Charis McGowan is an award-winning journalist who writes on travel, underground culture and rights for media including The Guardian, Al Jazeera, NME, Polyester, Al Jazeera, VICE, Dazed and more. Outside of freelancing, she has worked as a music editor at gal-dem and editorial lead at Trippin. 

Charis McGowan

All images of Junk club were used with permission from ©

. Read more about Dean's latest photography book, Back in Ibiza, 

 which is now available on ACC Art Books. Carly Scott's photography was used with permission - 

All Hedi Slimane imagery is sourced from his 

From Hedi Boys to Ug rappers, Essex has been pivotal to Britain's creative culture, so why are we always putting it down?


A style revival has been brewing up across social media since the latter half of last year and is continuing to shape fashion trends and culture in 2026: the Hedi Boy. Named after former creative director of YSL and Dior Homme, Hedi Slimane, the look is a  precursor to what we now call indie sleaze - all black, with skinny “drainpipe” jeans and angular hair cut synonymous with early 2000s style.

Hedi Boy Tik Tok

The core source of inspiration? A basement club in Southend-on-Sea, in Essex.

Junk Club, based at the Royal Hotel on Southend’s seafront, was started in 2002 by school friends Rhys Webb and Oliver Abbott, with core members including 

on photography.  Southend had been hit hard by the decline of the British seaside; the advent of low-cost airlines in the 1990s gave the resort destination a sense faded glory. Junk attracted outcast teens and adolescents mooching around the pier-side with nothing to do. 

Hedi Boys are just one of many Essex underground attributes that went on to impact Britain’s wider cultural landscape

Despite this, Southend has upheld a reputable party scene rooted in deep passion for music - it was the heartland for mod culture in the 1960s, and major backdrop of acid house in the 1990s, where local Essex acts including The Prodigy, SL2 and SmartE's  fronted enviably unhinged parties. Junk tapped into Southend's storied club history, this time with with goth looks and post-punk sounds.

“There’s always been a big underground dance scene in Southend,” says Junk art designer, Ciaran O’Shea. “Our crowd probably came more from the mod-scene or indie scene, though we did play acid house and jungle. In some towns things can be quite tribal, but Junk was such a melting pot of people coming together.”

Slimane credits his entire ‘age of innocence’ menswear revolution - as “Myspace on the dance floor and pretty much the Southend scene”.

The explosive youth energy and distinctive Southend Junk style spawned a host of bands that included The Horrors (whom Webb was a member), These New Puritans and The Violets, generating a buzz that caught the attention of Slimane.  

Head of menswear for Christian Dior, the sartorial Frenchman was spotted in the Royal Hotel's basement to poach Essex lads for models included George Barnett and Tom Hein of These New Puritans, Hugh Webb - younger brother of Rhys Webb, Jordan Cunningham of the band Clout and Armin Suljic, all of whom appeared on the A/W 2007 Dior Homme runway. 

Speaking to Dazed in 2007, Slimane credits his entire ‘age of innocence’ menswear revolution - which would extend to his subsequent appointment as creative director at Yves St. Laurent - as “Myspace on the dance floor and pretty much the Southend scene”. 

Two decades on, the Southend-bred silhouettes that caught Slimane’s eye are being reinterpreted across 

 around the world. But in 2026, the Hedi Boy revival feels less like reinvention and more like a return to the Essex basement-club energy that shaped it.

Yet, at the time, it seemed incredulous that somewhere like Southend could make such permeant inroads into a haute couture. Describing the Junk scene at the time, The Guardian refers to Southend as ‘nondescript’: a ‘shabby seaside resort’ that’s a ‘non-place’ - a sense of disbelief that remains common to this day regarding Essex culture. It’s a mindset stapled into the British snob subconscious - that Essex is unable to give us anything culturally rich: it is nothing more than an undesirable place with undesirable people.

“People like to have a punchline. There are people from Essex that probably fulfil the stereotypes, but the vast majority of people aren’t like that. There’s phenomenal talent with great integrity, with passion and love for art and culture.”

More so than any British county, Essex stands out as the most infamous. A Reform-stronghold jaded by reality television and tropes, the east England county has captured imaginations far beyond its borders. As Essex writer Tim Burrows points out, it is “scorned as the crudest, stupidest symbol of Englishness” both nationally and abroad. O’Shea recalls when The Only Way is Essex first televised in 2010, ‘it felt like it set us back ten paces’: “People like to have a punchline. There are people from Essex that probably fulfil the stereotypes, but the vast majority of people aren’t like that. There’s phenomenal talent with great integrity, with passion and love for art and culture.”

