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Hyperlocal is an editorial platform exploring the relationship between cultural scenes and their neighbourhoods.
A neighbourhood is the most elementary form of social space, where communities take shape by sharing visions of the city, each fostering recognition codes rooted in specific identities. A scene is the most cohesive expression of these dynamics: an umbrella term for social segments and cultural practices through which values are affirmed, aesthetic and communicative codes are developed, and unconventional lifestyles are experienced.
Hyperlocal operates as a decentralized network, building interdisciplinary and collaborative narratives to explore each scene’s lifestyles and expressive codes, capturing their visions and values, and how they resonate globally from a local perspective.
Hyperlocal is a multilingual, poster-based magazine displayed within the communities it explores. It is also a format of live events—called Clubs—bringing local artists, performers, musicians, filmmakers, and designers to the forefront of their scenes. Additionally, it features a public programme of talks exploring methods of cultural reproduction at a local level, and a festival that documents, connects, and celebrates neighbourhoods and scenes from around the world.

What’s happening on the ground, right now.
Communities, scenes, and cultural codes shaping what comes next.
Report is Hyperlocal’s new newsletter.
One scene. Every month. No distance, no filter.

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“There are few genres I enjoy quite as much as drone,” confesses Hannah Pezzack. “That most sparse of musics: devoid of rhythm, marked instead by melting intensity; oscillating textures and timbre. From its ambient iterations—suspended in seemingly endless tone clusters, the mind falling away in wet chunks — to the black metal fury of outfits like Sunn O))), with Stephen O’Malley’s distorted guitar rippling through my sternum, enacting the sonic equivalent of a Francis Bacon painting: viscous, bodily, reminding me that yes, indeed, I am only meat after all.”

Read Hannah’s sonic wonderings as she meticulously traces the history of drone music at the link in bio.

Written by @hanapezzack

“There are few genres I enjoy quite as much as drone,” confesses Hannah Pezzack. “That most sparse of musics: devoid of rhythm, marked instead by melting intensity; oscillating textures and timbre. From its ambient iterations—suspended in seemingly endless tone clusters, the mind falling away in wet chunks — to the black metal fury of outfits like Sunn O))), with Stephen O’Malley’s distorted guitar rippling through my sternum, enacting the sonic equivalent of a Francis Bacon painting: viscous, bodily, reminding me that yes, indeed, I am only meat after all.”

Read Hannah’s sonic wonderings as she meticulously traces the history of drone music at the link in bio.

Written by @hanapezzack

“There are few genres I enjoy quite as much as drone,” confesses Hannah Pezzack. “That most sparse of musics: devoid of rhythm, marked instead by melting intensity; oscillating textures and timbre. From its ambient iterations—suspended in seemingly endless tone clusters, the mind falling away in wet chunks — to the black metal fury of outfits like Sunn O))), with Stephen O’Malley’s distorted guitar rippling through my sternum, enacting the sonic equivalent of a Francis Bacon painting: viscous, bodily, reminding me that yes, indeed, I am only meat after all.”

Read Hannah’s sonic wonderings as she meticulously traces the history of drone music at the link in bio.

Written by @hanapezzack

“There are few genres I enjoy quite as much as drone,” confesses Hannah Pezzack. “That most sparse of musics: devoid of rhythm, marked instead by melting intensity; oscillating textures and timbre. From its ambient iterations—suspended in seemingly endless tone clusters, the mind falling away in wet chunks — to the black metal fury of outfits like Sunn O))), with Stephen O’Malley’s distorted guitar rippling through my sternum, enacting the sonic equivalent of a Francis Bacon painting: viscous, bodily, reminding me that yes, indeed, I am only meat after all.”

Read Hannah’s sonic wonderings as she meticulously traces the history of drone music at the link in bio.

Written by @hanapezzack

“There are few genres I enjoy quite as much as drone,” confesses Hannah Pezzack. “That most sparse of musics: devoid of rhythm, marked instead by melting intensity; oscillating textures and timbre. From its ambient iterations—suspended in seemingly endless tone clusters, the mind falling away in wet chunks — to the black metal fury of outfits like Sunn O))), with Stephen O’Malley’s distorted guitar rippling through my sternum, enacting the sonic equivalent of a Francis Bacon painting: viscous, bodily, reminding me that yes, indeed, I am only meat after all.”

Read Hannah’s sonic wonderings as she meticulously traces the history of drone music at the link in bio.

