Features - UNCLE

Features04.2604.26Patta Foundation and the Push to Build a Skatepark in Suriname

Brands love the word community. They drop it into mission statements, scatter it across the About Us pages of their websites and buzzword it until it starts to lose all meaning.

But not every brand can point to the work. Patta can.

More than twenty years since it began as a store in Amsterdam, Patta has grown into one of the world’s most recognisable independent streetwear names, rooted in Hip-Hop and the city that raised it. Just as central to that story, though, is Suriname. A former Dutch colony that gained independence in 1975, its relationship with the Netherlands is not distant history but living memory, carried through migration, family ties, food, football, language and outlook. A major wave of Surinamese migration to the Netherlands followed around independence, helping shape modern Dutch life in ways that remain visible and deeply felt now.

For Patta-lifer Timothy Sabajo, that connection is inseparable. The brand’s name even comes from the Surinamese word for shoe (pata). “If we talk about Amsterdam, we talk about Suriname, and we’re talking about Hip Hop,” he says. “So that’s basically what Patta is.”

That relationship between Patta and Suriname now sits at the heart of one of the most poignant projects that the Patta Foundation has backed so far. Led by Glemiel, a 27-year-old designer and skater from Amsterdam with Surinamese roots, Skatepark Suriname is an ambitious plan to help build a permanent community skatepark in Paramaribo. In one sense, it answers a straightforward problem: a small but passionate skate scene exists there with almost no real infrastructure. In another, it points to something much bigger.

“The problem is not to build a skatepark,” Tim says. “The problem is to maintain it, to have events there and to use that skatepark as a safe space where children can evolve.” That is what gives the idea its weight. The vision is not just ramps and concrete, but a multi-use space that can hold community activity, work opportunities, roller disco and theatre too — a piece of youth infrastructure in a place where leisure often feels geared more toward tourism than local kids, and where skateboarding itself is still often seen as marginal rather than full of possibility.

Supported publicly through a fundraiser at Amsterdam’s Skatecafé, and visually brought to life by Patta family artist Lenny Di Gennarro, whose design is on Amsterdam’s streets, Skatepark Suriname feels true to how Patta has always moved at its best. Skating may be the tool here, but the bigger idea is confidence, access, knowledge-sharing and giving young people something that feels like it is truly theirs.

Community not as branding language, but as actual practice.

STARTING WITH YOU TIM, FOR ANYONE WHO MIGHT NOT BE FAMILIAR YET, HOW WOULD YOU EXPLAIN WHAT PATTA IS AS A BRAND – AND WHERE THE FOUNDATION FITS INTO THAT WIDER STORY?

Timothy: Patta started out as a store more than 20 years ago, and from there it naturally evolved into a brand. That’s really how everything we do has grown — it’s been a natural process. We plan a lot more now than we used to, but in the beginning it was just organic growth. As the brand grew, we also started thinking more seriously about the values we’ve always stood on — things like “got love for all” and “each one teach one”. That’s where a lot of the wider community work came from. First it was the running team, then the cycling team, then the Academy, which gives young people opportunities to develop. The foundation sits within that same story. It’s another way for us to give back, and to support people who already have a strong idea and want to make something happen in their own community.

LENNY AND GLEMIEL, AS YOUNG PEOPLE IN AMSTERDAM, HOW DID YOU FIRST INTERACT WITH PATTA?

Lenny: I’ve always been close to Patta, partly because Edson (Patta co-founder) is my uncle, so it was never something that felt distant to me. I was always in and out of the store when I was younger. People there would even help me with school presentations, so I spent a lot of time around it. I’ve basically seen the brand grow from close up, and now it’s nice to see younger kids coming into the store in that same way and building their own connection to it. It feels like that energy has just kept going.

Glemiel: The first time I really clocked Patta was in the film Dope (2015). I’d seen it around before, through family and friends, but that made it click in a different way. I was really into American films, so seeing Patta there made me think, hang on, there’s a real link here. Then I started looking into the brand more, and I realised it wasn’t just that it had Surinamese roots — there was also something in the names, in the story, that made it feel close to me. It felt like something to look up to. Not in an idol way exactly, but in the sense of seeing something that felt connected to where I come from and thinking, yeah, this means something.

