In I Saw the TV Glow, the main character is asked by his friend, “Do you like girls? Boys?” and he answers, “I think I just like TV shows.” And that line has resonated in my heart since I first heard it in the trailer. But for me, that truth extends beyond “TV shows” to any kind of narrative—books, movies, comics, and most recently, theatrical performances. The captivating and arcane world of the off-Broadway immersive theater show Life and Trust was my latest great love affair, and for two and a half incredible months before it suddenly shut down (please help support the performers), it swept me off my feet and consumed my every spare thought. And it was a worthy narrative, oh yes.
At any given moment, Life and Trust was a sumptuous art piece, a great and terrible tragedy, a breathless fount of connection, a necessary escape, all these things at once and so much more. It contained such an infinite array of multitudes in its countless walls and five floors, so many dancing stories, that in fact, my (paltry-compared-to-some) five visits did not even begin to scratch the surface of everything that remains undiscovered to me.
The headline of my never-to-be review for Life and Trust, last saved on April 16th, just four days before Life and Trust‘s abrupt closure in the form of an email which stated the show had actually ended the night before, reads “Life and Trust‘s Immersive Magic Will Change Your Life (Or At Least Finally Get You Out of Your Head).” It was a long headline, I thought, but anything less would fail to do justice to my vision for the piece. The person who so cheerfully saved that draft could not have imagined what the coming days would bring.
But it seems it is my lot in life to write more eulogies than reviews for the gorgeous stories that mean the most to me… To reminisce over instead of rejoice in those pieces that dare to dream, to go beyond the norm and bring meaning to those who live in the bounds of the other, that try, despite everything, to make something beautiful, transcendent, transgressive, that reach up and out, and seek to grow verdant through the cracks in the heartless pavement of our reality.
But what on earth is Life and Trust? You must be asking yourself that question at this point, if you don’t already know. And, I’ll give you a straight answer in a moment to help the rest of this eulogy have some structure, but first, I’ll paint this picture.
It’s Valentine’s Day. You sweep down a set of stairs in a flowing gown, a horned mask covering all of your features. You’ve just left a gala party behind, but its haunting devils, intricate waltzes, and stumptuous orchestral rendition of Chopin’s Waltz Op. 34 still echo through your mind. You take a left turn and suddenly find yourself in a dusty street, everything is peeling, decrepit, and slowly turning to decay. The scent of the air changes around you. The floor turns from marble to gravel. Make a right, and you’re in a tiny tenement apartment, bunk beds in the corner, one small table and two chairs in the middle, a bathtub in the same space, little else.
You look up, and a giant of a man has climbed like Spider-Man up the sides of the tall doorway which leads to the next room, body contorted, face full of rage and despairing confusion. He leaps down, takes a few steps back, and suddenly, finger guns are directly in your face. It might have been ridiculous, under less perfectly executed circumstances, but the lights are low, and your eyes meet, and he sees you, but doesn’t see you, and his whole body trembles with anger and anguish. And instead, it’s terrifying, and you lose your breath. You’re in the dream, and he’s in the dream within a dream, but it’s no longer a dream. You’re here in this story, immersed, and it’s reality that has floated far, far away.
Some incredible feats of acrobatics later, Collussus, as you’ve named him in your heart because you haven’t yet dived into the lore, watches himself in the mirror, and the gun, finger gun, but it looks like a gun now, has transformed so fully in the moment that everyone in the room can see it clearly, comes back and bang, he mimes shooting himself, lurches back, and falls into the bathtub, convulsing. It’s a death scene. He’s dying, and your breath has not yet returned to you either. Your eyes meet again, and that’s all you are because of the mask, just a set of eyes watching in horror as events you can’t stop unfold.
You’re standing right beside him, illuminated by the bright spotlight that suddenly fills the space, the music winding and spilling around, and in slow motion, his hand outstretches to you, beckoning. You take it and it wraps around yours, clutching for connection as life falls away. And here you are, with him. You hold on as he grows steadily weaker in your grasp. Around you, everyone, all the other masks and eyes, are watching, silent as the grave.