Written by @hanapezzack

“There are few genres I enjoy quite as much as drone,” confesses Hannah Pezzack. “That most sparse of musics: devoid of rhythm, marked instead by melting intensity; oscillating textures and timbre. From its ambient iterations—suspended in seemingly endless tone clusters, the mind falling away in wet chunks — to the black metal fury of outfits like Sunn O))), with Stephen O’Malley’s distorted guitar rippling through my sternum, enacting the sonic equivalent of a Francis Bacon painting: viscous, bodily, reminding me that yes, indeed, I am only meat after all.”

Read Hannah’s sonic wonderings as she meticulously traces the history of drone music at the link in bio.

Written by @hanapezzack

“There are few genres I enjoy quite as much as drone,” confesses Hannah Pezzack. “That most sparse of musics: devoid of rhythm, marked instead by melting intensity; oscillating textures and timbre. From its ambient iterations—suspended in seemingly endless tone clusters, the mind falling away in wet chunks — to the black metal fury of outfits like Sunn O))), with Stephen O’Malley’s distorted guitar rippling through my sternum, enacting the sonic equivalent of a Francis Bacon painting: viscous, bodily, reminding me that yes, indeed, I am only meat after all.”

Read Hannah’s sonic wonderings as she meticulously traces the history of drone music at the link in bio.

Written by @hanapezzack

Before Polish hip-hop had a name, Ursynów was already producing the frequencies that would transform Warsaw’s concrete outskirts into an incubator for a distinctly local urban imagination. In the grey, hollow metropolis of late socialism, post-punk experiments, children’s futurism and proto-rap broadcasts collided inside the tower blocks. Through three critical snapshots, Filip Kalinowski (@cojestnauczane ) uncovers the underground circuitry that turned urban alienation into the foundations of a new cultural language.

Read the story at the link in bio

Before Polish hip-hop had a name, Ursynów was already producing the frequencies that would transform Warsaw’s concrete outskirts into an incubator for a distinctly local urban imagination. In the grey, hollow metropolis of late socialism, post-punk experiments, children’s futurism and proto-rap broadcasts collided inside the tower blocks. Through three critical snapshots, Filip Kalinowski (@cojestnauczane ) uncovers the underground circuitry that turned urban alienation into the foundations of a new cultural language.

Read the story at the link in bio

Before Polish hip-hop had a name, Ursynów was already producing the frequencies that would transform Warsaw’s concrete outskirts into an incubator for a distinctly local urban imagination. In the grey, hollow metropolis of late socialism, post-punk experiments, children’s futurism and proto-rap broadcasts collided inside the tower blocks. Through three critical snapshots, Filip Kalinowski (@cojestnauczane ) uncovers the underground circuitry that turned urban alienation into the foundations of a new cultural language.

Read the story at the link in bio

Before Polish hip-hop had a name, Ursynów was already producing the frequencies that would transform Warsaw’s concrete outskirts into an incubator for a distinctly local urban imagination. In the grey, hollow metropolis of late socialism, post-punk experiments, children’s futurism and proto-rap broadcasts collided inside the tower blocks. Through three critical snapshots, Filip Kalinowski (@cojestnauczane ) uncovers the underground circuitry that turned urban alienation into the foundations of a new cultural language.

Read the story at the link in bio

Before Polish hip-hop had a name, Ursynów was already producing the frequencies that would transform Warsaw’s concrete outskirts into an incubator for a distinctly local urban imagination. In the grey, hollow metropolis of late socialism, post-punk experiments, children’s futurism and proto-rap broadcasts collided inside the tower blocks. Through three critical snapshots, Filip Kalinowski (@cojestnauczane ) uncovers the underground circuitry that turned urban alienation into the foundations of a new cultural language.

Read the story at the link in bio

Before Polish hip-hop had a name, Ursynów was already producing the frequencies that would transform Warsaw’s concrete outskirts into an incubator for a distinctly local urban imagination. In the grey, hollow metropolis of late socialism, post-punk experiments, children’s futurism and proto-rap broadcasts collided inside the tower blocks. Through three critical snapshots, Filip Kalinowski (@cojestnauczane ) uncovers the underground circuitry that turned urban alienation into the foundations of a new cultural language.

Read the story at the link in bio

Before Polish hip-hop had a name, Ursynów was already producing the frequencies that would transform Warsaw’s concrete outskirts into an incubator for a distinctly local urban imagination. In the grey, hollow metropolis of late socialism, post-punk experiments, children’s futurism and proto-rap broadcasts collided inside the tower blocks. Through three critical snapshots, Filip Kalinowski (@cojestnauczane ) uncovers the underground circuitry that turned urban alienation into the foundations of a new cultural language.