The Hedi Boys are just one of many Essex underground attributes that went on to impact Britain’s wider cultural landscape, a contribution often buried by the county’s proximity to London. It’s not just that London’s cultural elite dismiss Essex while claiming its underground cultural output - Essexers have long labelled themselves Londoners to avoid embarrassment. “It’s interesting growing up in Southend and being aware of the stereotypes - especially horrible derogatory things towards women - you had this point where people shied away from Essex,” says O’Shea, who says the county was once a “dirty” word.

The London-Essex conflation also helps explain why Essex is so easily dismissed as brainless or throwaway, which makes Lorde’s anthemic 2024 attribution of Charli XCX as a “young girl from Essex” all the more significant in reframing the narrative. This shift is also seen on Dev Hynes’, aka Blood Orange, embrace of his Essex roots on his searingly personal 2025 album, 

However, there’s still a tendency for Essexers to masquerade under the London demonym. Today’s self-proclaimed London Saviour, Fakemink, is from Basildon. An Essex town established in the 1950s to rehouse east enders from a broken post-war London, it was once a socialist stronghold populated by factory workers whose youth clubs and art theatres gave birth to the electro-synth genre, spawning the likes of Depeche Mode, Yazoo and Erasure in the 1970s - yet another caveat of the Essex underground that went on to have a tectonic impact on the global pop ecosystem.

“Essex is home to pretty dynamic radical people. Amazing bands and subcultures have come from here - Dr. Feelgood, rave culture, places like Romford, Andy C, Ram Records, Danny Breaks. People who have truly shaped world culture,” says Ciaran, who says Junk helped reinforce a sense of local pride in the Essex underground. “It never stopped - we finished Junk, we did the ECC - Experimental Circle Club parties, Offset Festival in Hainault Forest, it always kept pushing on.”

In a circular twist of events, Fakemink was photographed last year by Hedi Slimane for The Face magazine, cementing his position as the poster boy of today's explosive Ug rap scene. A Hedi Boy in 2026 could be a skinny-tie wearing influencer paying homage to the Southend scene, but now it could also be a Supreme-clad rapper from Basildon. Whatever way you look at it, the common denominator is clear: it's straight from Essex.

United Kingdom

London

Is the Original Hedi Boy From Essex? 

What does FKA Twigs’ aquarium selfies and Feng’s dolphin t-shirt have in common? Seapunk has awoken from its deep sea slumber.

Echoes of blue can be glimpsed across London's pop multiverse: in the 1.15 min-long ‘Who do u wanna be’ music video, Croydon upstart 

 sports an azure dolphin tee. Meanwhile, 

s Maria Manow's revealed a new teal-blue hair style at 

 (“Could this be ushering in a new sound and new music from the electronic duo?" 

asked indie media Sadprt of the new style 

Feng - Who do u wanna be

 are reviving 2010s musical genres - the first making late-stage, bent-out-of-shape bloghouse, the second rapping over beats laced with  optimistic indie pop hooks from the same era. The aesthetics they embrace run parallel to the time of their music influences.  


“I grew up on the internet, so I’ve seen all these things," 

. "We might not have been at the age to properly experience it, but I've always seen it.” Meanwhile, Manow posted her teal hair with a shoutout to her hairdresser, "for making my 13 year old dreams come true." Even pop veterans like FKA Twigs  - whose latest album 

showed off her blue hair at London aquarium, posing with turtles

So, what is the throwback here? While the indie sleaze revival - rooted in the 2000s - has been shaping London’s new-gen culture for the past couple of years, this current shift to the 2010s feels like a natural chronological evolution. And there’s only one movement from that time that brings together teal hair, dolphins and aquariums: Seapunk.

Seapunk was created in the 2010s by Kansas City musicians 

. As with many left-field creative ideas of the millennial era, Tumblr was key in pastiching their eclectic array of influences into a central, universe-forming hub -  the perfect springboard to flesh out their aquatic vision.

The visuals were influenced by 1980s games 

, 90s PC visuals, Bulma from Dragon Ball Z, 94' Cartoon Network series 

Seapunk tiktok

While today's young seapunk adopters may confuse its pixelated look for 'vintage'  2010s graphics - visuals were influenced from a far earlier time: 1980s games like 

, 90s PC visuals (Microsoft 98’ fonts and icons), Bulma from Dragon Ball Z, 94' Cartoon Network series 

The music was similarly eclectic, combining elements of witch house, shoegaze and grime with dolphin clicks and wave fx.