The light goes out. His hand falls away. You fall too—deep into the rabbit hole.
And that my friends, is Life and Trust, was Life and Trust. The tiniest microcosm of it. My tiny microcosm of it. And for 254 (rough count, full count forthcoming) performances, the dream spun itself every night for two-and-a-half hours of these kinds of moments, for however many people attended in an evening or matinee, and no unfolding was ever the same, and no audience member ever had an identical experience. Has there ever been a story so deliciously complex? (Yes, there was Sleep No More, but go with me here.)
Okay, okay, okay, but literally, what was Life and Trust? Life and Trust was an immersive theater performance that took place in an old bank building in New York’s Financial District. Planning, ideating, and creative work on Life and Trust began in 2019, and after four and a half years of building sets, practicing choreography, and imagining characters, the show finally opened in August of 2024. Then, as mentioned above, it closed abruptly in April of 2025, a mere nine months later.
Life and Trust combined the myth of Faust and its many iterations throughout the years, Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray, a few other stories, and remixed them all to tell a tale set in The Gilded Age of New York City. (October 29th, 1894, to be exact.) The overall crux of the story is that on the eve of the Great Wall Street Crash of 1929, Mephisto, the Mephistopheles/Satan figure of the story, makes a deal with a banker/inventor of a “miracle drug” (read addictive demonic opiate) called Syrup, JG Conwell.
For the price of his soul and a little blood, Conwell is able to relive his youth for one last night, and we, the audience, get to go along with him. (No blood required, but I sure did sell my soul.) In order to time travel though, the audience must don a mask that covers all of their features, turning them into mere ghosts in the space. (And differentiating them from the members of the cast.)
“The Past” is then populated by an array of 24 characters, who range from the wealthy elite to the middle class to the poorest of the poor, with a good sprinkling of supernatural figures in the mix. Each of these characters has a fully fleshed 2.5-hour-long story, which we call a loop in Life and Trust, that repeats twice throughout the night. The way the loops worked is that characters would move (and in some cases run, in some cases run up and down stairs at top speed) from setting to setting across five huge floors that held varied locations.
Characters would stop at a location to perform a dance sequence and piece of their story, often intersecting for a moment, and then parting from other characters. Audience members could choose to follow one character on their journey, depart with a character they happened to meet, or just run around chaotically, seeing what they might find.
If that isn’t enough to help you imagine the scale of Life and Trust, add to your calculations that the cast was never the same two nights in a row, many of the actors rotating through different characters they knew how to play. And different performers added their own contrasting narratives into their loops, vividly changing the story. I inquired in my community discord if Life and Trust‘s Dorian ever showed any human emotions before returning to the show for what would be my final time. I was assured he was quite heartless, only to follow Dorian that evening and find him sobbing after a scene where I had previously imagined him to be a monster.
For those who are voracious lovers of narrative, as I am, this was an intoxicating and maddening setup, meant to convince you to return over and over again. And convinced I was. I imagine I might have gone 100 more times and still not felt satisfied that I had all of the story, that there wasn’t more still yet to discover. When the characters are so well-created and yet so nuanced, when they’re ever changing, and always revealing new aspects of themselves depending on who is playing them, who they are playing against, and where you happened to look at a particular moment, (were you looking at one person or another? You only have two eyes, you know. What if the missed reaction revealed everything?) how could you not always need to see more?
To see a particular performer in a specific role, why that was never a guarantee. (Ahhh!!!) But also that was an amazing conceit, part of the wonder, part of the dream being out of your hands. Part of immersing you. I cannot imagine what writing this story was like, the many strands of it, the physicality of its motions, the interweaving nature of the arcs. Life and Trust presented like the most complex of video games brought to life.