HOW DOES THAT MENTORING SIDE OF THE PATTA FOUNDATION ACTUALLY WORK IN PRACTICE? IS IT SOMETHING FORMAL THAT YOU APPLY FOR, OR IS IT MORE ABOUT HAVING ELDERS AROUND YOU THAT YOU CAN GO TO WITH AN IDEA AND ASK FOR GUIDANCE?

Glemiel: It felt very natural, to be honest. Patta is really… if you’ve ever been to the headquarters, it just feels like home, even if it’s your first time there. Everybody is really nice, and it has that family feeling. I started through the Patta Academy, and when I graduated, I already knew I wanted to do something for Suriname. Every time I was there, I wanted to skate, but there was nowhere proper to do it. So in my head the link made sense straight away: Patta is a Surinamese brand, so it should almost have its own skatepark there. When I came back from Suriname, I brought the idea in, spoke to people about it, and then sent Tim an email. From there, it grew quite naturally. Since then, Tim has kind of become my mentor through the whole process, and he’s helped me a lot.

BEFORE WE GET INTO THE SKATEPARK ITSELF, SURINAME IS OBVIOUSLY CENTRAL TO PATTA’S STORY. FOR A LOT OF OUR READERS IN THE UK, COULD YOU EXPLAIN THE CULTURAL IMPORTANCE OF SURINAME TO THE BRAND — AND MAYBE THE WIDER EXCHANGE BETWEEN SURINAME AND AMSTERDAM TOO?

Timothy: For us, Suriname is where we’re from. My parents were born there, and my partner was born there. Me and my brother were born in Amsterdam, but Suriname is deep in our hearts. And it’s not just an Amsterdam thing either — Surinamese culture runs through Dutch life more broadly, whether that’s Rotterdam, Den Haag or Eindhoven. To put it bluntly, without Surinamese people, the food here would be tasteless. My mum always says that when she first came over, there weren’t even showers in the way we’d understand them — people were still going to bath houses once a week in the 1970s — so Surinamese people changed hygiene, changed food, and then of course football as well. You look at Gullit, Rijkaard, Davids, Seedorf, Kluivert — we could keep going. That influence is huge. For us, when we talk about Amsterdam, we talk about Suriname, and we talk about hip hop. That’s basically what Patta is. Suriname is one big part of it because, for us, it’s home.

Lenny: I’ve got Surinamese roots as well, so I grew up around Surinamese culture. It’s probably in my work subconsciously more than anything — when I start making something or trying to come up with an idea, that’s often one of the first places my mind goes.

Glemiel: For me, it’s simple — I actually want to live there. I told Tim that already. The only thing missing for me, honestly, is a skatepark. The whole country barely has one, and the one that is there is tiny, while the Netherlands has hundreds. But beyond skating, there’s a lot in Suriname that feels familiar to me. There are loads of things in common with Amsterdam and with Dutch-Surinamese life more broadly, so the connection has always felt natural. That’s why this project made sense to me straight away.

WHAT IS SKATE CULTURE IN SURINAME LIKE AT THE MOMENT? IS THERE ALREADY A SCENE THERE THAT JUST DOESN’T HAVE THE INFRASTRUCTURE, OR ARE YOU REALLY HAVING TO BUILD THIS FROM THE GROUND UP?

Glemiel: There’s basically nothing there in terms of infrastructure, but what struck me when I first saw people skating in Suriname was how free they were with it. They can make almost anything into a skate spot. I was actually kind of jealous of that. They were skating rough concrete and doing heel flips on surfaces where I was trying to do the same thing and couldn’t even make it work. So they’ve got their own way of skating already, but at the same time they were all saying the same thing: we don’t have a skatepark. There’s one spot up north, but it’s like a 30-minute drive away. So there are street skaters there, definitely, but it’s still very small.

Timothy: The scene is tiny, really. Suriname has a population of around 600,000 people, and the country is huge — most of it is forest — so when you narrow that down to the young people living where there actually is infrastructure, then narrow it down again to the kids who might want to skate, and again to the ones who can actually get a board, you’re talking about very small numbers. There’s one organisation there, SOS, and that gives you an idea of the scale. So what Glemiel is doing is really helping kick off a skating community.