Read the story at the link in bio

Refusing to stay quiet, embracing the unapologetic: @cruelsantino @subaruwwworld , @mowalola , @ashh.ok and @deelagram in conversation with @mistura.a during Hyperlocal Club Victoria Island last June, discussing the Nigerian alternative scene and its call for freedom within the creative community. Photo by @________iko________

Listen to the conversation at the link in bio.

Refusing to stay quiet, embracing the unapologetic: @cruelsantino @subaruwwworld , @mowalola , @ashh.ok and @deelagram in conversation with @mistura.a during Hyperlocal Club Victoria Island last June, discussing the Nigerian alternative scene and its call for freedom within the creative community. Photo by @________iko________

Listen to the conversation at the link in bio.

Refusing to stay quiet, embracing the unapologetic: @cruelsantino @subaruwwworld , @mowalola , @ashh.ok and @deelagram in conversation with @mistura.a during Hyperlocal Club Victoria Island last June, discussing the Nigerian alternative scene and its call for freedom within the creative community. Photo by @________iko________

Listen to the conversation at the link in bio.

Refusing to stay quiet, embracing the unapologetic: @cruelsantino @subaruwwworld , @mowalola , @ashh.ok and @deelagram in conversation with @mistura.a during Hyperlocal Club Victoria Island last June, discussing the Nigerian alternative scene and its call for freedom within the creative community. Photo by @________iko________

Listen to the conversation at the link in bio.

Chengdu’s underground scene unfolds as a fragile, persistent ecology of queer performance and DIY culture, shaped by clubs, closures and informal networks. Through YiHao’s trajectory, interviewed by curator Sara Sassanelli, it appears as a space where myth, memory and experimentation converge, producing temporary communities and practices that drift between exhaustion, care and reinvention.

Written by @sara.sassanelli
Photos by @2000yihao , Stills from “The Last Year of Darkness” by @benmullinkosson

Chengdu’s underground scene unfolds as a fragile, persistent ecology of queer performance and DIY culture, shaped by clubs, closures and informal networks. Through YiHao’s trajectory, interviewed by curator Sara Sassanelli, it appears as a space where myth, memory and experimentation converge, producing temporary communities and practices that drift between exhaustion, care and reinvention.

Written by @sara.sassanelli
Photos by @2000yihao , Stills from “The Last Year of Darkness” by @benmullinkosson

Chengdu’s underground scene unfolds as a fragile, persistent ecology of queer performance and DIY culture, shaped by clubs, closures and informal networks. Through YiHao’s trajectory, interviewed by curator Sara Sassanelli, it appears as a space where myth, memory and experimentation converge, producing temporary communities and practices that drift between exhaustion, care and reinvention.

Written by @sara.sassanelli
Photos by @2000yihao , Stills from “The Last Year of Darkness” by @benmullinkosson

Chengdu’s underground scene unfolds as a fragile, persistent ecology of queer performance and DIY culture, shaped by clubs, closures and informal networks. Through YiHao’s trajectory, interviewed by curator Sara Sassanelli, it appears as a space where myth, memory and experimentation converge, producing temporary communities and practices that drift between exhaustion, care and reinvention.

Written by @sara.sassanelli
Photos by @2000yihao , Stills from “The Last Year of Darkness” by @benmullinkosson

Chengdu’s underground scene unfolds as a fragile, persistent ecology of queer performance and DIY culture, shaped by clubs, closures and informal networks. Through YiHao’s trajectory, interviewed by curator Sara Sassanelli, it appears as a space where myth, memory and experimentation converge, producing temporary communities and practices that drift between exhaustion, care and reinvention.

Written by @sara.sassanelli
Photos by @2000yihao , Stills from “The Last Year of Darkness” by @benmullinkosson

Chengdu’s underground scene unfolds as a fragile, persistent ecology of queer performance and DIY culture, shaped by clubs, closures and informal networks. Through YiHao’s trajectory, interviewed by curator Sara Sassanelli, it appears as a space where myth, memory and experimentation converge, producing temporary communities and practices that drift between exhaustion, care and reinvention.