And that’s not even to BEGIN to touch on the performers’ incredible, incredible talents. The dancing took place on the ground, in the air, hanging off edges, ledges, and corners. It was all of it beyond gorgeous, a lyrical story painted in graceful romantic duets, wrathful bouts of violence, and sneaky, sinister scintillations from the shadows. It was PHYSICAL, an insane display of what the human body can do when it’s well-trained and blessed with true gifts (that have clearly been honed by countless long hours of practice and persistence). And it was BEAUTIFUL, a perfect display of the gamut of human emotion wrapped up in the steps of dance, the faintest brushing of a hand, or the smallest corners of a smile.
One of the most glorious set pieces of the performance took place in a boxing ring that was meant to simulate an unforgiving, underground experience. Fake blood and loud thumps punctuated the scene as pulsing music beat around the performers. Bruises and bone crunches have never been delivered with such grace, although the dance sequences seared with an immense brutality to be sure. Carefully calculated movements meant the scene went fast, then fell to slow motion, so that someone could fly through the air for an age, or be put on the ground in a breath. There was magic, pain, and terrible, terrible beauty. It was as awe-inspiring as any performance I’ve ever seen on any stage. (Press to play a snippet of the scene below.)
And in the middle of all that dancing came another necessary component, acting. There was little dialogue in Life and Trust, and so, to tell the story of the characters, the performers had to emote so strongly that the arc of their tale would be clear regardless of the absence of words. And that led to, in my opinion, one of the rawest and incredible scenes I’ve ever witnessed.
Of course, it doesn’t hurt that the audience is in the thick of the performance, a voyeuristic follower of their character of choice. Most of the time, the characters can’t “see” the audience following them. As mentioned, in the canon of the story, the audience goes back in time as ghosts, apparitions that float invisibly through the scenes, as symbolized by their masks. But every so often in Life and Trust, something changed in the air, and you could become “visible,” and then a moment of pure enchantment happened, a moment of pure connection.
Either in what’s called a public interaction or in a scene called a 1:1, where you’re pulled into a private room for a moment only you get to experience, a character would occasionally reach out for an audience member in a moment of some kind of need. For some characters, like with the devil, Mephisto, this need could be preening, a need to show off control and power. Some of Mephisto’s interactions included having someone remove his jacket for him (or hold it as he sensuously menaced JG Conwell and then they made out, or leading them around by a chain wrapped around their neck… Yep!)
But for others, like holding the hand of Colossus, actually called Valentin, as he died, the interactions came from an intense emotional place, a search for connection which unlocked a well of sincere emotion in any person who was fortunate enough to be chosen. Of course, the more you followed a character, the more you understood them, the more the moments of being seen hit hard.
I know many people cried along the way, and I myself started sobbing at one particularly pertinent moment of heartbreak, which I had managed to engineer myself from the purest of intents. The fallout of that remains seared into my mind’s eye.
There’s also something so intimate about the mechanism of the 1:1. In this space, the characters would pull you into a scene that was only for the two of you. In some cases, the performer would remove your mask for the first time all evening, so you could finally see one another face-to-face. The lion’s share of speaking and dialogue in Life and Trust also came in these moments. And after mostly physical communication, the 1:1 dialogues, which often offered DEEP insights into a character’s inner life, seared right into you. And you, finally being seen, finally being truly in the story, could not help but feel a rush of your own true feelings welling up.
The stories of the characters in Life and Trust touched on deep themes, themes that many members of the audience were too carrying in their hearts. Some characters struggled with their sexuality, with the desire to reveal themselves but the inability to, others struggled with their gender identity, their family’s expectations, their precarious status as immigrants, their shattered dreams, the deep oppression of society, the anguish of struggling with addiction, just to name a few.
It feels like it goes without saying that those who love Life and Trust the most are not what one might call “normals.” But instead, they are those who exist in the marginalized, othered communities of our society. (Myself included.) In the face of that, these private performances, often performed by actors who also exist in these communities, dove right to the core, hit right in the vulnerable spaces of connection in the most beautiful way. There’s something safe about engaging with real emotions in the space of a play, something that promises there will be no judgment or crossing of lines, that it’s okay just to feel. The safety of experiencing the visceral up close, but in a fantasy.