Tropicult (2011)

But if Feng's t-shirt signals a seapunk comeback - why now?  Arguably, the shared experience of growing up online ties younger generations to later-millennial movements. The 2010s feel more relatable than the 00s or 90s; recalling an era of internet creativity, when social media hadn't yet capitalised entire online dynamics. Community and culture felt more prominent than algorithm and addiction.

“There was a whole web of hyper creative, interesting people on the internet. Seapunk came from this hive mind mentality of aesthetics and thought,” recalls 

, the co-creator of seapunk. “My whole thing was URL dreams, IRL realities.”

Seapunk grew to captivate a young Grimes (whom Beaste knew personally), before Azealia Banks, Rihanna and Lady Gaga co-opted the look. Yet, by entering the mainstream, it was dismissed as something throwaway - the Guardian called it a “ridiculous meme”, the New York Times “a web joke with music”.

These takes ruined the beauty and depth of the utopian vision behind seapunk. Beaste, like much of the witch house community, was following the values of chaos magic - which, in short, has a central goal of build and create something from nothing, through experimentalism, intent and through whatever tools were accessible.

The world of seapunk - created by social outliers who spent a lot of time online - is a clear reflection of that belief.  “..take something from the internet and bring it into real life, and vice versa,” says Beaste. “How does that happen? What does it look like? How big can it get? How far can we take it? How serious do we have to take it? How much do we have to let go of and let other people take over?”

 "Seapunk was a fantasy realm built from a digital utopia. The renewed interest in it feels significant in a 2025 dominated by AI Slop."

Seapunk made waves across the world. In Milan, Luca Giudici entered the realm after discovering Ultrademon on Soundcloud, and later launched the influential Tumblr - Seapunkgang - which grew into a club night. Giudici, now the curator of the 

, was attracted to the fact that "it was a whole world, 360-degrees, not just one thing." He recalls the Seapunkgang parties were immersive and inclusive, “people were really feeling part of the movement, rather than just going to a club night”. 

The real-world credentials of seapunk - the fact that it existed offline, in fashion, through hair colours, at parties - is another reason why it is resonating today. 

London artists describe it as a year of iPhone wariness and what Fakemink calls an era of “nostalgia, looking back,” - a view echoed by others in this piece.

Looking back to the 2010s feels significant in an age of AI slop, when the internet no longer co-exists and compliments real life, and our offline existence has become toxically inseparable to our online profiles. 

- a visual artist central to crafting the original seapunk aesthetic - declared on social media

hat seapunk’s second coming is “a reaction to AI, chatGPT, software subscriptions, crypto/vaporware, and fascism. We will rebuild the foundations of authenticity, the environment, and humanity. We will hack technology to serve humanity and not isolate humans to serve tech interests.” 

Beaste has similarly noticed the shifting tides: last year, she released a 

 and worked with Heckart to reboot their 2010s clothing brand 

. “I think a lot of [today's] nostalgia comes from, like, ‘remember when we could experience this fantasy realm, but it wasn't going to be tainted’," she says. While unprecedented cyber-futures were inspiring at the time, she explains, it was undetermined and free. "There were people romanticising the idea that we may have AI, but it was the spirit of humanity seeking expression through these forms.” 

On the surface level, a few instances of dyed hair and a dolphin tee may seem like some disparate shades of blue unrelated to seapunk - but the ripples are collectively gathering force, and the mood is ripe for a full-blown revival.  

"There's something about Seapunk that really connects.”

“If you're going to have teal hair and be in an aquarium - you're seapunk," confirms Beaste, who describes each element of the movement as "a gateway" - be it hair, aesthetic, music  -  "a lot of people will dig deeper, because there's something about it that really connects.” she confirms. 

Seapunk swelled to mainstream arenas over a decade ago before crashing like a tidal wave, but now a new generation is getting swept into the currents. Seapunk has returned to wash away the toxicity of bot-driven, gen-AI plagued internet - grab that dolphin tee, plug in some Unicorn Boy and get sucked in.

The Seapunk Revival Has Arrived in London

This article was first published on March 5, 2025 and will be updated on a rolling basis. 

Any weekend in London, you’ll have a choice of FLINTA & dyke activities: whether it's a rave, an erotica movie night or a 

Last year, the term ‘lesbian renaissance’ dominated cultural discussion and pop culture trends, from p*ssy-licking pop songs to snog-filled reality TV. In London, the viral opening of dyke bar La Camionera on 

 fuelled this narrative on a local scale. But what’s happening now is not just a second coming of a past lesbian culture, but the emergence of a whole new scene. 


