lyrics come from my real-life experiences—plus, I’m sober AF which I’m very proud of. I’m excited to share my art with the world. May my story resonate and inspire anyone reading this, whether it’s their story or not.
We’d love to hear a story of resilience from your journey.
As a survivor of childhood sexual abuse (CSA), domestic violence, and sexual assault, I’ve had to mask my emotions on stage and in the workplace for most of my life. This coping mechanism is a form of resilience.
One weekend in Las Vegas, while out shopping with friends from the music industry, I felt good about myself—a rare feeling for many survivors who, like me, often live with deep shame, particularly on a physical level. For years, I had hidden not just for safety, but also because I felt unworthy and didn’t want to be seen. But that day was different—I was ready to shop again!
I walked into a well-known denim store, famous for its jeans, particularly the stitched patterns on the back pockets, which are worn by celebrities worldwide. It had been 10 years since I last wore denim shorts, but that day, I decided I was ready to try them on again. The salesperson greeted me warmly, directed me to the sale section, and offered me a fitting room.
Once inside the fitting room, I began undressing, leaving only my thong on. Suddenly, something made me turn around, and to my horror, I saw that the same salesperson who had welcomed me so kindly was filming me as I got undressed! I quickly began recording with my phone, dressed, and confronted him in front of the whole store. Other shoppers probably thought I was crazy, as they had no idea what had just happened in the back. I immediately called my friends, who rushed to help me because I was in shock—shaking, barely able to speak, and hyperventilating. I had gone from fight to freeze mode.
Thankfully, my friends stepped in, contacted the store’s corporate office, and supported me as I dealt with the aftermath. That night, I had a nightmare that the same salesperson killed me. The next morning, I rushed to the police department to file a report. Although a detective from the Las Vegas Police Department initially reached out to confirm the details, I never heard back from her, even after I followed up via email. The last I heard, the denim brand had fired the salesperson.
Here’s where my resilience as an artist shines through. The denim company’s HR department reached out to apologize and offered me something I wasn’t seeking—a shopping spree with champagne, guided by two employees (who had no idea what happened). As someone who’s sober and who now feels very uncomfortable in changing rooms, I pushed through. Before the shopping spree, I had a meeting with the CEO, who apologized and promised to take action. The head of HR came up with a plan that sounded significant but turned out to be disappointing. Initially, they intended to connect with a nonprofit I worked with—an organization that helps domestic violence survivors like me, and that helped my mother in the 90s—to collaborate on Denim Day.
However, the plan changed, and instead, the denim brand wanted to host an event at their headquarters. I was invited to share my story and perform my songs in front of the entire company, with the nonprofit also presenting their work. But to my surprise and heartbreak, what I had been promised did not materialize.
The night before the event, I broke out in hives from the emotional weight and PTSD, so I asked my producer to accompany me for support. When I arrived at the event, I found out that I was to perform and share my story in front of the HR department, not the entire company! I was surrounded by HR employees and a few other staff members, greeted with fancy cookies bearing the company’s logo. Then, the head of HR told me not to mention the video in my story! I wanted to walk out because I felt humiliated. On one hand, I believed I was doing something meaningful for the nonprofit that has supported me as an artist; on the other, I felt this was HR’s way of covering up their problem.
My resilience? I never posted the video, even though I’ve gone viral on social media before. On the day of the event, I maintained my composure, shared most of my story as a CSA, domestic violence, and sexual assault survivor, and performed my songs in front of people who had no idea what I was going through—except for my producer and HR.
Is there mission driving your creative journey?
My mission in my creative journey is to help people feel seen and heard through my performances. It’s unacceptable that these issues persist in our communities, workplaces, and homes—they must come to an end.
My goal is to continue connecting with organizations that are genuinely helping people and to form alliances with brands that truly believe in this mission. That’s why collaboration and community are so important to me, especially in the music industry, which influences the world at large. Everyone has a story, and I hope to inspire others with mine—in every song, performance, and conversation.
During the pandemic, I wrote a song called “Me Too,” where I shared my #metoo story. I was deeply moved to receive messages from fans who had similar experiences, and to learn that the song was being played on the radio in France! This response gave me the fuel to keep going—to tell my story through music and to shine a light on truths that need to be heard.
Everyone deserves love, respect, and safety—the motto of the nonprofit I work with.
Listen to my first album as a solo artist, SAINT, available on all streaming platforms. This album represents a 10-year journey, from being in a band where I faced life-threatening challenges to finding my voice as a songwriter and emerging as a solo artist. Come watch me turn my poison into medicine at a show near you!
“La danza me libera y el canto me da vida.”
—Virian
Contact Info:
- Website: https://www.v1rian.com
- Instagram: @v1rian
- Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/V1rian?mibextid=LQQJ4d
- Twitter: @v1rian
- Youtube: https://youtube.com/@v1rian?si=kHAzkW_1NsJRzzey
- Soundcloud: https://on.soundcloud.com/su8ro7nPzo3TjwCX7
- Other: Spotify:
Apple Music:
https://music.apple.com/us/artist/virian/904408812
Image Credits
Camilo A. Ramirez (Personal Photo)
Tigran Houhannisyan @Izaio (on the cover for Goji Magazine issue 93 vol. 4 showcasing in Berlin 2025)
The last two photos: Recording my album ‘SAINT’ at the Power Station NYC and performing at State Social House in West Hollywood. (shot by me and unknown)