And beyond all of that to be chosen. There’s something to be said about that. Many of us crave to feel that sensation of being special, or being reached out to. And the 1:1 and public interactions beautifully fulfill that vision in such a simple, elegant way. Little makes you feel like the main character of a story more than interlocking fingers with a character and getting whisked away onto your own little part of the story. To capture that twinkling warmth in real life is almost impossible. It doesn’t happen like that in reality, just in the movies… And in Life and Trust.
I’ll also note here that as a queer person, it was incredible and so, so, SO rare to see so many queer stories unfold. There was a breadth and depth of queerness in Life and Trust. There was queerness explored in sexuality. Queerness explored in gender. There were queer men, women, and non-binary folk. There were trans people. Queer joy existed. And also queer repression. There were beautiful queer relationships and toxic ones. It had pure queer love and the cruelest versions of it I’ve ever seen. There was romantic queerness and platonic queerness. There was everything you almost never see, everywhere.
I’m running long, but there’s still so much to say. Though if I didn’t give the sets their due, how could I forgive myself? In my first time “at the bank” (as the cool kids say), I ran past one of the most heartstoppingly beautiful things I had ever seen. It was a weeping willow made of delicate green fairy lights that hovered in the air. The tree looked so convincing, and below it was actual grass and gorgeous dark blooms. A fae clearing in the middle of a bank in Midtown so aesthetically perfect that it made me tear up. (Scroll to the eighth image.)
I missed this one, but at some point there was a lake (termed “Gay Lake” because only queer couples went there to dance), made out of fog and light which I’m told was breathtaking (see the last images above). There was a gala room, a rodeo, a whole carnival, a fully operational theater stage, a boxing ring, a detective’s office, and a room filled head-to-toe with poodles. (Yes, the Poodle Room. It was real.) There was a temple room with an obelisk of stone that evoked ancient Egypt in its Gilded Age way. We saw a life-size bird’s nest. There was a jail, tenements, several bars, and at least two laboratories. There was a beautiful garden with real gravel that crunched beneath your feet. Everything was designed to be examined from every angle, to be touched, opened, and riffled through.
All of the settings had to exist in every dimension because the creators could never tell where an audience member would stand or what they might reach for. Every set smelled just a little different, and a particularly smoky scent still lingers in my mind. It’s painful to imagine that I’ll never smell it again, never run up to the fairy tree just to marvel at the glow of its lights on my skin. It’s painful to imagine there’s only darkness now in that space.
The unceremonious loss of Life and Trust makes a bleak world a little bleaker. Somewhere, where the glorious light of connection shone and hearts beat in tandem, where breaths were lost, tears shed, and laughter spilled, there remains only a skeleton. Empty hallways and abandoned rooms.
It was an unkindness I cannot fully encapsulate in words to wake up to an email on Easter Sunday, which coldly stated that Life and Trust‘s last performance had been yesterday. A deep grief for me, who loved the show, but an absolutely inhumane act of disrespect to the performers, creators, and crew that poured themselves into the show night after night, who received no more warning than I did. What an evil thing to do to those who offered their blood, sweat, and tears, but more than that, their souls and their hearts, their great love, to the show, to make it as brilliant as it was. What a hideous wound to deal.
I hope that those who had a hand in this decision read this and feel shame. I hope they have the day they deserve. To rob the performers of proper notice that they would be losing not only their jobs, but this incredible world that they built for over five years, and to steal from the fans the ability to give the performance a proper goodbye is such unspeakable cruelty. There’s a phantom show that will never exist, where we get to give one last round of applause as the performance draws to a close, and it’s so thunderous, so unbelievably wrought with emotion, that it echoes backward and forward in time. I can hear that round of applause so clearly it aches in every one of my cells. I hope that the performers can hear it too.
And to the performers and everyone else who lost the job they loved and built, who I hope equally are reading this, I want to say that we are with you. We grieve with you. We value you. Your work is important. It touched us, it touches us still. It brought us community, friendship, laughter, and excitement. You saw us and we see you. You made all the difference in the world. I hope that new and, this time, safe ways to make your art find you. Thank you. We applaud you.
