'The Vince Staples Show' Season 2 Finds the Rapper Expanding His Creative Vision
Vince Staples has consistently demonstrated a keen eye for storytelling, whether through his music, interviews, or social commentary.
The North Long Beach native has built a reputation for pairing raw honesty with dark humor, offering a lens into the realities of fame, community, and identity without ever losing his signature deadpan delivery. He’s not just a rapper, he’s a cultural observer, one who dissects life’s absurdities with the same precision he brings to every bar he writes.
Now in its second season, “The Vince Staples Show” finds the rapper-turned-creator doubling down on his distinctive blend of humor and realism.
The Netflix series, co-created by Staples alongside Ian Edelman and Maurice Williams, follows a semi-fictionalized version of himself as he navigates everyday chaos with a balance of apathy and awareness. What began as a surreal exploration of fame and identity has evolved into a sharp, genre-bending portrait of modern Black life, one that’s as unpredictable, funny, and grounded as Staples himself.
When discussing his creative evolution this season, the rapper admits that stepping behind the camera more deeply came with its lessons.
Coming off the strike, the team had to strip things down and rebuild with intention. He shares how he “carried a lot of the load this season,” taking on production, writing, and acting duties while working closely with new creative teams.
The challenge, he says, allowed him to “build out a new world” and experiment with storytelling through a fresh lens, one that reflects his growth as both an artist and collaborator.
His signature dry humor, often making audiences question what’s real and what’s not, remains the heartbeat of the series.
For the performer, it’s a style born from what he didn’t often see represented growing up.
“There isn’t that much dry humor within the Black comedic space,” he explains, referencing shows like “The Bernie Mac Show” and “The Chappelle Show” as early inspirations.
By weaving that understated comedic tone into his work, he’s helping to expand the possibilities of how Black comedy can sound, feel, and emotionally resonate. “It just translates better for who I am,” he notes, a reminder that authenticity doesn’t always need to shout to make an impact.
Transitioning from music to television also reshaped his understanding of collaboration.
Unlike the solitude of recording, this medium demanded trust and teamwork. “If I go in a room by myself and record 12 songs, I have an album,” he says. “But if I go sit in a room by myself with a camera, I don’t necessarily have a show.” The experience taught him to lean into community—to know when to step back and when to step forward—embracing a new kind of creative rhythm.
Playing a fictional version of himself revealed unexpected truths as well.
The creator admits he’s “much nicer on the show than in real life,” laughing at the irony of acting out traits he doesn’t often express.
Tapping into emotions like frustration and vulnerability made him more self-aware on and off camera.
“You want to pull from a true space,” he says, describing how even the smallest discomforts, like raising his voice in a scene, can unlock something deeply human.
And while chaos always seems to orbit him, both in life and on-screen, peace isn’t lost in the noise.
To the artist, it’s a quiet choice and a moment between moments.
“Peace is something you have to choose to find,” he reflects.
It’s the stillness between takes, the calm in long walks on set, the music that fills the silence.
“Those are the moments of peace,” he says.
“You just have to be present enough to notice them.”