Written by @sara.sassanelli
Photos by @2000yihao , Stills from “The Last Year of Darkness” by @benmullinkosson

Chengdu’s underground scene unfolds as a fragile, persistent ecology of queer performance and DIY culture, shaped by clubs, closures and informal networks. Through YiHao’s trajectory, interviewed by curator Sara Sassanelli, it appears as a space where myth, memory and experimentation converge, producing temporary communities and practices that drift between exhaustion, care and reinvention.

Written by @sara.sassanelli
Photos by @2000yihao , Stills from “The Last Year of Darkness” by @benmullinkosson

In Ilulissat, the third-largest town in Greenland, ice is not a background but a force of light, movement, and sound. The Ice Music Festival is both an event and a situated practice that engages directly with the frozen landscape. Instruments are carved from glacial blocks, and performance depends on shifting temperatures and wind. Between collapse and improvisation, as Emile Holba writes, the festival turns ice into both a creative and symbolic material, holding together art, climate, and community at the edge of the world, where climate change strikes with greater force.

Read the story in link in bio
Written and photographed by @emileholbaphoto

In Ilulissat, the third-largest town in Greenland, ice is not a background but a force of light, movement, and sound. The Ice Music Festival is both an event and a situated practice that engages directly with the frozen landscape. Instruments are carved from glacial blocks, and performance depends on shifting temperatures and wind. Between collapse and improvisation, as Emile Holba writes, the festival turns ice into both a creative and symbolic material, holding together art, climate, and community at the edge of the world, where climate change strikes with greater force.

Read the story in link in bio
Written and photographed by @emileholbaphoto

In Ilulissat, the third-largest town in Greenland, ice is not a background but a force of light, movement, and sound. The Ice Music Festival is both an event and a situated practice that engages directly with the frozen landscape. Instruments are carved from glacial blocks, and performance depends on shifting temperatures and wind. Between collapse and improvisation, as Emile Holba writes, the festival turns ice into both a creative and symbolic material, holding together art, climate, and community at the edge of the world, where climate change strikes with greater force.

Read the story in link in bio
Written and photographed by @emileholbaphoto

In Ilulissat, the third-largest town in Greenland, ice is not a background but a force of light, movement, and sound. The Ice Music Festival is both an event and a situated practice that engages directly with the frozen landscape. Instruments are carved from glacial blocks, and performance depends on shifting temperatures and wind. Between collapse and improvisation, as Emile Holba writes, the festival turns ice into both a creative and symbolic material, holding together art, climate, and community at the edge of the world, where climate change strikes with greater force.

Read the story in link in bio
Written and photographed by @emileholbaphoto

In Ilulissat, the third-largest town in Greenland, ice is not a background but a force of light, movement, and sound. The Ice Music Festival is both an event and a situated practice that engages directly with the frozen landscape. Instruments are carved from glacial blocks, and performance depends on shifting temperatures and wind. Between collapse and improvisation, as Emile Holba writes, the festival turns ice into both a creative and symbolic material, holding together art, climate, and community at the edge of the world, where climate change strikes with greater force.

Read the story in link in bio
Written and photographed by @emileholbaphoto

In Ilulissat, the third-largest town in Greenland, ice is not a background but a force of light, movement, and sound. The Ice Music Festival is both an event and a situated practice that engages directly with the frozen landscape. Instruments are carved from glacial blocks, and performance depends on shifting temperatures and wind. Between collapse and improvisation, as Emile Holba writes, the festival turns ice into both a creative and symbolic material, holding together art, climate, and community at the edge of the world, where climate change strikes with greater force.

Read the story in link in bio
Written and photographed by @emileholbaphoto

In Ilulissat, the third-largest town in Greenland, ice is not a background but a force of light, movement, and sound. The Ice Music Festival is both an event and a situated practice that engages directly with the frozen landscape. Instruments are carved from glacial blocks, and performance depends on shifting temperatures and wind. Between collapse and improvisation, as Emile Holba writes, the festival turns ice into both a creative and symbolic material, holding together art, climate, and community at the edge of the world, where climate change strikes with greater force.

Read the story in link in bio
Written and photographed by @emileholbaphoto

In Ilulissat, the third-largest town in Greenland, ice is not a background but a force of light, movement, and sound. The Ice Music Festival is both an event and a situated practice that engages directly with the frozen landscape. Instruments are carved from glacial blocks, and performance depends on shifting temperatures and wind. Between collapse and improvisation, as Emile Holba writes, the festival turns ice into both a creative and symbolic material, holding together art, climate, and community at the edge of the world, where climate change strikes with greater force.