When I close my eyes, I still so clearly imagine the staircases of that old bank. As people like to say, you should let the bank guide you when you go to Life and Trust. That the moments you needed would reach out their hand to you and find you. And on five glorious evenings, I did exactly that. And I had what I consider to be transcendent experiences. I experienced emotion and immersion that I may never feel again. The story swept me away in a way I wished to be for so long and never quite was. I was placed in a narrative where I could throw myself against the boundary of the dream, but the dream would never break, only reveal another layer, another character, another room. I was taken out of time, transported. Immersed.
But I’m haunted by all the things I saw and will never see again, by the things I longed to see but never did, by the things I never even knew about but would have loved if I’d seen them. In my five visits and ten loops, I glimpsed many of the characters, but was left with almost no knowledge of most. In my hands remains a story that has so many pages unturned.
Facing other losses, canceled shows, dead characters, there was always the ability to go back. To watch the episodes that did exist again, to revisit the scenes where my favorites still breathed. And that ability also created fandom that never had to end. And to me, fandom has always been infinite, the place where even when a story concludes (goes wrong, or just implodes), it lives again. But here, fandom is finite. No one will ever see this story again, no one new will ever know these characters. Those who experienced it are the sum total of its fans now. And I feel staggered by that reality. What a terrible unfairness.
Already, the time spent in the halls of this magical place is being relegated to memory. And memory is a fleeting and fickle experience, something you try to hold onto but so often slips away. What did it smell like on Floor A that touched me so? What was the gravel like under my feet? And what were the words in the scene tucked away behind a door that only I got to hear? The pain of these experiences fading away will stay with me, and then maybe it won’t, and that’s a grief all its own. But as a wise character once said, what is grief but love persevering?
So what was Life and Trust? What is Life and Trust?
An escape.
A communion.
A spiritual experience.
A place to be seen.
A place to be chosen.
A beautiful dream.
And though the dream is done for now, perhaps these words touched you in some way, perhaps they reached out their hands and pulled you in, and if so, I suppose it lives on, just a little bit longer.
Below, I’ve compiled some words from other fans who wish to share. And below that, I’ve left a list of the cast that created Life and Trust (you can jump to it by clicking here); please follow them on Instagram, and please support their GoFundMe.
From the Fans
“What stands out the most for me for this production is how generous the performers (and all of the creatives/boh/foh staff) were in sharing this art with the audience, and how special it felt as an audience member to be a witness, and occasionally a participant, to their work. That’s what feels very unique to this type of art, not just seeing yourself in the work, but also sometimes literally being seen yourself.” – Heather
“For me, Life and Trust was stepping into another world, walking into a dream. Every show I went to I walked and ran, and was sometimes literally pulled along by the actors and the beauty of it all. Life and Trust was a show, sure. But more than that, I went to Life and Trust to spend 2.5 hours anonymously and unabashedly falling in love. The thing that made the dream so special was always love. The dream ends too soon, but the love remains.” – Mephisto’s Girlfriend
“I feel like I came to Sleep No More late, about 18 months before it closed. Life and Trust was my first time getting in on a show at the basement level (pun not intended) by getting into the rumors and speculation game. Once the show opened, it was like a whole new world opened to me and all of us fans, with tons of new interactions and concepts to investigate. I finally got my first (and last) trip to the bank in July 2024 and spent most of the time with the Dr. Marie character, including her emotional individual interaction in her space, where I ‘became’ her husband.
“The closure of the show was a shock, I had plans to go 4/26 as part of a trip to see Death of Rasputin. I’m happy to see DOR and other shows attempt to do the same sort of promenade immersive show, but sad that we might not get a new masked show in a very long time.” – Joseph Matt
“Life and Trust felt like a beautiful illusion, one you could step into and become untethered from the real world for a time. Watching this other world come alive around you was like nothing else I’ve experienced. It felt like I became unreal when I put on the mask, a silent observer to a different reality. Then, sometimes, a hand would reach out and pull me into that reality for brief few moments. That feeling of suddenly being seen felt amazing and wonderful, even if it was only for a short time. I didn’t get as much time with the show as others, unfortunately, but the time I got will stick with me for the rest of my life. It gave me a whole new perspective on what art and theater can be.” – Exploding Penguin
“There is a rare and unique experience I’ve only had a few times in my life. It’s the feeling of entering an immaculately designed, dreamlike building and realizing: There is an entire world in here, waiting to be discovered. Life and Trust felt like an invitation: to wander, to explore, to unravel its stories. The character depth was the most amazing and detailed I have encountered in an immersive show.
