Baby Freeze is from her own hood: girlhood
Ever wonder what it's like to have dinner with a local celebrity? I, for one, think it's a good time—Baby Freeze, the rapper persona behind TikTok-famous Sammi Borromeo, being my point of reference.
The night of her debut EP launch party, I meet Sammi in a Clairo tee midway through her meal. Beside her is fellow hip-hop artist and "homie," Hijo. The two are scrolling down memory lane. “My grid was full of Justin Bieber,” she smiles, showing Hijo and me selfies of the former teen heartthrob populating her 2012 Instagram feed.
We transfer to the venue shortly after for soundcheck. Offstage, Sammi is sweet, down-to-earth, and a downright fan. But once she's on the mic, Baby Freeze takes over. “Performing is as important to me as writing is,” she says. “Every time I write a song, I imagine how I would perform it already. I love being the center of attention.”
“I woke up this morning, and my heart was beating so fast,” she confesses. “Instead of being scared, I'm trying to be more excited that people will hear (the EP) for the first time.”
Watching her rehearse, it’s clear she considers the stage her home; Sammi doesn’t second-guess herself as Baby Freeze. “I see Baby Freeze as a bad b*tch that's confident and pure of heart. Somebody who really loves what they're doing and won't stop ‘til they get what they want.”
A student of pop culture and the internet, the Pinay rapper melds those influences into the future she wants in her debut EP, ‘Local Celebrity.’
Having only released three songs last year, Sammi began 2026 by tinkering with her sound in hopes of creating a more defined artistic statement. “Local Celebrity,” her EP released on Sept. 4, is where that exploration coalesces.
“The (EP) name was tongue-in-cheek because I started my online persona through TikTok back in COVID. I’ve been able to rebrand myself; people now know me on the internet as a musician. I'm lowkey Pinoy Addison Rae,” she quips. We both burst out laughing.
For all the ways the 26-year-old has reinvented her identity, Local Celebrity is an earnest return to self. The hard-hitting opener Vertigo lays out her intentions: “Never in it for the fame / I do it for the thrill of it.” “That's how I started making music,” she shares. “I just did it for fun.”
That lightheartedness comes through in I.D.W.B.F., the EP’s single. Cruising over glittery beats, the chorus goes: “I don’t want a boyfriend, I think they’re a waste of time / I wanna get a lot of money and make music on the side / I’m so powerful and confident, you know I’m super fly / And if you can’t get on this sh*t, you should give it a try.”
What made I.D.W.B.F. the right tone-setter? “It’s a good introduction for girls to get into hip-hop,” answers the Manila-bred rapper. The male-dominated genre, she explains, often objectifies and alienates women. “I wanted to be on the flip side of that. Look at all the things I can achieve because I'm not centering a man in my life.”
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As a queer woman, Sammi is becoming less afraid to be herself in an industry quick to tear women down. “It’s important for me to be loud and annoying in public, so that girls can feel like, ‘Oh my God, I can be weird. People will like my art, even though I'm weird. Look at her.’”
Nonchalance has no room in the community Sammi is cultivating. She recalls Tyler, The Creator’s VMA win for “Best New Artist” in 2011. “Everyone there was dressed so proper, but he was in a tie-dye shirt. People look up to Tyler, The Creator, but they don't understand the values he lives out—being weird, loud and annoying is fun. Trying is actually cool.”
“Always take up space. Don't be scared. Speak as loud as you want to. A lot of these rappers talk about making it from the hood. I am from my own hood: girlhood.”
The morning after, Sammi texts me a photo of a page filled with her “brain dump” for the EP. When Clairo, Sammi’s GOAT, began working on her critically acclaimed album, Charm, the American indie singer-songwriter kept a journal of what she wanted the record to be.
Sammi’s version includes a cycle of her inner struggles: “Being on top of the world, being doubted, getting consumed by doubt, coming out on top.” Alongside two arrows creating a loop, she ends the list with: “When do I break it? Will I break it?”
Local Celebrity is a valiant first step towards breaking that cycle. Had it not been for I.D.W.B.F., I might have never felt empowered by my decision to walk away from a situationship gone sour. I tell Sammi I sent my final text to that ex-situationship days before the single dropped. Touched, she says it’s validating to know that something as personal as her music resonates with people, even in “sh*tty situations” like mine.
“Sometimes, I (wonder), ‘Should I still even be doing this? Am I doing anything?’ But if I'm having fun and other people see that and (realize) I’m writing meaningful sh*t, it makes me feel valued as an artist.”
Before we wrap, I ask what her “big girl purchase” would be once she becomes the “local celebrity” she’s manifesting.
“There’s a right answer,” Hijo suddenly shouts from across the room. “I’d take my homeboy and my best friend—”
“Actually, yeah.” Sammi perks up. “I'd love (for us) to go on a fun trip to Tokyo or finally get the Euro summer I've been dreaming of.”
“I’d also want to take my label (Cheke) out. Justine ‘Dubs’ Wieneke, Meme Gomez, Fern Tan, and Jorge Wieneke believed in me when I was nothing. I was sitting in the studio with them at 21, (thinking), ‘Wow, that sounds so cool.’ Then, they were like, ‘Yo, you're good.’”
“So, I'd love to give back to my friends and family. Then, maybe buy myself a new phone. Get a full tank of gas. Eat at a fancy restaurant. I'm a simple woman. I know what I want.”
Baby Freeze’s EP Local Celebrity is available to stream on all major music platforms via Cheke.
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