Read the story in link in bio
Written and photographed by @emileholbaphoto

“From Seoul to San Juan, hyperlocal sounds are rewriting the rules of global pop, proving that the more rooted the music, the wider it can travel. Yet, singeli, Tanzania’s blistering, homegrown electronic rush, remains largely confined to East Africa and niche European dance floors. In an age that supposedly rewards authenticity and locality, why hasn’t one of the continent’s most radical genres crossed over?

Read the opinion in link the bio
Written by @nilsbrd
Stills by @nts_radio directed by @chantal_adams

“From Seoul to San Juan, hyperlocal sounds are rewriting the rules of global pop, proving that the more rooted the music, the wider it can travel. Yet, singeli, Tanzania’s blistering, homegrown electronic rush, remains largely confined to East Africa and niche European dance floors. In an age that supposedly rewards authenticity and locality, why hasn’t one of the continent’s most radical genres crossed over?

Read the opinion in link the bio
Written by @nilsbrd
Stills by @nts_radio directed by @chantal_adams

“From Seoul to San Juan, hyperlocal sounds are rewriting the rules of global pop, proving that the more rooted the music, the wider it can travel. Yet, singeli, Tanzania’s blistering, homegrown electronic rush, remains largely confined to East Africa and niche European dance floors. In an age that supposedly rewards authenticity and locality, why hasn’t one of the continent’s most radical genres crossed over?

Read the opinion in link the bio
Written by @nilsbrd
Stills by @nts_radio directed by @chantal_adams

“From Seoul to San Juan, hyperlocal sounds are rewriting the rules of global pop, proving that the more rooted the music, the wider it can travel. Yet, singeli, Tanzania’s blistering, homegrown electronic rush, remains largely confined to East Africa and niche European dance floors. In an age that supposedly rewards authenticity and locality, why hasn’t one of the continent’s most radical genres crossed over?

Read the opinion in link the bio
Written by @nilsbrd
Stills by @nts_radio directed by @chantal_adams

“From Seoul to San Juan, hyperlocal sounds are rewriting the rules of global pop, proving that the more rooted the music, the wider it can travel. Yet, singeli, Tanzania’s blistering, homegrown electronic rush, remains largely confined to East Africa and niche European dance floors. In an age that supposedly rewards authenticity and locality, why hasn’t one of the continent’s most radical genres crossed over?

Read the opinion in link the bio
Written by @nilsbrd
Stills by @nts_radio directed by @chantal_adams

“From Seoul to San Juan, hyperlocal sounds are rewriting the rules of global pop, proving that the more rooted the music, the wider it can travel. Yet, singeli, Tanzania’s blistering, homegrown electronic rush, remains largely confined to East Africa and niche European dance floors. In an age that supposedly rewards authenticity and locality, why hasn’t one of the continent’s most radical genres crossed over?

Read the opinion in link the bio
Written by @nilsbrd
Stills by @nts_radio directed by @chantal_adams

On a full-moon night in Jamaica, Nyabinghi, one of the most ancient Rastafari ceremonial practices, unfolds as a living ritual in which drums, chants, and fire gather bodies into a shared field of clarity. “Tonight we a chant,” a young Rasta tells German Iraki, author of the book ‘Get Nuff Nuff Data’. “We a do the opposite of what the evil man a do. We use the moon for prosperity and to fight evil spells.” Nyabinghi uses rhythm to cleanse; it is a kind of spiritual technology, transforming communal presence into a practice of grounding, healing, and collective awareness.

Read the full story at the link in bio.

Written and photos by @nuffdata

On a full-moon night in Jamaica, Nyabinghi, one of the most ancient Rastafari ceremonial practices, unfolds as a living ritual in which drums, chants, and fire gather bodies into a shared field of clarity. “Tonight we a chant,” a young Rasta tells German Iraki, author of the book ‘Get Nuff Nuff Data’. “We a do the opposite of what the evil man a do. We use the moon for prosperity and to fight evil spells.” Nyabinghi uses rhythm to cleanse; it is a kind of spiritual technology, transforming communal presence into a practice of grounding, healing, and collective awareness.

Read the full story at the link in bio.

Written and photos by @nuffdata

On a full-moon night in Jamaica, Nyabinghi, one of the most ancient Rastafari ceremonial practices, unfolds as a living ritual in which drums, chants, and fire gather bodies into a shared field of clarity. “Tonight we a chant,” a young Rasta tells German Iraki, author of the book ‘Get Nuff Nuff Data’. “We a do the opposite of what the evil man a do. We use the moon for prosperity and to fight evil spells.” Nyabinghi uses rhythm to cleanse; it is a kind of spiritual technology, transforming communal presence into a practice of grounding, healing, and collective awareness.