“I loved the mechanical/industrial sounding original soundtrack drifting through the space alongside classical pieces. The show took the 1920s aesthetic and ran with it, with all the variety one could hope for: a carnival, a rodeo, a vaudeville theater, a laboratory, and of course, the Life and Trust bank. To have a work of such ambition torn away is painful to say the least, and I am so sad for all the incredible creatives who poured themselves into it and were let go with no warning.
“My memories of Life and Trust are largely comprised of moments and images—strings of lights flickering around a boxing ring, a dancer suspended and spinning in midair, a sea of mask-wearing audience members entering the enormous rotunda towards the grand finale. I wanted to learn more about the characters and see their stories intertwined. I wanted to linger in each space for longer to soak in the atmosphere. Now I can only guess at the fates of Life and Trust’s characters, and wonder about how the show could have grown and evolved over time. What a pleasure and a privilege to have wandered the halls of Conwell Tower for the short time it opened its doors to us. I eagerly await the next projects its talented cast and crew bring into the world, and I’m grateful I got to witness it.” – SnowyOwl
“At its core, Life and Trust explored the unique cross-section of dreams and desires, asking what is worth sacrificing for the ubiquitous “American Dream.” Though my time in the vault was less than in other immersive haunts, the truly human connection in the space resonates far deeper. To the artists, the cast, and the crew who brought the space to life: you created connection within isolation, brought all of us into your city of joys, and invited us to feel. To my fellow investors: the bottomless kindness and altruism I found within those coffee-scented halls are the true “American Dream” worth pursuing. Ten thousand communities, Mr. Conwell, ten thousand kindnesses. Ten thousand lights in the darkness waiting to extend a hand.” – Ari Stark
“After Phantom of the Opera’s closing, I felt like there was a bit of a void for a show that I could really latch on and get into. This was my first immersive show, and after how my friend had hyped it (and Sleep No More), and when I finally was in a financial position to go, I loved it! My first show, I went in totally blind and I didn’t realise how much I actually missed until my friend mentioned it! My second time, I went in with a plan–follow Dr. Marie, and I successfully followed her first loop! For the second loop, I wandered around, making sure to hit every single room. I’m so glad I did with its unexpected closure.
“My third (and last) time came exactly a week before closing, and I went in with the plan of following Basil. I missed the first part of his loop due to the time I got in, but managed to see 90% of his loop, even getting a 1:1! It was a perfect show to be my last one, even though I wish I could go back and experience it again! My heart goes out to everyone impacted by this closing, and I’m forever grateful I got to experience their beautiful art!” – Kris
“I got an offer to go see Life and Trust, but never got to do it because I knew I was gonna be in the city more than once and thought that it would always be there when I come back. I highly regret not seeing the show because I wanna see how they did it, and I’ve been told and heard it’s more ambitious, more detailed, and immersive than other shows. I’m sad that they’ll never remount it.” – Superpooch
“I was fortunate to attend the final three nights of Sleep No More, which was bittersweet, but we got to say goodbye and share in this together as both characters and hotel guests. With the abrupt closing of Life and Trust, there is now a void that will forever exist. It was ripped from us, and the grief is very much real. This closing feels like we may never experience such a beautiful, haunting, and dreamy escape of this magnitude again. When Dr. Marie put her ‘husbands’ jacket on me and then gave me the drawing of the illusion, I was no longer in the Financial District—I was now in Dr. Marie’s lab, entranced.” – Magnus
“Life and Trust was my first real theatrical obsession—my first time being a true stan—and I didn’t see it coming. At this stage of my life—middle-aged, with college and high school-aged kids and a little bit of financial wiggle room—I finally had the time and means to do something just for me. And wow, did I fall hard. I went to see the show more than 40 times over the 10 months the show ran. This show became my refuge, something I did purely for myself—a place where I could drop everything and follow my heart.