WHAT IS IT ABOUT SKATEBOARDING THAT MAKES IT IMPORTANT FOR SURINAME TO HAVE A SPACE LIKE THIS? WHAT CAN SKATING OFFER BEYOND JUST THE ACT OF SKATING ITSELF?

Glemiel: For me, the main thing is that it becomes a real possibility. Right now, it isn’t even that. Parents can be very strict in Suriname, and if you’re just out in the street on a skateboard while traffic is moving crazy, it doesn’t feel safe or realistic. You need a proper place to practise, and because that doesn’t exist, I understand why a lot of people don’t even look at skating as an option yet.

Timothy: In Suriname, people often think in terms of what a young person can obviously become — a footballer, a boxer, something with a clear path. Skateboarding doesn’t read like that yet. For a lot of people, it just looks like kids wasting time or disturbing the neighbourhood. But skating gives you much more than that. It’s healthy, it uses your whole body, it builds confidence, and it creates community. If we can create a safe space for it and put events and structure around it, then hopefully people will start to see skaters differently too.

AND THE PLAN ISN’T JUST TO BUILD THE SPACE, BUT TO CREATE WORK AROUND IT TOO — FROM EVENTS TO THE DAY-TO-DAY RUNNING OF IT. WHY IS THAT PART OF THE PROJECT IMPORTANT?

Timothy: Getting local people involved in new things, and in new ways, is a big part of it. Glemiel is bringing skating, but the Patta Foundation is also bringing organisational skills and a different perspective on how something like this can run. For us, it’s not about coming in from Europe and telling people what to do. We don’t want to impose anything. We just want to show another way of doing things, and if people can see that it works, then we can build it together. That’s also why it matters to bring Dutch-Surinamese kids and Surinamese kids together through this — so they can learn from each other. Skating is really just the tool. It could be another sport, it could be something else entirely, but sport is a way of bringing people together. Around that, you have the canteen, the events side, the day-to-day energy of the place, and all of that creates opportunities for people to work and be involved. If it grows in the right way, more people can get hired, but even at the first stage it’s about showing kids that you can build something for yourselves, in your own city, and not just for tourists.

AND TO SPEAK ABOUT THE EVENT ITSELF, WHAT EXACTLY IS HAPPENING AT THE FUNDRAISER IN AMSTERDAM?

Glemiel: It’s centred around Tricks for Cash. We’re going to have auctions, workshops, a few DJs, and a talk as well. So it’s not just one thing — it’s more like a full day built around raising money for the project in different ways.

Timothy: There’ll be a short talk about what we’re doing in Suriname, DJs throughout the day, and an auction with contributions from people in the skate world. Piet Parra is giving a board and something extra, a few other skaters are donating things too, and we’re auctioning one of Lenny’s paintings as well. It’s free entry, but people can donate whatever they want to the cause, and then Monster, our head sponsor, will match whatever we raise. So really, we’re trying to raise as much money as possible in every way we can and hopefully get the ball rolling properly.

AND LENNY, YOU’VE CREATED THE ARTWORK FOR THE CAMPAIGN. HOW DOES IT FEEL KNOWING THAT WORK IS GOING TO BE PLASTERED ACROSS AMSTERDAM — TAKEN OFF A SCREEN AND PUT BACK INTO THE CITY?

Lenny: I hope it catches people’s eyes, really. I hope it makes people come to the fundraiser and helps us raise enough money to make the project into something properly great. I’ve been to Skatecafé a couple of times myself, and it’s one of those places where even if you don’t really skate, it’s still fun to be there. So I just hope that, when this all comes to life in Suriname, kids there get to enjoy that feeling too.

THE FUNDRAISER IS TAKING PLACE AT SKATECAFÉ IN AMSTERDAM. IS THAT VENUE A GOOD EXAMPLE OF WHAT A SKATE SPACE CAN BECOME WHEN IT’S DONE RIGHT — SOMETHING BIGGER THAN JUST A PLACE TO SKATE?