Today’s chapter has evolved from a build up of different queer parties for underrepresented groups, with London’s Black and POC communities laying the groundwork with club nights including PDA and P*ssy Palace, soundtracked by the likes Shygirl, Coucou Chloe, and LSDXOXO. DJs like Sherelle, who has queered the UK’s jungle circuit, have also helped position the city as a hub for dykes and FLINTA individuals.

While not all groups use the term, FLINTA’s emergence in London is relatively recent. Imported from Berlin, the German term stands for Female, Lesbian, Intersex, Trans and Non-Binary, to describe people excluded by patriarchal structures, including queer scenes dominated by cis gay men.

“There are so many parties representing different intersectional identities within London’s FLINTA scene,” says Ali Wagner (she/her), who co-runs Uhaul Dyke Rescue, a mobile party and artist collective with a DIY ethos, together with her collaborator, Lucy .  

"There's no competition - we're all selling out packed events. There's such a want and need for these spaces." While the need for physical queer places in London continues to be pressing and limited, Uhaul Dyke Rescue has devised a way around the expensive reliance on brick and mortar venues, building their own mobile worlds to house community.

As an artistic collective, Uhaul Dyke Rescue sets themselves apart through their handmade installations and set pieces for events and festival takeovers: each purposefully designed as an ode to queer history. While their name playfully nods to the lesbian 'uhaul' dating tropes, much of their artwork and set design is a tongue-in-cheek response to hyper-masculine removal van and car culture, and in equal measure, a bold declaration of room for lesbians in a landscape where that space is still rare.

In south London, Rabz Lansiquot and Mo Probs (both use they/them) run WET, a club night for lesbians with a focus on Black and POC individuals. Rabz, born and raised in Brixton, has noticed the growth of London's lesbian scene first-hand.


“There’s much more on offer. It's interesting to see how each night has its own vibe, crowd, and flavour. They obviously cross over, but there’s a bit of specificity within it, which is cool and new,” they say, adding that they personally prefer not to use the term FLINTA.  “I think that we, as a community, are quite scared of words like lesbian and dyke. For me, those are things to be proud of, not to cower away from.”


Part of the golden age of sapphic glory has seen collectives and hobby groups proliferate across board gamers, movie clubs, wrestling groups, strip clubs, hikes, football teams spread out across the city (see below for a directory). 

Sex and Rage, which does events across London, was founded by Black Venus in 2020. With a background in sex work, martial arts and performance, Venus’s platform is diverse not only in audience but in activity—from bondage workshops and erotic poetry to pop-up lesbian strip clubs and wrestling events.

This commitment to community also extends to grassroots football clubs, which have become instrumental to fostering belonging outside of the nightlife sector. The presence of these teams, which rocketed after the Lionesses’ Euro 2023 championship victory, highlight the importance of outdoor and sober spaces.

"FLINTA sports groups are essential because they centre the needs and experiences of people who've historically been marginalised in sporting spaces," says Lydia Birgani-Nia (she/her), who plays for 

, a football team for women, trans & nb people of Asian heritage.

"For those seeking community connection without alcohol-centred socialising, groups like ours offer a meaningful alternative to traditional nightlife, where people can build relationships through a shared passion and physical movement.”

Other communities outside of the nightlife scene include Vinyl Bitch, founded to “demystify vinyl culture, from playing to purchasing”. Founder Madison True (she/they) moved to London from Indiana in the United States—a Bible Belt state that elected Mike Pence as governor before he became Trump’s VP in 2017.


In London’s FLINTA scene, True has found a refuge—“it welcomes you with open arms,” she says, seeing it as a haven for those seeking to escape more hostile realities, such as those in Trump's America. Acting on his long-held vendetta against trans people, Trump has removed rights to ID cards that match their gender identity.

“I had a call with a friend who is scared because they need to renew their passport—and are thinking about getting a hysterectomy,” says True. “The level of fear that one has to live in every day—it’s wild.”

London’s dyke & FLINTA scene operates against a backdrop of global political turmoil, with anti-LGBTQ+ movements threatening to undo rights across the world. Even in the UK, the groups are a point of resistance as the government introduces bans on puberty blockers for under 18s, and the prime minister's stance on trans rights remains unconvincing, having openly aired transphobic views.