Read the full story at the link in bio.

Written and photos by @nuffdata

On a full-moon night in Jamaica, Nyabinghi, one of the most ancient Rastafari ceremonial practices, unfolds as a living ritual in which drums, chants, and fire gather bodies into a shared field of clarity. “Tonight we a chant,” a young Rasta tells German Iraki, author of the book ‘Get Nuff Nuff Data’. “We a do the opposite of what the evil man a do. We use the moon for prosperity and to fight evil spells.” Nyabinghi uses rhythm to cleanse; it is a kind of spiritual technology, transforming communal presence into a practice of grounding, healing, and collective awareness.

Read the full story at the link in bio.

Written and photos by @nuffdata

On a full-moon night in Jamaica, Nyabinghi, one of the most ancient Rastafari ceremonial practices, unfolds as a living ritual in which drums, chants, and fire gather bodies into a shared field of clarity. “Tonight we a chant,” a young Rasta tells German Iraki, author of the book ‘Get Nuff Nuff Data’. “We a do the opposite of what the evil man a do. We use the moon for prosperity and to fight evil spells.” Nyabinghi uses rhythm to cleanse; it is a kind of spiritual technology, transforming communal presence into a practice of grounding, healing, and collective awareness.

Read the full story at the link in bio.

Written and photos by @nuffdata

On a full-moon night in Jamaica, Nyabinghi, one of the most ancient Rastafari ceremonial practices, unfolds as a living ritual in which drums, chants, and fire gather bodies into a shared field of clarity. “Tonight we a chant,” a young Rasta tells German Iraki, author of the book ‘Get Nuff Nuff Data’. “We a do the opposite of what the evil man a do. We use the moon for prosperity and to fight evil spells.” Nyabinghi uses rhythm to cleanse; it is a kind of spiritual technology, transforming communal presence into a practice of grounding, healing, and collective awareness.

Read the full story at the link in bio.

Written and photos by @nuffdata

On a full-moon night in Jamaica, Nyabinghi, one of the most ancient Rastafari ceremonial practices, unfolds as a living ritual in which drums, chants, and fire gather bodies into a shared field of clarity. “Tonight we a chant,” a young Rasta tells German Iraki, author of the book ‘Get Nuff Nuff Data’. “We a do the opposite of what the evil man a do. We use the moon for prosperity and to fight evil spells.” Nyabinghi uses rhythm to cleanse; it is a kind of spiritual technology, transforming communal presence into a practice of grounding, healing, and collective awareness.

Read the full story at the link in bio.

Written and photos by @nuffdata

On a full-moon night in Jamaica, Nyabinghi, one of the most ancient Rastafari ceremonial practices, unfolds as a living ritual in which drums, chants, and fire gather bodies into a shared field of clarity. “Tonight we a chant,” a young Rasta tells German Iraki, author of the book ‘Get Nuff Nuff Data’. “We a do the opposite of what the evil man a do. We use the moon for prosperity and to fight evil spells.” Nyabinghi uses rhythm to cleanse; it is a kind of spiritual technology, transforming communal presence into a practice of grounding, healing, and collective awareness.

Read the full story at the link in bio.

Written and photos by @nuffdata

Beginning with a theatre piece narrating a love story between a man and a silicone sex doll, Simon(e) van Saarloos @svansaarloos, author of ‘Against Ageism: A Queer Manifesto’ (SPBH), reflects on attachment without reciprocity and the material conditions of care and human-nonhuman projection. Turning to animegao kigurumi, and through a dialogue with Oshiruko Chan @0465chan—a forever seventeen-year-old animegao character with large blue eyes and blonde hair—Simon(e) explores how masks and garments position age as a structuring fiction and the self as an architectural phenomenon.

Read the full essay at the link in bio.

Written by @svansaarloos
Photos by @0465chan

Beginning with a theatre piece narrating a love story between a man and a silicone sex doll, Simon(e) van Saarloos @svansaarloos, author of ‘Against Ageism: A Queer Manifesto’ (SPBH), reflects on attachment without reciprocity and the material conditions of care and human-nonhuman projection. Turning to animegao kigurumi, and through a dialogue with Oshiruko Chan @0465chan—a forever seventeen-year-old animegao character with large blue eyes and blonde hair—Simon(e) explores how masks and garments position age as a structuring fiction and the self as an architectural phenomenon.