“I didn’t expect to find community here, but somehow I did: people who understand the magic, myth, and meaning of experiential, immersive theater. It surprised me how deeply I connected—not just to the performers, staff, and the space, but to the fans who showed up again and again, just like I did. When my father died earlier this year, no one questioned me when I said I needed to go to the show after sitting shiva. It was right as the show was shifting—condensing its cast and tightening the story—and it felt important to bear witness to that transformation.
“My family understood. They’d seen how much this show meant to me, and when the news of the closing broke on a Sunday morning, they were the first to reach out and comfort me. Now, I’ve lost the thing I turned to when I needed a touchstone—something that reminded me to stay true to my passions. But I’m holding onto the magic, the memory of personal one-on-ones, and the quiet reminder that sometimes, when you least expect it, you find your people—and a version of yourself you didn’t know you were missing.” – Julie Weintraub
Follow the Cast of Life and Trust
- Aaron Dalla Villa (Instagram)
- Alonso Guzman
- Andrea Farley Shimota (Instagram)
- Andrea Murillo (Instagram)
- Andrew Kutryk (Instagram)
- Annie Grove (Instagram)
- Babou Sanneh (Instagram)
- Brandin Steffensen
- Brendan Duggan (Instagram)
- Bria Bacon (Instagram)
- Casey Bronwyn Howes (Instagram)
- Catheryn Clifford (Instagram)
- Charles-Alexis Desgagnés (Instagram)
- Christopher Ralph (Instagram)
- Collin Baja (Instagram)
- Derek Tabada (Instagram)
- Dorchel Haqq (Instagram)
- Doug Burkhardt (Instagram)
- Douglas J Gillespie (Instagram)
- Erik Debono (Instagram)
- Eriko Jimbo (Instagram)
- Evelyn Chen
- Gabriella Sibeko (Instagram)
- Hannah Straney (Instagram)
- Heather Lang (Instagram)
- Jacob Michael Warren (Instagram)
- Jacob Nahor
- Jennifer Florentino (Instagram)
- Jodi McFadden (Instagram)
- Jonathan Colafrancesco (Instagram)
- Karl Kenzler (Instagram)
- Kevin M Pajarillaga (Instagram)
- Kim Fischer (Instagram)
- Leigh-Ann Esty (Instagram)
- Lenin Fernandez (Instagram)
- Luca Renzi (Instagram)
- Madison R. Olandt (Instagram)
- Madeline Wright (Instagram)
- Marc J Cardarelli
- Marla Phelan (Instagram)
- Majella Bess Loughran (Instagram)
- Maleek M Washington (Instagram)
- Mia DiLena (Instagram)
- Miguel Miranda (Instagram)
- Mikaela Sinclair Brandon (Instagram)
- Mike Tyus (Instagram)
- Mio Ishikawa (Instagram)
- Nando Morland (Instagram)
- Nathaniel Buchsbaum (Instagram)
- Ny Opong (Instagram)
- Parker Murphy
- Patrick Ferreri (Instagram)
- Rachel Harris (Instagram)
- Randolph Curtis Rand
- Raymond Ejiofor (Instagram)
- Reshma Gajjar (Instagram)
- Robert Vail (Instagram)
- Ryan VanCompernolle (Instagram)
- Sophie Bortolussi
- Spencer William Grossman (Instagram)
- Steven Bangerter (Instagram)
- Tony Bordonaro (Instagram)
- Tony Torn (Instagram)
- Tori Sparks (Instagram)
- Victoria DeRenzo (Instagram)
- Zachary Eisenstat (Instagram)
- Zach Martens (Instagram)
- Zach McNally (Instagram)