Kiami Davael Reflects on Becoming Matilda’s Lavender

For many, 1996’s film adaptation of Matilda is a childhood staple with equal parts magic, mischief, and memory. For Kiami Davael, who played Lavender at just eight years old, it was the beginning of a life that would unfold far beyond what audiences ever saw onscreen.

Now, with her and Jahmar Hill’s upcoming documentary Lavender: Life After Matilda set to be released later this year, Davael is offering something far more personal than nostalgia. The film, she explains, is not a retrospective of fame but an excavation of truth.

“This is about Kiami…you know, this is about Kiami’s story, Kiami’s journey…all that I have been through, the ups and downs, the lessons that I have learned,” she shared with MadameNoire in a recent conversation. “We’re just getting raw and real into the nitty-gritty and answering people’s questions about ‘where has Kiami been?’”

What emerges from that reflection is a layered understanding of what it actually means to grow up in Hollywood—especially as a Black girl navigating visibility, vulnerability, and transition in real time. Here are 10 things Davael says she wishes she knew before becoming a child star.

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Childhood Fame Doesn’t Prepare You for Rejection

Davael still speaks about her early years in entertainment with genuine warmth. For her, acting initially felt less like work and more like finally stepping into the dream she’d carried since toddlerhood. “When I was a kid and just being on set, I was having fun,” she told MadameNoire in a recent chat. “I knew from such an early age this is what I wanted to do. I just knew…’I’m finally able to do what it was that I’ve wanted to do since I was three.’” At the time, she wasn’t thinking about legacy, cultural impact, or the possibility that Matilda would become one of the defining family films of an entire generation. She certainly wasn’t thinking about the emotional consequences of Hollywood’s unpredictability. Looking back, Davael says one of the hardest lessons came when the constant “yeses” eventually stopped.

“One of the things that I probably wish I would have known is how quickly tables can turn,” she explained. “Because you are not always going to get the yeses, and that was the hardest part for me to be able to overcome and deal with because I was, ‘Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, book, book, book.’ And then sometimes you just get your first taste of rejection, and you don’t know how to act.”

For child actors, rejection doesn’t always register as professional disappointment. Sometimes it lands as personal confusion when validation has become intertwined with opportunity. “And then how quickly it can become a ‘What have you done for me lately?’ type of mentality and type of industry,” she continued.

It’s a reality many former child stars have described over the years: the industry’s affection can feel deeply conditional. One day you’re celebrated everywhere. The next, you’re struggling to understand why the phone stopped ringing. Still, Davael doesn’t necessarily believe children can fully prepare for that emotional whiplash. “I don’t honestly think you can prepare for that, truth be told,” she admitted.

What she does believe is necessary is emotional honesty, communication, and permission for young performers to say when something feels uncomfortable. “If something does not feel right or something is uncomfortable, to have that conversation,” she said. “It starts there. It starts with that communication to say, ‘Hey, I don’t like this. Maybe I’m feeling a way about it.’”

That lesson feels particularly urgent in today’s entertainment, where it’s easier for children to become famous through social media. It has unfortunately created a wild west situation when it comes to their protection.

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Representation Carries Weight

Davael was only eight years old while filming Matilda. She couldn’t have known then how deeply audiences would connect to Lavender decades later. “I didn’t think anything of it except for this is fun,” she said. “This is a new experience. I’m on set. I’m in front of a camera.” Adulthood brought a new understanding of what her presence in the film meant, particularly for Black girls.

“As we have fast-forwarded all these many years later, I don’t think I realized at the time how influential the film would be,” she explained. “How many generations it would cross, and how many people specifically are young Black girls who have now blossomed into beautiful Black queens.”

She paused while reflecting on the messages she now receives from women who saw themselves in her character. “‘You were the first time I seen myself in such a broad setting on TV, movies, whatever that is.’” For Davael, that realization came with its own pressure. “I think that at that time, had I known it, I don’t know if I would have shied away from it, because it can kinda translate to a lot of pressure a little bit,” she admitted. “My purpose is always greater than me, and my calling is always greater than me.”

What’s particularly striking is how much audiences connected not only with Lavender, but with Davael herself. The glasses, raspy voice, and quirks–all things Hollywood often tells Black girls to minimize. “People are like, ‘I was kind of the quirky kid with the glasses,’ and being able to see you wear your glasses proudly,” Davael said laughing. “And I’m like, ‘Yeah, and they were [my own prescription glasses], by the way.’ There was an element of that innocence that I was fortunate enough to bring to the character. Just being able to be myself,” she reflected. In hindsight, that authenticity became the very thing audiences held onto for thirty years.

Dreams Require Sacrifice

One of the biggest misconceptions Davael hopes aspiring entertainers understand is that success in Hollywood rarely happens overnight. “A lot of individuals feel as if or have had this romanticizing Hollywood,” she explained. “‘I’m just gonna move to Los Angeles or Atlanta or New York, and I’m going to just be this actor, this actress, and it’s going to immediately happen.’” She laughed before adding, “Unfortunately, that is generally not the case.”

