Meet Cinnamon Gray | Bad A$$ Photographer

We had the good fortune of connecting with Cinnamon Gray and we’ve shared our conversation below.

Hi Cinnamon, we’d love to hear about how you approach risk and risk-taking.
Risk? I don’t think about it—I dance with it in stilettos, blindfolded, on a tightrope over a pit of my past failures, and still manage to flip my hair on the way across.

Taking risks didn’t just play a role in my life—it was the lead actor, the director, and the entire damn production crew. While other people were waiting for a sign, I was out here making neon ones and stapling them to the universe.

Playing it safe never got me shit but frustrated, underpaid, and overlooked. Every time I bet on myself—when I had no backup plan, no cheer squad, and no money in the account—that’s when the magic showed up. Not because it was guaranteed, but because I was too damn stubborn to lose.

So yeah—risk? She’s my ride or die. And if you’re waiting for certainty, you’ll be sitting on the sidelines while the rest of us take messy, glorious action and build empires out of “what ifs.”

Now go do the thing that scares you—because comfort zones don’t cut checks or change lives.

Alright, so let’s move onto what keeps you busy professionally?
My art is boudoir photography, but don’t get it twisted—it’s not just lingerie and pretty pictures. It’s liberation through a lens. It’s handing women the mirror they forgot they deserved and saying, “Damn right, that’s you.”

What sets me apart? I don’t do surface-level sexy. I do soul-level power. I don’t just pose bodies—I pull truth from them. I make you see what the world tried to make you unsee: your worth, your fire, your softness, your scars, your goddess-level glow. I’ve been doing this since film was a thing, baby. I’ve survived trends, trolls, and the patriarchy’s tired opinions—and I’m still here, camera in hand, louder than ever.

Am I proud? Hell yes. I built a six-figure business from a sleeping bag in the back of my car. I shot in Airbnbs across the country before pop-up photography was a buzzword. I turned clients into believers, strangers into art, and insecurity into armor. I’ve watched women walk in terrified and walk out transformed.

Was it easy? Don’t insult me. I was broke. I was judged. I was told my work was “too much,” “too bold,” “too risqué.” But so was every woman who ever changed the damn game. I kept going because I knew that playing small would never protect me—it would only shrink me. And I refused to make myself digestible for people who were never gonna swallow my greatness anyway.

Lessons? A few:

If you’re waiting for permission, you’ll wait forever.
Community over competition, every time.
And for the love of all things sacred, charge your worth and then add tax.
What do I want the world to know? My art isn’t for the faint of heart. It’s for the woman who’s ready to take up space, flip the script, and remember who the fuck she is. I’m not here to make you look sexy. I’m here to remind you you already are.

My brand? Bad Kitty Photography. We’re not just the best in the boudoir business—we’re the revolution in fishnets. And we’re just getting started.

Any places to eat or things to do that you can share with our readers? If they have a friend visiting town, what are some spots they could take them to?
DAY 1 – THE TASTE TESTER’S WELCOME
Arrival + Food Coma Initiation

Check-in at a chic boutique Airbnb in the Marigny—close enough to walk but far enough to sleep.
Lunch at Coop’s Place (French Quarter dive with serious gumbo game).
Afternoon wander through Royal Street—window shop, people-watch, and hunt for vintage gems.
Dinner at Peche (seafood that’ll ruin you for anywhere else).
Nightcap at The Carousel Bar—because drinking on a rotating bar is a rite of passage.

DAY 2 – CULTURE, BABY
Art, Voodoo, and Jazz

Beignets & café au lait at Café du Monde (touristy? Yes. Required? Also yes).
Stroll Jackson Square, peek into St. Louis Cathedral, and do a little palm reading with the voodoo queens.
Museum stop at The Backstreet Cultural Museum—raw, real, and absolutely moving.
Dinner at Atchafalaya—elegant but soulful, and the bloody Mary bar? Dangerous.
Late-night jazz at Preservation Hall—no phones, no frills, just soul.

DAY 3 – THE LOCAL DAY
Skip the Quarter, Find the Real Vibe

Brunch at Elizabeth’s in Bywater (Praline bacon. That’s it. That’s the tweet.)
Explore Crescent Park, take some photos with the city skyline, walk off the hangover.
Meander the Garden District: houses that look like they hold secrets and hauntings, in the best way.
Pop into Commander’s Palace for a 25-cent martini lunch (yes, really).
Swing through Tipitina’s for live local music. That place breathes NOLA soul.

DAY 4 – BOURBON WITH BOUNDARIES
Controlled Chaos, Because We’re Grown Now

Day trip to City Park – ride the swan boats, visit the Besthoff Sculpture Garden—it’s magic.
Grab poboys at Parkway Bakery & Tavern—the roast beef will change you.
Evening bourbon crawl—but curated:
Start at Fritzel’s (traditional jazz, not chaos).
Bounce to French 75 Bar for grown-and-sexy vibes.
End at The Dungeon for that little touch of unhinged. Just once.

DAY 5 – SPIRITUAL RESET + FOODIE ROUND 2
Recovery, Realignment, and Re-Upping Calories

Brunch at Willa Jean (Get the biscuits. No debate.)
Stop by Island of Salvation Botanica—grab a candle, talk to a priestess, reset your vibes.
Book a mid-afternoon float tank or sound bath at The Space in the Bywater.
Dinner at Dooky Chase—if you know, you know. Legacy food.
Ghost tour at night. Not for the scares—for the stories.

DAY 6 – A LITTLE BIT BOUJEE
Luxury in NOLA Style

Spa morning at The Ritz-Carlton (yep, even if we broke—treat yo’self).
Shopping on Magazine Street—you’ll find art, books, fashion, and that one thing you didn’t know you needed.
Dinner at La Petite Grocery—it’s romantic, rich, and wildly underrated.
Speakeasy vibes at Bar Marilou—red velvet, great cocktails, elite people watching.

DAY 7 – SUNDAY RESET + LAST HURRAH
A little gospel, a little greasy food, and a big goodbye

Brunch at Lil Dizzy’s—fried chicken and gospel? Yes, ma’am.
Last lap around the Quarter, maybe a tarot reading for the road.
Final drink at Bacchanal Wine—live music in a backyard with cheese boards and laughter in the air. It’s how you close out a New Orleans week—with jazz in your veins and joy in your bones.
New Orleans isn’t just a city—it’s a whole-ass mood. And if I had my bestie in town, I’d make sure they left with sore feet, full hearts, and a slightly scandalous story to tell.

Who else deserves some credit and recognition?
I’m the one who showed up every day, built the damn thing from the ground up, cried in the shower and still made deadlines, yes—but let me be clear: I didn’t do it alone.

My shoutout goes to every woman who saw me before I saw myself. The friends who handed me tissues and tough love. The mentors who told me to charge more and apologize less. The clients who believed in my vision when all I had was passion and grit. And my daughter—who gave me a reason to build something she could be proud of and inherit if she wanted to.

Books? Honey, I devoured them like they were survival guides—because they were. Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert rewired how I look at creativity. The War of Art called me out like a spiritual slap in the face. And any Oprah interview? Soul fuel.

So yes, I did the work. I took the leap. But I’m standing on the shoulders of a whole damn village of badass women, unbothered angels, and the occasional brutally honest stranger who checked me in a comment section when I needed it.

They all get a piece of this crown.

Website: https://www.badkittyphotography.com

Other: TIKTOK

@badkittyphotography

Image Credits
Cinnamon Gray