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KAREN ASCHE is a fashionista and a fighter — she insists on new clothes for photo-shoots and didn’t hesitate to physically oppose haters in her teenage years.
Inside the blue walls of the No. 2 Mount Lambert apartment, she fingers a bead of a silver-coloured necklace as she entertains another phone-call — calls which have been constant since she won the 2011 Calypso Monarch title. Her immaculately curled bob, delicately crossed legs and intricately rhinestoned sandals spell one word.
Star.
Her flair for pizazz is revealed in her wardrobe: a leopard-print maxi dress, pristine white pumps with black tips and gold-toned suits. 
“I like unique styles, stuff that you don’t think anybody else would wear.”
But she acknowledges that sometimes inspiration for her distinctive style comes from the sensational outfits worn by Rihanna — one of her favourite singers. Karene even used one of the Barbadian’s more dramatic ensembles to create the Dimanche Gras costume for her rendition of “Uncle Jack” — an ebony pantsuit with ballooned sleeves and a bow-tie, with shimmery, silver flats included.
With most of the money she earns, she plans to invest it for her son. But with some of it, she plans to buy another Rihanna-influenced fashion piece: a pair of cutout, thigh-high black boots. Price: US$799.
Did someone say “diva”?
In secondary school, the unconventional teen’s talent and success triggered jealousy. She always looked neat and crisp. And some girls used this as an excuse to pick fights with her.
“I never give any trouble, but when people see you as…” she stops, searching for the right word, “… reaching for the stars and eventually getting there, some people tend to provoke you…”
She remembers that one afternoon after a tussle with a schoolmate, the girl’s entire class chased her.
“I run, boy, I real run. I had to run ’cause everybody was coming!” she laughs in a sweetly scandalous manner.
But this 26-year-old powerhouse never let anyone pilfer the permit for her aspirations.
* * *
She is one of those performers who has toyed with their art from childhood. As a little girl, she sang into her play microphone and to her mommy on Mother’s Day. On mornings, before she did anything else — brush her teeth, eat breakfast or bathe — she sang. Everyone else in the house would scold her: “You’re making noise!” But she was not concerned.
She just kept singing.
Sheldon Reid realized the then-11-year-old’s gift at her Rose Hill Roman Catholic primary school concert, where she belted out a Michael Jackson tune. Reid asked whether she would be willing to try calypso.
“I said, ‘No problem,’ so he linked with my mom.”
He introduced her to Brother Marvin, the writer of her first calypso — “My Name Is Cocaine.” With it, she entered her first Junior Calypso Monarch and captured second place.
“That’s how I knew I was good, because if you come second in a national competition, you know yuh good. Trust me, ’cause that’s like the primary Dimanche Gras,” she says as her glittered acrylic nails sparkle.
* * *
Because of the seasonality of calypso music, the young songstress feels that she cannot support herself with performing the art form full-time. And she refuses to sing soca or RnB to compensate for the rest of the year. She prefers her music, because she thinks that there is room to protest against social pains with calypso.
“With soca, you just have to move a crowd, but with calypso, people listen to your lyrics and I think it’s better-appreciated.”
Even though she is the winner of several calypso titles, the Dimanche Gras night was different than most competitions.
“This year was the strangest year ever. Everyone would have a little bit of nervousness before they go on stage, but this year I was in fear with the first song … I was crying before I went on stage for the first song!”
She started to talk to God and eventually composed herself. When the announcer called her name, she strutted onto the platform.
Just before the results were called, she sat at the side of the stage, next to the light of a lamp.
She knew that she had tried her hardest: she practiced, prayed and consumed concoctions. She even gave herself a pep talk.
“I tell myself, ‘Karene, go out there and do your best ’cause …’ Actually, lemme be honest with yuh, yeah, I was like, ‘Karene, yuh know yuh going out there to win, but yuh know they ain’t go let yuh win!”
Turns out she was wrong.
She didn’t feel awkward when the prime minister presented the prize money, even though one of her songs was critical of a government minister. She believes that when an issue bawls for attention, someone must take notice of the issue through their voice or melody.
“I don’t think it was harsh, it was truthful …” She stops, eyes slightly squinted. “But I don’t think it was bashing, it was nice. They could learn a thing or two from it,” she says, smiling.
Strangely, she does not participate in other Carnival activities.
“I am always home.”
She has never played mas. To her, it’s paying $5,000 to get tired.
The only fete she went to for the entire season was Fire Fete.
“I enjoyed it at first, but them coming down to the end, I was like, ‘Karene, what you doing here?’”
The concert that she really wanted to jump up in was Soca Monarch. But she needed to preserve her voice.
“This was the year to go, girl. I was watching it on TV and I grieve. I was like, why I wasn’t there?”
If Machel didn’t make his comeback, she would have definitely wanted Destra to win, because she wants women to triumph.
She sees herself as an inspiration to young people, but she does not want to fill the stiletto heels of a role model. Role model status, she says, makes it hard to have a private life, because you are constantly scrutinized.
Instead, she offers this advice: Focus, just focus and try to keep to yourself and keep a small group of friends, because too many friends lead to conflict.
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