While groups like Uhaul recognise the scene's political significance, they highlight the need for joy and relief. “The spirit of Uhaul is that, yeah, the outside world is quite bad,” says Lucy Nurnberg, Uhaul’s founder. “What can we do in this space that feels fun? Political, but through a lens of having a silly time.”

In just a few years, London’s FLINTA scene has grown from a scattering of parties to a thriving, diverse network of communities committed to creating safe, inclusive and fun spaces. But the scene still has room to grow—in February, P*ssy Palace hosted its last dance, driving concerns how to increase diversity, as a large chunk of existing events and spaces are concentrated among a white, Hackney-based crowd.

“This is a big issue that means that a lot of us don't necessarily feel comfortable in our own spaces. It was really important to create somewhere that we felt like reflected ourselves, and also in south London,” says Rabz. “London is not an overwhelmingly white city. If you're having spaces within London that are overwhelmingly white, then you have a problem, because it's not representing the city that you're in.”

London's Dyke and FLINTA communities are carving out spaces of their own,  queering the city at unprecedented rate. This era of sapphic glory must be celebrated and protected, which is why Trippin has put together a definitive directory that spotlights London’s that reflects the diversity of our home city. If you’re in London, whether a local or a visitor, looking to experience and support a thriving and growing scene, check out the list below.

Trippin's Definitive Guide to Dyke & FLINTA London

 Sleek FLINTA Hackney wine bar with a viral following. Reserve before you go.

 Queer owned bakery, cafe and bar on Broadway Market that regularly hosts sapphic events.

Queer venue born from the upstairs Portuguese Love Affair deli, with regular sapphic, trans-inclusive events. 

A south London BPOC Run & Prioritised Dyk3 Night, with focus on music.


: Mobile party that transforms existing spaces into inclusive worlds of their own.

A London lezza party that happens in different venues across the city, with a big focus on DJ talent. 

Inclusive rave for dykes with discounted rates for trans, POC and disabled people.

QTIPOC-centered bass rave collective that spotlights the best of the underground.

Latinx queer booty-shaking party soundtracked by reggaeton and perreo styles.


 LGBTQ+ Strip Club inclusive of all bodies and genders. 

 Bringing hot lezza energy, with speed dating events, to Stockwell pub The Cavendish Arms. 


 Chic queer club night with a focus on trans femme identities, soundtracked by Latin club beats. 

 A community dedicated to demystifying turntable culture, from learning how to DJ to browsing record stores.

A group based in South London that host board game socials and specialise in non-alcoholic get togethers.

Hosts special screenings at Signature Brew in Haggerstone, with a focus on queer cult classics.

Intersectional queer book shop at the top of Brick Lane, featuring panel events, book signing, and more.

Hosts inclusive events that show women’s football in different venues across London.  

Why London’s Dyke & FLINTA Scene Is in Its Golden Age

chickpea base - each bite a harmony of tang, spice and sweetness. The Trinidad double is the world's best breakfast food - and the ultimate hangover cure. 

 weekend - the rum and Magnum still pulsing through your veins causing thundering in your head that's louder than the sound systems you partied at the night(s) before. Your growling stomach is begging you to get up and get something filling, but there are few hangover cures that can really satisfy your intense, particular hunger. 

You need something doughy, laced with subtle spice that doesn't overwhelm your sensitive state, with a soft, sloppy texture to make for minimal eating effort. Enter the Trini Double.

"It's a traditional street food" says Bernard of 

, a small Trini food spot in Stoke Newington. He serves Doubles throughout the day - they are one of his highest-selling item. "It's easy to eat, very tasty with condiments, and it's available all over the island."

In Trinidad, Doubles vendors are found in their thousands - propping up carts and vans across towns and cities, in food courts and beaches.  Traditionally, they were considered a breakfast food - something to pick up en route to work - but now they're enjoyed throughout the day. Every Trini has their go-to spot - the perfect Double, after all is subjective.  

“I go through phases with doubles. It depends on the mood," says Sheliza, the chef behind Trini food pop up, 

 - not grainy. Its creamy when you mush it. Sometimes I like 

 thin, other times I like it like a fluffy cloud, so when you bite it, it melts into your mouth" she says. 

There's also the taste factor. The Trini Double, which is vegan, packs in many-a-condiment: the Chado Beni sauce (green herbs), pepper sauce, 

 (spicy mango relish), and tamarind sauce. 

"It has to have the [right] combination of the pepper, the sour of the Chado Beni sauce, the sweetness from the mango and tamarind, and the 

"For people that don't know the culture, they think its a bit of bread and chickpeas. But when they try it, it's a melting pot in the mouth, an explosion."