Timothy: It’s a great example. They’re very active, and it’s really community-based. The people who started it are community-minded, and you can see that in the kids who come through it too — some of them grow up, leave, start their own things, and still carry that same spirit with them. It’s very much for the people. This is my second fundraiser there, and after this I’m doing a third one there that has nothing to do with skateboarding, and even then they’re fully on board. They’re just very supportive. And for the kids, it really works as a safe space. Any skate kid goes there, but even people who don’t skate still want to be there. I think they’ve genuinely succeeded in creating something bigger than just a skatepark.

PATTA HAS GROWN INTO AN INTERNATIONALLY KNOWN BRAND, AND YET IT STILL FEELS CLOSELY TIED TO THE COMMUNITY IT CAME OUT OF. HOW IMPORTANT HAS IT BEEN TO HOLD ON TO THAT SPIRIT AS THE COMPANY HAS GROWN — AND IS THAT EASY TO DO?

Timothy: It’s not easy, but it’s simple. A lot of it just comes down to saying no. As long as you can keep saying no, you can stay focused on your own path. Of course there will always be a point where you have to say yes to certain things, but right now we can still say no to a lot, and that means we can move in our own direction. At the same time, having things like the Academy and the Foundation really helps. They allow the company to be more business-focused, because the giving-back side has its own structure. In the end, the company has to make money, but the Foundation and the Academy are there as non-profit organisations to support communities and make good projects happen. We probably could shout a lot more about that work, but that’s never really been the point. We’re not trying to put ourselves in the picture or prove we’ve got a good heart. Most of the time, we’re just providing space, support or funding — it’s the people doing the projects who deserve the credit. I think we’ve found a good balance where the business can keep growing, while the Foundation and Academy can focus on giving back in a genuine way.

FINALLY, FOR ANYONE READING THIS AND WANTING TO SUPPORT THE PROJECT, WHAT’S THE BEST WAY FOR PEOPLE TO GET INVOLVED?

Timothy: The main thing right now is supporting the fundraiser and keeping an eye out for what comes next. We will have a GoFundMe page and the wider support around that, so once everything is properly live, people will be able to donate directly and follow the next steps of the project from there. And of course, we’d love to thank UNCLE for the support as well — we really appreciate it.

“I’m trying to put the attention on normal things.”

Chiara Fossati says it how it is, and so does her photography.

Born in Legnano in 1984 and now long since based in Milan, Fossati is a member of CESURA, the Italian photo collective and independent group built on shared skills, independent publishing, and the kind of support system photography often needs to survive as a long-term practice. “Photography is a very lonely work. So we create a sort of net,” she says.

That sense of community matters to how Fossati works, and so does place. She lives and works in Milan’s outskirts, neighbourhoods that can often be reduced to stereotypes from the outside — or, more so, from within the city centre. “People from the centre are scared of the outskirts, and a lot of it is about communication.”

Fossati’s work pushes back against that distance. Not by dressing things up, and not by chasing shock. Her images are built through time, trust, and conversation. The kind of approach where people feel involved, not taken from. The result is photographs that hold softness without ever feeling too sentimental: attentive to gesture, to presence, and to the everyday realities that rarely get given space.

Projects like Whatever, Villaggio dei Fiori and Comete! feature portraits of ravers, teenagers, and communities in Milan’s outer neighbourhoods, photographed without shock value or struggle-as-aesthetic. These are not Chiara’s subjects; they are her neighbours.

In a city sold internationally as fast, fashionable, and polished, Fossati’s photographs are a reminder that Milan is also made in stairwells, courtyards, bus stops, basketball courts — the everyday spaces where life happens without an audience. Her work has been recognised in Italy’s contemporary photography world (including prizes for Villaggio dei Fiori
and Comete!), and she has also published her first book, Whatever, through CESURA’s own publishing arm.

Wildposing her photographs with UNCLE in Milan brings Fossati’s portraits out of the outskirts and into the city centre. A reminder, in public, that the “other side” of the city is not an abstract idea, but people: living, growing up, looking after one other, and trying to be seen properly.

WHAT FIRST DREW YOU TO PHOTOGRAPHY, AND WHEN DID IT START TO FEEL LIKE SOMETHING YOU WANTED TO COMMIT TO SERIOUSLY?

I think it started because I always felt a bit different from the others. Growing up outside a big city, I was often the strange one — different hair, different looks — and I always felt slightly out of place. From a young age, I wanted to travel, to move, to meet people, and see what was beyond where I grew up.