Read the full essay at the link in bio.

Written by @svansaarloos
Photos by @0465chan

Beginning with a theatre piece narrating a love story between a man and a silicone sex doll, Simon(e) van Saarloos @svansaarloos, author of ‘Against Ageism: A Queer Manifesto’ (SPBH), reflects on attachment without reciprocity and the material conditions of care and human-nonhuman projection. Turning to animegao kigurumi, and through a dialogue with Oshiruko Chan @0465chan—a forever seventeen-year-old animegao character with large blue eyes and blonde hair—Simon(e) explores how masks and garments position age as a structuring fiction and the self as an architectural phenomenon.

Read the full essay at the link in bio.

Written by @svansaarloos
Photos by @0465chan

Beginning with a theatre piece narrating a love story between a man and a silicone sex doll, Simon(e) van Saarloos @svansaarloos, author of ‘Against Ageism: A Queer Manifesto’ (SPBH), reflects on attachment without reciprocity and the material conditions of care and human-nonhuman projection. Turning to animegao kigurumi, and through a dialogue with Oshiruko Chan @0465chan—a forever seventeen-year-old animegao character with large blue eyes and blonde hair—Simon(e) explores how masks and garments position age as a structuring fiction and the self as an architectural phenomenon.

Read the full essay at the link in bio.

Written by @svansaarloos
Photos by @0465chan

Beginning with a theatre piece narrating a love story between a man and a silicone sex doll, Simon(e) van Saarloos @svansaarloos, author of ‘Against Ageism: A Queer Manifesto’ (SPBH), reflects on attachment without reciprocity and the material conditions of care and human-nonhuman projection. Turning to animegao kigurumi, and through a dialogue with Oshiruko Chan @0465chan—a forever seventeen-year-old animegao character with large blue eyes and blonde hair—Simon(e) explores how masks and garments position age as a structuring fiction and the self as an architectural phenomenon.

Read the full essay at the link in bio.

Written by @svansaarloos
Photos by @0465chan

Beginning with a theatre piece narrating a love story between a man and a silicone sex doll, Simon(e) van Saarloos @svansaarloos, author of ‘Against Ageism: A Queer Manifesto’ (SPBH), reflects on attachment without reciprocity and the material conditions of care and human-nonhuman projection. Turning to animegao kigurumi, and through a dialogue with Oshiruko Chan @0465chan—a forever seventeen-year-old animegao character with large blue eyes and blonde hair—Simon(e) explores how masks and garments position age as a structuring fiction and the self as an architectural phenomenon.

Read the full essay at the link in bio.

Written by @svansaarloos
Photos by @0465chan

Beginning with a theatre piece narrating a love story between a man and a silicone sex doll, Simon(e) van Saarloos @svansaarloos, author of ‘Against Ageism: A Queer Manifesto’ (SPBH), reflects on attachment without reciprocity and the material conditions of care and human-nonhuman projection. Turning to animegao kigurumi, and through a dialogue with Oshiruko Chan @0465chan—a forever seventeen-year-old animegao character with large blue eyes and blonde hair—Simon(e) explores how masks and garments position age as a structuring fiction and the self as an architectural phenomenon.

Read the full essay at the link in bio.

Written by @svansaarloos
Photos by @0465chan

From the sweat-drenched chill-out rooms of early-90s Brixton to the algorithmic sprawl of contemporary ambient rave: how a music born to hold bodies through altered states became a survival grammar for the dissociative drift of digital capitalism in a world that never quite comes down.

Read the full essay at link in bio.

Written by @ppsychic.nomad
Illustrated by @suonidisorganizzati

From the sweat-drenched chill-out rooms of early-90s Brixton to the algorithmic sprawl of contemporary ambient rave: how a music born to hold bodies through altered states became a survival grammar for the dissociative drift of digital capitalism in a world that never quite comes down.

Read the full essay at link in bio.

Written by @ppsychic.nomad
Illustrated by @suonidisorganizzati

From the sweat-drenched chill-out rooms of early-90s Brixton to the algorithmic sprawl of contemporary ambient rave: how a music born to hold bodies through altered states became a survival grammar for the dissociative drift of digital capitalism in a world that never quite comes down.

Read the full essay at link in bio.