People unfamiliar to Doubles may find them somewhat a strange combination, only to be totally surprised at the entailing flavour. "It's unassuming," Shaliza continues. "For people that don't know the culture, they think its a bit of bread and chickpeas. But when they try it, it's a melting pot in the mouth, an explosion."

The Trini Double is beloved on the island and across the Caribbean - but it's origins are somewhat recent. Concocted in the 1930s by a family of Indian-Trinidadians,  descendants of indentured labourers brought to the island during British colonial rule, they turned to creating a fast, cheap-to-produce snack as a means to escape poverty. 

 by the roadside, before placing them on the doughy 

 base. As the snack rose in popularity, more condiments were introduced - and customers would ask vendors to double up the 

 to create a sandwich. Hence, Doubles were born. 

The colourful, spicy and varied cuisine of Trinidad is a testament to its multi-cultural identity, where elements of West African cooking interweave with South Asian chutneys and flatbreads, in turn influenced by Indigenous cooking techniques and ingredients. The condiments and toppings of Double attest to this - what is added, how the sauces are prepared, what ingredients are used.

The versatility of the Double is what make it a symbol of Trinidad's rich and complex past, where flavours tell a story of heritage and history. Such examples of culinary staples say much about a nation and its people - proving more enlightening than than skewed colonial narratives still present in today's history books. 

Oh, and if you eat one after two days of Carnival revelry - you'll find out why it's also a killer hangover cure. 

Why Trinidad Doubles Are The Ultimate Hangover Food 

"Colonialism, racism, femicide, territorial occupation, ethnic cleansing, Palestine contains all forms of violence in a single territory, which is why it calls to many people around the world." - Ana Tijoux

Travellers to Santiago, Chile may be surprised by the constant presence of 

 flags—hanging from shop windows, displayed in the streets, printed on football shirts, and even seen on bumper stickers. While other countries have shied away from, and have even banned, any visible shows of Palestinian solidarity, Chileans embrace it. 

There's even a professional football club, Club Deportivo Palestino, founded over one hundred years ago by Palestinian diaspora with the intention to make their home country's name visible and in the papers with every single fixture. 

Somos Sur

This is because Chile has the largest Palestinian population outside of the Middle East. The first immigrants made their way across in the late 1800s, with waves of migration continuing ever since. This fierce stance for 

 in the country is strengthened by a shared history of oppression, colonisation and struggle for rights.

"There's a larger plan that has to do with territorial appropriation and also with the expulsion of the native people," rapper Ana Tijoux tells Trippin.  Hailed as 

one of the best Spanish-language rappers 

of all time, Tijoux has long been on the forefront of Chilean solidarity with Palestine. 

In 2015, she released an Arabic-Spanish protest anthem 'Somos Sur', which clocks over 17 million views on YouTube and is experiencing renewed popularity in the context of the ongoing war in Gaza. In the song, Tijoux draws parallels between the struggles of Chile's Indigenous population and Palestinians. Currently, Chile's largest Indigenous population, the Mapuche, are struggling to defend ancestral lands from unregulated private enterprises who are displacing communities. 

"Whether it's the forestry companies in southern Chile or this plan from a U.S. spa company to create a tourist center in Gaza, we're talking about occupied territories—it's the same thing," she says. 

In late October, weeks after the war broke out, Tijoux organised a solidarity concert to organise funds for Palestinian families. Last year, she wore a keffiyeh for a performance at NPR's Tiny Desk —the first artist to do so. The show quickly went viral, leading to other artists using the show as an opportunity to platform Palestinian rights.

Ana Tijoux: Tiny Desk (2024)

At a time when international artists, including Kehlani and Kneecap, are being censored and castigated for expressing solidarity for Palestinians, Tijoux’s actions feel evermore important. She’s currently embarking on a European tour and plans to travel with a Palestinian flag as a staple part of her show. 

She has had received threats, discrimination and had concerts shut down in Europe, notably being kicked out of a Parisian venue because of her refusal to be silenced. 


"Why would I be afraid to carry a flag of a country that is experiencing genocide? I think the real problem is silence—that's what would really scare me" she says. "The music industry has claimed that it's complex, that there's a fear around losing work. But what's so complicated? There's nothing complicated about this!"

Tijoux grew up in France, after her family were exiled during the Pinochet dictatorship in the 1970s. Her decades-spanning career has been defined by socially conscious lyrics and fierce activism.


"I come from a family that witnessed the civic-military repression in Chile during the Chilean dictatorship. I was taught as a child that convictions are carried to the grave, that you can’t live in fear."