When I was at art high school, there was a darkroom, and I remember very vividly the first time I developed and printed my own photographs. Seeing that image appear, I felt like it was the closest thing to giving a real shape to what was already in my head. That moment really stayed with me.

I knew I wanted to be a photographer from around the age of fourteen, and that never changed, even when it was, and still is sometimes, very hard. It’s not the easiest job, and it doesn’t come with much security, but the freedom to follow what I’m interested in, and to do what I feel drawn to, has always mattered more to me than anything else.

YOU GREW UP IN THE SUBURBS AND LATER MOVED TO MILAN. HOW DID THOSE PLACES SHAPE THE WAY YOU LOOK AT PEOPLE AND EVERYDAY LIFE?

Growing up in the suburbs was important for me. Not living in a big city meant that many things felt out of reach, and I had to learn early on to go and get what I wanted by myself. That shaped the way I look at life with a sense of curiosity.

At first, Milan was somewhere I wanted to escape to. But later, I found myself living in the outskirts of the city again, in a council housing area in the west of Milan, where I still live today. Coming back to that environment changed everything for me.

What surprised me most was the sense of community. In Milan, it’s common not to know your neighbours at all, but here people brought me food, kids knocked on my door to say welcome, neighbours helped take care of my dog. I became part of everyday life — doing homework with children, sharing small moments — and photographing it came very naturally from that.

Living there taught me to look more closely at what’s considered ordinary. The people, the routines, the relationships — these are the things that really shape how I see everyday life now, and they’ve become central to the way I work.

A LOT OF YOUR WORK IS ROOTED IN THE OUTSKIRTS OF MILAN. WHAT IS IT ABOUT THOSE AREAS THAT KEEPS PULLING YOU BACK?

I’ve always been drawn to people and subcultures that sit on the edges of society, probably because, in different ways, I’ve felt part of that myself. With the outskirts of Milan, that instinct became something much more personal, because it’s not a place I visit to “document.” It’s where I’m living, and where my everyday life happens.

What keeps pulling me back is that these areas are constantly talked about from a distance, often with fear attached to them. Right now especially, there’s a lot of anxiety about the outskirts, and I think so much of it comes down to communication — stories being amplified, simplified, and repeated until people in the centre start imagining the outskirts as something dangerous.

So for me, photographing these places is partly about staying close to what’s real. Not making something sensational, but showing the full picture — the normal everyday things, and the people who live their lives here like anyone else.

MILAN IS OFTEN SEEN FROM THE OUTSIDE AS A FAST, FASHIONABLE, POLISHED CITY. WHAT DOES THE CITY FEEL LIKE FROM WHERE YOU’RE STANDING?

I think, like every city, Milan doesn’t have just one reality. There are many Milans happening at the same time. Of course, it’s the fashion capital, it’s fast, it has a polished surface, and there’s a lot of “cool” culture and people moving through it.

But at the same time, it’s also a city with social problems, and there’s this feeling that the municipality is trying to “clean up” the city so people from outside only experience that polished version.

From where I’m standing, the most important reality is that the people in the outskirts are not some separate world, they’re just like everyone else, doing normal everyday things, trying to have a voice and to be heard.

And personally, even though Milan can be expensive and not always the friendliest place socially, I still love parts of its physical character — the concrete, the street culture, street art, exhibitions — that vibrant feeling you get when you move through certain parts of the city.

LOOKING ACROSS WHATEVER, VILLAGGIO DEI FIORI AND COMETE, HOW DID THESE PROJECTS COME ABOUT? DID THEY GROW NATURALLY, OR DID YOU HAVE A CLEAR IDEA FROM THE START?

Usually, it’s the opposite of having a clear idea first. I might think I want to plan something, but most of the time, I find myself in a situation and then I realise, “Oh my God, this is so cool. This is so important. I want to talk about this.”

With Whatever, for example, it wasn’t like I set out to document rave culture. I was just taking pictures of my friends — and only later, looking back, I realised the photos were this really intimate glimpse into that world. It became a way to show that ravers aren’t “monsters” in abandoned buildings, but people. There’s humanity in it.

A lot of my projects start like that: life first, then the meaning reveals itself. And then, of course, once I recognise something is there, I put fuel on the fire. I commit to it and build it out.