Written by @ppsychic.nomad
Illustrated by @suonidisorganizzati

From the sweat-drenched chill-out rooms of early-90s Brixton to the algorithmic sprawl of contemporary ambient rave: how a music born to hold bodies through altered states became a survival grammar for the dissociative drift of digital capitalism in a world that never quite comes down.

Read the full essay at link in bio.

Written by @ppsychic.nomad
Illustrated by @suonidisorganizzati

From the sweat-drenched chill-out rooms of early-90s Brixton to the algorithmic sprawl of contemporary ambient rave: how a music born to hold bodies through altered states became a survival grammar for the dissociative drift of digital capitalism in a world that never quite comes down.

Read the full essay at link in bio.

Written by @ppsychic.nomad
Illustrated by @suonidisorganizzati

From the sweat-drenched chill-out rooms of early-90s Brixton to the algorithmic sprawl of contemporary ambient rave: how a music born to hold bodies through altered states became a survival grammar for the dissociative drift of digital capitalism in a world that never quite comes down.

Read the full essay at link in bio.

Written by @ppsychic.nomad
Illustrated by @suonidisorganizzati

In Chengdu, queer communities navigate tightening control and fading digital openness, reshaping where and how connection can exist in China. Public celebration recedes, nightlife moderates itself, and intimacy slips into coded networks and overlooked daytime spaces. Through Xinke Lee’s returning gaze, nightlife, public encounters, and cruising grounds reveal a fundamental reckoning: an ongoing meditation on adaptation and loss, and a community that survives through floating identities.


Read the full story at the link in bio.

Written by @yuaynyy
Photos by @taoyunrain

In Chengdu, queer communities navigate tightening control and fading digital openness, reshaping where and how connection can exist in China. Public celebration recedes, nightlife moderates itself, and intimacy slips into coded networks and overlooked daytime spaces. Through Xinke Lee’s returning gaze, nightlife, public encounters, and cruising grounds reveal a fundamental reckoning: an ongoing meditation on adaptation and loss, and a community that survives through floating identities.


Read the full story at the link in bio.

Written by @yuaynyy
Photos by @taoyunrain

In Chengdu, queer communities navigate tightening control and fading digital openness, reshaping where and how connection can exist in China. Public celebration recedes, nightlife moderates itself, and intimacy slips into coded networks and overlooked daytime spaces. Through Xinke Lee’s returning gaze, nightlife, public encounters, and cruising grounds reveal a fundamental reckoning: an ongoing meditation on adaptation and loss, and a community that survives through floating identities.


Read the full story at the link in bio.

Written by @yuaynyy
Photos by @taoyunrain

In Chengdu, queer communities navigate tightening control and fading digital openness, reshaping where and how connection can exist in China. Public celebration recedes, nightlife moderates itself, and intimacy slips into coded networks and overlooked daytime spaces. Through Xinke Lee’s returning gaze, nightlife, public encounters, and cruising grounds reveal a fundamental reckoning: an ongoing meditation on adaptation and loss, and a community that survives through floating identities.


Read the full story at the link in bio.

Written by @yuaynyy
Photos by @taoyunrain

In Chengdu, queer communities navigate tightening control and fading digital openness, reshaping where and how connection can exist in China. Public celebration recedes, nightlife moderates itself, and intimacy slips into coded networks and overlooked daytime spaces. Through Xinke Lee’s returning gaze, nightlife, public encounters, and cruising grounds reveal a fundamental reckoning: an ongoing meditation on adaptation and loss, and a community that survives through floating identities.


Read the full story at the link in bio.

Written by @yuaynyy
Photos by @taoyunrain

In Chengdu, queer communities navigate tightening control and fading digital openness, reshaping where and how connection can exist in China. Public celebration recedes, nightlife moderates itself, and intimacy slips into coded networks and overlooked daytime spaces. Through Xinke Lee’s returning gaze, nightlife, public encounters, and cruising grounds reveal a fundamental reckoning: an ongoing meditation on adaptation and loss, and a community that survives through floating identities.


Read the full story at the link in bio.

Written by @yuaynyy
Photos by @taoyunrain

In Chengdu, queer communities navigate tightening control and fading digital openness, reshaping where and how connection can exist in China. Public celebration recedes, nightlife moderates itself, and intimacy slips into coded networks and overlooked daytime spaces. Through Xinke Lee’s returning gaze, nightlife, public encounters, and cruising grounds reveal a fundamental reckoning: an ongoing meditation on adaptation and loss, and a community that survives through floating identities.


Read the full story at the link in bio.

Written by @yuaynyy
Photos by @taoyunrain