While travellers to Chile will be welcomed for donning Palestinian shirts, keffiyehs or other solidarity wear during their stay, sadly across the world, this still carries risk. Tijoux stands by the following advice: "Denounce. Break the silence. If someone is afraid to speak for the rights of life, I don't know what we're future we're building for our children."

Chile

Santiago 

Ana Tijoux Won’t Stop Rapping for Palestinian Solidarity

In the 2000s, a spate of eccentric youth subcultures were emerging in 

, Chile.  Many of their influences stemmed from the dawning days of the internet, which suddenly connected a far-away country to a global source of culture and creativity. This was embraced by 

 thirsty for new forms of expressions, ranging from including US emo and scene kids to Japanese decora and Harajuku styles, with a slew of distinctive hybrids in the mix. 

 was part of small  community called visual-kei, originally a Japanese subculture defined by goth and glam-rock fashion. An avid reader of Japanese fashion magazines like 'Kera' and 'Fruits', Fran decided to document the rebellion she was witnessing around her. “Those magazines documented young people responding to a restrictive society, and I got the idea to do the same.”

Using a Sony Cybershot, she began to take portraits of young people in fringe communities, capturing the unapologetic sense of style that fiercely defied anything from the past. "It wasn't that I decided to capture that period in time, I didn't know it was so powerful at the time," she tells Trippin. "It was just a natural response to take pictures of what surrounded me: everything that questioned the norm. I thought it was important to make visible different viewpoints to ensure a more tolerant society."

At the time, Chile wasn't tolerant at all. Fresh from 17-years of conservative, Catholic dictatorship, the country had been moulded by overbearing censorship with clear rules on what was acceptable: being straight, family-led and guided by Christian values. Being queer, punk and extravagantly dressed definitely wasn't allowed. 

“From the late '90s through the 2000s, there was an explosion of identity expressions that filled the youth fashion scene in Santiago, Chile with creativity," she recalls. "This came as a response to a conservative, post-dictatorship society that had been very repressed and afraid of speaking out, leading to the creation of new subcultures as a form of expression and a meeting point.”

Fran estimates around 20 different subcultures existed around the time, all into different scenes and soundtracks. the colourfully accessorised decora groups, alongside the goth-leaning Otaku were into Japanese anime and rock, while the pokemones—a distinctively Chilean group—styled their hair like an emo goku and danced to classic reggaeton. 

Different sections of Santiago's Parque Forestal or the city's snail-shaped shopping arcades would attract respective groups, while those old enough to party would attend hybrid club nights in large abandoned theatres. "I was visual-kei and there weren't many of us, so we'd party with groups like goths or brit-poppers, punks to industrial goths," recalls Fran. "We all mixed, we all had a good time. I started to take pictures and make friends, and many of these friendships I still have."

Her pictures recall a different time in society, where young people gathered more in public spaces and formed stronger, more visible groups.

“The internet was new and very different from what it is now—there were no social networks, so if you wanted to meet people with similar interests, you had to physically go to a place where they gathered,” she says. “Now young people are online, and that’s it. So perhaps that sense of belonging has faded.”

, published by Ocho Libros. DM her Instagram for more info. 

Capturing Pokemones, Emos and Goths: Chile's Y2K Identity Explosion

 wall in 1989, East Berlin was the epitome of an adventurous, unhinged playground; a magnet for rebellious young people with nothing to lose and everything to gain.

As the Soviet soldiers and officials withdrew, the ownership of buildings was left undecided and unclear, leading to large areas being taken over by adolescent squatters seeking community and fresh starts. 

 dropped out of school and moved into the squat scene. He took pictures of what he saw around him: kitchen raves, makeshift clubs, and close-knit communities that went beyond any kind of aesthetics or clique. Berlin was open and raw, its culture being forged by dropout kids just like himself.

Now, Stemmler is dropping a new photography book based on the images he took of the time. ANFANG/BEGINNING: BERLIN 1994-99, published on IDEA, is an unfiltered time capsule that takes us back to a time that changed the world—how we listen to music, the club experiences we seek, the freedom we idealise. 

It captures rare, candid moments shared between the youth who started it all by not giving a fuck about precedent, embracing the unknown to forge their way as underdog architects in a city rebuilding itself, positioning themselves at the heart of its transformation and embedding themselves in the city’s DNA.

“We were so curious. Hungry for adventure. We wanted to dance, to hug, to scream. We never wanted the party to end," recalls Christian. "We weren’t aware that our way of living and clubbing would inspire so many and become the blueprint of how people would party for the decades to come."