According to Davael, many of the people audiences perceive as “overnight successes” have actually spent years grinding behind the scenes. “Usually when you see somebody who just happens to pop out, they’ve been 10, 15, 20 years in the grind already.” That’s why she believes passion matters more than fame. “You have to have a true passion and a true love for what you do, because if you do not, you will get weary.”

Her own career required immense sacrifice from the people around her long before audiences knew her name. “My mom literally uprooted her entire life to move to California for me to pursue my career,” Davael shared. Born in Kentucky, Davael moved west with her mother after repeatedly insisting she wanted to perform. “I told her I wanted to be Whitney Houston,” she recalled with a laugh. “And she was like, ‘Well listen, there’s only one of her. But what you can do is be the best Kiami that you can be.’” That move would change everything for them.

Davael credits not only her mother, but an entire extended support system — grandparents, aunts, uncles, and relatives — for helping carry her dream.“My immediate family… they all had a hand in just investing, pouring into me, sacrificing, showing up when they didn’t necessarily have to.” That communal support, she says, made all the difference. It’s also part of why she’s passionate about mentorship today.

“I think it is important to try to find a mentor,” she said. “Try to find someone who has done the things that you want to do, who has been the places that you are trying to go, because someone can’t help you and guide you if they’ve never been there.” Davael says mentorship is about emotional safety, discernment, and helping young performers understand that they don’t have to navigate the industry alone.

She also believes children need to be taught that advocating for themselves is not disrespectful. “What you cannot be is mean and nasty and rude,” she explained while discussing the conversations she had growing up around supporters and public attention. “But if there’s ever moments where it doesn’t feel right, it’s okay to verbalize that.”

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No One Tells Child Stars They’ll Eventually Need to Reinvent Themselves

Perhaps one of the most powerful reflections from Davael came when discussing adulthood and learning how to create opportunities for herself instead of waiting for them. “I wish I would’ve done it sooner,” she said immediately.

As the entertainment industry shifted toward social media visibility and personal branding, Davael realized she had to evolve too. “I was still stuck in the, ‘Well, I didn’t have to do that, so I’m not interested in that. I just want to perform.’” Eventually, she recognized the importance of adapting without abandoning herself. “Create your own yes,” she said firmly. “Create your own pathways.” That mindset led her into directing, producing, writing, mentoring, and now documentary storytelling.

Her background in psychology also helped reshape how she understood both herself and the industry around her. Davael earned a bachelor’s degree in psychology after discovering a fascination with understanding human behavior and emotional responses. “It helped me understand not only me better just as growing up and some of the decisions and the choices that I made,” she explained. More importantly, it helped her become more intentional about how she responds to life. “Is this a response from emotion? Is this a response from trauma? Is this a response from the situation just being what it is?” Those questions now guide how she navigates adulthood, artistry, and healing.

Healing Is Part of the Story, Too

This is ultimately what makes Lavender: Life After Matilda feel bigger than a nostalgia grab. Yes, audiences will come to revisit a familiar face from Matilda. Yes, millennials who grew up quoting the movie will tune in to see what happened to Lavender. Underneath all of that is a woman who has spent years learning how to navigate identity, rejection, purpose, and healing in public and private at the same time.

Throughout our conversation, Davael repeatedly returned to the idea of overall growth. She spoke openly about mental health, surrender, and learning how to stop fighting herself. “I truly believe that God will give you the same test with the same lessons until you learn it,” she said. “If you do get out of your own way, you will be able to learn what it is that you need to learn so that you can propel to that next level.”

That honesty is the core of the documentary itself. Davael hinted that some of the project’s most emotional moments center around things she had to overcome mentally and emotionally after childhood fame. “There are specific moments where I am touching on different things that I had to overcome mentally and things that I had to work through,” she shared. “Mental health is important. It’s a real thing.”

Faith, throughout our conversation, repeatedly emerged as the anchor holding her steady through reinvention, disappointment, growth, and healing. “I don’t make a move without consulting God first,” she said. Even now, before filming projects, Davael prays. “That’s my foundation.”

Interestingly, she revealed that the documentary itself was never originally her idea. “This actually wasn’t my idea at all,” she said. “Jahmar [Hill] actually had this idea. It was something that came to him, fell into his spirit, and he presented it to me.” At first, she hesitated. Eventually, her faith gave her clarity. “After I prayed about it, and I really just asked God to reveal to me whether this was the right move or not, I felt a sense of peace about it.”

Ultimately, Davael hopes audiences walk away from Lavender: Life After Matilda understanding that healing, growth, and reinvention are all part of the process — even for the people we grew up watching on screen. “I want people to leave knowing that if Kiami can do it, and if Kiami can make it, so can I,” she said. “Because I am no different, I am no better, I am no greater. We just have to do the work.”

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