COMETE FOCUSES ON TEENAGERS AND YOUNG PEOPLE AT A VERY SPECIFIC MOMENT IN THEIR LIVES. WHAT MADE YOU WANT TO SPEND TIME WITH THIS AGE GROUP?

I’ve always been fascinated by teenagers. It’s such an important moment in everyone’s life; everything can still happen, you’re doing things for the first time, and you’re still figuring out what kind of person you’re going to be.

And honestly, I don’t know why, but after a certain age, adults completely forget what it was like. It’s like they cancel it from their brains.

With Comete, I was especially curious about what it means to be a teenager now — particularly a female teenager — with social networks, the pace of communication, and everything happening in the world. So I started stopping girls in the street, interviewing them, and making portraits. Now I have so many portraits and interviews, and I want to turn it into a book.

THERE’S A REAL SOFTNESS AND HONESTY IN THE WAY PEOPLE APPEAR IN YOUR IMAGES. HOW DO YOU CREATE THE SPACE FOR THAT TO HAPPEN?

That softness comes from connection. The conversation is what makes the portrait possible — it creates trust, and it lets the image come from something deeper than the surface.

It’s also why Comete was a different experience for me. It’s the first time I’ve gone out stopping people I didn’t already know. But even there, I still needed the talking first. Because it isn’t about catching someone looking “cool,” or styling, or aesthetics. I’m interested in gesture, and what people reveal when they feel seen rather than observed.

YOUR WORK OFTEN SHOWS COMMUNITIES THAT ARE EASY TO STEREOTYPE FROM THE OUTSIDE. HOW DO YOU THINK ABOUT REPRESENTATION WHEN WORKING IN THESE SPACES?

I think about it a lot because it’s very easy to take a picture and accidentally confirm what people already believe. And most of the time, what people “believe” about certain communities is built from distance, fear, and repetition.

So for me, representation starts with responsibility. I try to stay close to what’s real and human, rather than what’s dramatic. I’m not interested in the sensational image, I’m interested in the everyday: families, kids, small moments, gesture, tenderness. Those details are what break stereotypes.

And it also comes back to how I’m making the image. I don’t want the camera to become a shield. I want people to feel involved, not taken from – like they’re part of the project rather than just being used as “subjects.” The conversation matters because it keeps the work grounded in a relationship, not just observation.

TELL US ABOUT THE PROJECT YOU’RE PUTTING ON THE WALLS OF MILAN WITH UNCLE…

The images I’m bringing to this collaboration are a mixture of my long-term project in the suburb where I live, alongside photographs made in other outskirts of Milan.

They’re portraits of normal people — neighbours, families, young people – and what matters most to me is breaking the prejudice that a lot of people in Milan still have about the outskirts. There’s so much fear: that people are dangerous, criminals, untrustworthy. But in reality, they’re just families, with kids, with struggles… and most of those struggles don’t come from anything they’ve “done,” but from life itself.

For the posters, I wanted the image to feel central, but I also wanted to include the name of the neighbourhood where it was taken.

THIS COLLABORATION BRINGS YOUR WORK ONTO THE STREETS OF MILAN THROUGH WILDPOSTING. WHAT WAS YOUR FIRST REACTION TO THAT IDEA?

I thought it was really cool because it puts the work right back into the city, and people can pass by and take a moment with it.

I like the idea that someone might see a face and think: that could be my little sister… that looks like my cousin… what a nice face. Just small recognitions, and that’s enough.

And more broadly, it’s appealing because I make photographs to give people a voice, so the more people who can engage with the work, the happier I am.

WHAT DO YOU LIKE ABOUT PEOPLE ENCOUNTERING YOUR WORK BY CHANCE — AND WHAT DO YOU HOPE THEY TAKE AWAY?

I love that the audience is completely different outside of galleries or museums — it’s just out in the world.

For me, if even one person looks at one image and feels a connection — if it makes them emotional, reminds them of something, or makes them stop and think about society or community — then it’s totally worth all the effort I put into it.

“Real culture and real clothes, inspired by real people.”

That is how Irish fashion designer Robyn Lynch describes her eponymous brand. From Malahide to Dublin and now, London, Lynch is unafraid to wear her Irishness on her own sleeve, whilst weaving in memories of her upbringing into the sleeves of all her collections.