He also reflects how the internet curtailed this sense of freedom—that this era in Berlin reflects a time that is simply ungraspable in the modern age; not just for socio-political reasons, but for how we function and socialise. "It was the peak and yet the beginning of the end of subcultures in the last years before the internet. An adventure that now seems like an exceptionally beautiful indie movie.”

ANFANG/BEGINNING: BERLIN 1994-99 is now available for purchase on IDEA, with a launch party scheduled in Paris. 

Germany

Berlin

Was 90s Berlin the Last Great Era of Pre-Digital Expression?

"From sex workers to drug dealers. Where the conflict and the dirt is. That's where neoperreo was born."

DJ Lizz casually puts an eyelash into place while defining neoperreo: "It began as a community, but evolved into a sub-genre of reggaeton," she says backstage at her Chismoteka party. "We wanted to create safe spaces for alternative people. The 

, the weirdos, the queers. Just to be themselves."

The music, she says, is how reggaeton sounds "at the end of the world,", referring to Chile's position at the southernmost tip of the Americas, far from reggaeton's Caribbean birth place. Neoperreo is a dark version, industrial-sounding and heavy. "It's reggaeton of the future," Lizz smiles. 

Taking place eight times a month, Chismoteka is one of Santiago's most important underground parties, a sweaty, sexually-liberal event soundtracked by the throb of neoperreo. The party rotates venues, but mostly takes place in small clubs in the city's Bellavista party district, with a couple of offshoot nights in cities across the country. 

Lizz founded Chismoteka out of the need to create a safe space where she, and her neoperreo

community, could feel represented. She was born in Concepcion, southern Chile in the early 90s, a time of stifling conservatism, in a dawning democracy still shaped by Catholic values upheld by the Pinochet dictatorship. You couldn't be queer, you couldn't be sexual, you couldn't (and still can't) get an abortion—you couldn't even legally get a divorce (Chile was one of the last country's in the world to legalise divorce in 2004). 

"We spent our adolescence online, looking at what was going on outside of Chile, always with the desire to get out of here" she said. "Chile is a country without identity, that came from a dictatorship, false democracy. We didn't know who we were."

Stifled and outed by this oppressive socio-political environment, Lizz moved to 

 and mingled with other outcasts in the 2010s. She met Tomasa del Real, a 

 artist and singer from northern Chile, and the two bonded over their desire to break the rules. 

"Neoperreo comes from a search to mix elements without fear—experimental sounds from the underground," she says. "From sex workers, drug dealers, all the people that are in the shit. The underground in Chile starts there—where the conflict and the dirt is. That's where neoperreo was born."

 "The underground in Chile starts where the conflict and dirt is. That's where neoperreo was born."

By 2018, Tomasa dropped her debut album, 

, synth-ridden reggaeton ride that crystallised the neoperreo vision and got worldwide attention. Internationally, other artists were also exploring reggaeton to subverting ideas of feminine expression: the Cuban-American rapper Goony Chonga, Argentine Ms Nina, Spain's Bad Gyal: "We started connecting online, and in some way we were all doing the same thing," says Lizz. 

Chile was singled out as the heartland of a now global underground scene—with Lizz and Tomasa at the forefront. Both have been upfront and apologetic about their bodies, and sex work—Lizz's 2021 track, La Puteria "I'm gonna buy my new ass, from the money, de la puteria (of the whoring)"—and she's spoken openly about her love of OnlyFans—"for me sexuality and my body are part of my freedom" she told a Chilean tabloid. "OnlyFans is a proclamation of that".

Neoperreo is female-fronted, which is hugely important to Lizz. "It has a lot of revolutionary content, because, finally,  women are telling their side of the story," she says. "As women singers, we can appropriate our own sexuality. Before we were hypersexulised by men, and now we can hypersexualise ourselves."

She makes this point clear: "Reggaeton mainstream from Puerto Rico is about joy, but neoperreo is about discomfort and provocation."

That's why anything goes at a neoperreo event. Lizz has taken Chismoteka across the world including London, Miami and Madrid, taking her haven for the world's outliers into an international arena. She has also has performed neoperreo sets to Boiler Room LA, while Tomasa has taken Coachella stage.

"I would never have imaged that people have understood what we've tried to do," she says. "We did what was possible in a place with zero opportunities, zero acceptance to queers, to indigenous, to lower social classes to women. And we resisted so much that we ruptured the taboo."