Ayesha Madon is every bit as endearing and vivacious as her character Amerie is on screen.

One thing she comes back to throughout our conversation is how rare — and meaningful — it is to play a character who isn’t defined by race or stereotypes. “It’s honestly a privilege,” she says, reflecting on the creative freedom she was given on Heartbreak High. “To play someone so multi-dimensional, where her identity isn’t the only story being told — that’s not something we see often in the Australian entertainment industry,” she tells Refinery29. 

She’s right — roles like this are few and far between. And she knows it. As we get acquainted, we find ourselves swapping stories from our own childhoods — two South Asian women who grew up in Australia, never seeing ourselves reflected on screen.

Instead, we’d become accustomed to seeing the same tired trope: the South Asian girl with strict parents who want her to be a doctor, while she secretly dreams of something else. “My parents weren’t like that,” she says. “And sure, I know a lot of South Asians who had that experience, but it’s not everyone’s story. We’re living in an increasingly multicultural country — full of first-gen stories and everything that comes after. So why not actually show that on screen?”

When I bring up the industry’s relationship with casting and bias, she takes a pause, not because she doesn’t have thoughts, but because it’s complicated. “Look, it’s hard to say with self-taping,” she admits. “A lot of things are covert, or subconscious. You can’t always point and say, that was discrimination. But that doesn’t mean it’s not there.”

What she’s talking about is unconscious bias, the subtle but persistent ways race, features, and cultural tropes shape who gets seen, and who doesn’t. “Whether we like it or not, there’s an unconscious bias toward certain kinds of faces, certain kinds of stories. When you look at someone, consciously or not, they represent something to you. And that impacts casting — massively.”

Before Heartbreak High, she hadn’t been considered for any romantic leads. “I wouldn’t say it’s always explicit discrimination, but the fact that I wasn’t seen for those roles, that is a kind of discrimination. It’s the inability to imagine me in those spaces.”

It’s a familiar story among many actors of colour. “Ask any South Asian actor and they’ll probably tell you the same thing: we’re often handed briefs that are so one-dimensional. Stuff like: ‘Indian woman sits quietly by temple while the white male lead walks past.’ We’re rarely written with nuance. We’re not often seen for roles that aren’t specifically ‘ethnic,’ and a lot of times, the parts we could easily play — the ones where race doesn’t matter — still go to white actors. I’ve seen it happen over and over again.”

It’s a constant push and pull, she explains, feeling like a quota hire because of your skin colour, or feeling completely invisible. “That middle ground, where you’re truly seen for your artistry and not just optics or box-checking are rare.”

This experience is part of what makes her lead role in Heartbreak High so meaningful for her both personally and professionally. It is not lost on her what a privilege it is to play Amerie, a layered, messy, cool girl –  all things South Asian women rarely get to be in mainstream media. 

When she talks about filming, it is with unvarnished joy — not just in being part of such a diverse cast, but in getting to explore storylines that are bold and deeply human. Of all those arcs, season two stands out as her favourite. It didn’t shy away from exploring a topic still treated as taboo — abortion — but did so in a way that stripped away the usual heaviness. It felt earnest, and important. Instead of leaning into the typical trauma narrative, the show portrayed abortion as a choice made with autonomy and without regret.

“What I loved is that Amerie is deeply flawed, messy, and still figuring it out — and then she gets pregnant. And to me, that felt important. Because the truth is, not everyone is equipped or ready to have a baby, and pretending otherwise does a disservice to reality. If she had gone through with it, it would’ve been… honestly, a complete disaster. But that’s not even the point.”

What mattered most was how the storyline honoured the emotional complexity of the decision without wrapping it in sadness. She was intentional about not playing the character as mourning the loss, but rather overwhelmed by the weight of the choice and the pressure women face in those moments. “We need to be careful about portraying abortion as always traumatic,” she reflects. “Sometimes it’s just a decision, and that’s valid too.”

When I ask her how she’d describe her debut EP, The Unanticipated Prequel, she answers with three words: “Chaotic, honest, me.” A trio of words that perfectly captures her approach to creating it. The experience has taught her to trust her own taste and to back her vision without outside validation. It has been a journey, one she laughs about now, but says is still ongoing.

Coming up as a woman of colour in the arts, especially in the era she did meant constantly second-guessing her instincts. “It took me a long time to trust my gut, to have the audacity to put something out that I fully love and stand behind, without getting swayed by all the noise around me.”

Fresh off a whirlwind few months, Ayesha has just wrapped filming Season 3 of Heartbreak High and is currently living in Budapest, already deep into work on her next EP. “I know I just released one, but I’m already so excited about this next wave of music,” she says. “It’s such a classic me move,  always jumping the gun,  but I’ve really hit the ground running with some new projects I’m finishing up now, and yeah… I’m really hyped about it.”

What Ayesha really wants from the Australian entertainment industry is a true paradigm shift. “Sure, there are steps being taken, but the representation still feels limited — especially when it comes to darker-skinned people of colour as leads.”

“We need to see people with diverse features on screen,” she continues. “Media has this incredible power to change beauty standards and normalise the faces we rarely get to see. Personally, I’d love to see a Black or Brown lead next — especially here in Australia. It’s time for stories and faces that reflect the full spectrum of our communities, not just the “safe”, familiar versions.”