Since graduating in 2019 from the University of Westminster, Robyn has carved out a space in contemporary menswear that feels personal, yet universal. Clothes that are lived in, purposeful and full of identity.

With recent milestones including designing uniforms for the Guinness Storehouse, a collaboration with footwear brand Geox, and her first out-of-home campaign, courtesy of UNCLE, the Robyn Lynch brand continues to evolve – with a focus on continuity rather than reinvention.

For London Fashion Week, UNCLE spoke to Robyn about memories of Malahide, communities within London (including where to find the best pint of Guinness), and why building a people’s wardrobe will always matter more than chasing spectacle.

TO START, HOW WOULD YOU DESCRIBE YOURSELF IN YOUR OWN WORDS – BOTH PERSONALLY AND AS A DESIGNER?

Personally, I’m quite pragmatic and observant. I’m interested in how people actually live, what they wear day to day, how clothes function in real environments, and the small details that make something feel right.

As a designer, I focus on utility, authenticity and storytelling. I’m interested in clothes that feel lived in, purposeful and connected to identity.

YOU GREW UP IN THE COASTAL TOWN OF MALAHIDE, STUDIED TEXTILES IN DUBLIN, AND THEN MOVED TO LONDON TO CONTINUE YOUR EDUCATION. HOW HAS YOUR HOMETOWN ENVIRONMENT SHAPED YOUR WORK?

I think the people I grew up with shaped my work more than the place itself. Malahide is beautiful, but it’s my friends and the memories that feed into each collection.

A lot of the work comes from nostalgia. Funny stories, the brands we used to wear, how we styled things together. Those memories often shape the direction of a collection and even the dream collaborations I want to pursue.

FROM MALAHIDE TO DUBLIN TO LONDON, IS THERE ANYTHING YOU MISS ABOUT THE IRISH DESIGN ECOSYSTEM?

I miss the ease of community and the willingness to help. When you grow up somewhere, you naturally have a network around you.

Starting out in London meant building all of those relationships from scratch, which is challenging. But it’s also a necessary part of growing independently.

CAN YOU REMEMBER THE MOMENT YOU FIRST DECIDED YOU WANTED TO WORK IN FASHION? WERE THERE ANY OTHER CAREER PATHS YOU CONSIDERED?

It felt quite instinctive. Each stage of education naturally led into the next, and the brand grew from that process.
When I graduated in 2019, I had the opportunity to continue developing the work and focus on championing an Irish voice within contemporary menswear. At the time, there wasn’t really anyone operating in that space, so it felt like a clear point of difference.

YOU’VE SPOKEN ABOUT THE IMPORTANCE OF IRISHNESS IN YOUR WORK – WHETHER THROUGH CULTURAL REFERENCES, MUSIC, OR HUMOUR. HOW DO YOU NAVIGATE THE LINE BETWEEN RESPECTFUL HOMAGE AND CLICHÉ WHEN WORKING WITH THOSE CULTURAL SYMBOLS?

It’s a very fine line, and it’s something I question at every stage of the process. Colour, fabric, graphics, casting, photography and music are all considered through that lens, often quite instinctively.
I want the brand to celebrate Irish culture without becoming pigeonholed. The aim is that people from different backgrounds can connect with the shapes and the feeling, and find their own sense of nostalgia, even if they’re not Irish.

WHAT DOES THE PROCESS BEHIND A ROBYN LYNCH PIECE LOOK LIKE? WHERE DOES IT BEGIN, AND HOW DOES IT EVOLVE?

It often begins with vintage. I spend hours on eBay and visit archives and vintage stores whenever I travel.

From there, it moves into product development with my factories. I usually start with colour direction, then yarn sourcing and fabric development. It’s very product led.

The story and world come later. The core themes don’t change dramatically from season to season. I’m more interested in building continuity and developing people’s wardrobes over time rather than constantly changing direction.

YOU RECENTLY REDESIGNED THE UNIFORMS FOR THE GUINNESS STOREHOUSE – A PROJECT THAT FELT LIKE A NATURAL FIT. HOW DO YOU BALANCE INSTITUTIONAL REQUIREMENTS WITH YOUR OWN DESIGN INSTINCTS?

It was a big challenge and something we’re still learning from. The key difference is the point of use. You’re designing for a wide range of people and roles, so it’s about finding a middle ground while still holding onto the brand codes.

I also wanted to bring as much of my existing production network into the project as possible. The uniforms are made in the same factories as my mainline, which I hope gives the wearer a sense of pride. I want people to feel like they’re wearing something considered and special.

SPEAKING OF, WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE LONDON PUB FOR A PINT OF GUINNESS?

The Auld Shillelagh in Stoke Newington.

COLLABORATION FEELS CENTRAL TO THE ROBYN LYNCH BRAND. IS THERE A DISCIPLINE OUTSIDE OF FASHION YOU’D MOST LIKE TO COLLABORATE WITH, AND WHAT MIGHT THAT LOOK LIKE?

Furniture is something I’ve become really interested in recently. Maybe that comes with getting older.

I’ve started approaching it the same way I approach clothing, through vintage sourcing and a lot of time spent on eBay. I’m drawn to pieces with strong materials and proportions. The idea of applying that same eye for material, function and longevity from clothing into furniture feels really exciting.

YOU’VE QUESTIONED THE VALUE OF RUNWAY SHOWS VERSUS MORE DIRECT FORMS OF ENGAGEMENT. HOW DO YOU ENVISION THE FUTURE OF FASHION PRESENTATION FOR INDEPENDENT DESIGNERS?

As an independent brand, you have to be realistic about resources. A runway show is a big investment for something that lasts a few minutes.

I think the future is about more considered and targeted ways of showing the work. Showrooms, press appointments, installations or campaigns, such as the support with UNCLE – that live in the real world – feel more effective. It allows the product to be seen properly and helps build stronger relationships with the people who actually support the brand.

HOW HAS BEING LONDON-BASED SHAPED YOUR PERSPECTIVE ON IRISH CULTURE? AND CONVERSELY, HOW DOES YOUR IRISHNESS INFLUENCE YOUR EXPERIENCE OF LONDON’S CREATIVE SCENE?

When I first moved, it definitely heightened my sense of Irish identity, as I think it does with a lot of people who move away from home.

Practically, the Irish community in London has become a huge source of support. Living away from home brings people together. There is a shared energy and willingness to help.

Finding those pockets of people within the London creative scene has been really important for the brand’s growth and survival.

WHAT DOES COMMUNITY MEAN TO YOU — BOTH AS A CREATOR AND AS THE LEADER OF YOUR OWN LABEL?

It’s become a buzzword, but for a small brand, it’s genuinely critical. Early on, the focus was on validation through big stores, wholesale growth and major press. But long-term sustainability actually comes from your direct community.

We realised our audience was growing online, but the product wasn’t always accessible to them. In 2024, we restructured our pricing and introduced a core collection. Since then, we’ve seen that support translate from social engagement into actual sales.

FINALLY, WHAT DO YOU HAVE PLANNED FOR FASHION WEEK AND FOR THE REST OF 2026?

The Geox collaboration was a major milestone. It’s the first footwear product we’ve been able to offer directly to our community, which has been a great experience.

We presented it in Paris showrooms during Men’s Fashion Week alongside press appointments. With this partnership with UNCLE we have also been able to launch our first out-of-home campaign, which has been a great way to test a more everyday form of visibility and meet people in their daily environment.

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ADÉBAYO BOLAJI

“Ultimately, seasons are not conditional; you can typically rely on them. This kind of love is the hardest — the one we can rely on.

I have a poem that says:

And so, what is left?

For us to fly into Space

And claim ownership of stars?

And yet the Sun is screaming

‘I love both the good and the bad’

So, for me part of this painting speaks to that to the most epic and dangerous kind of love which is unconditional.

All beings in the painting are being present in the moment, enjoying the immediacy and fluency of nature itself.”

www.bolaji.studio

ALISA OLEVA

“I believe that by thinking about our connection to places and people we love, and creating portals to connect across times, obstacles, silences, absences, and distances, we can practice the future we dream of, and start walking towards it.”

alisaoleva.com

ANNIE FROST NICHOLSON

“F*ck fascism. We, the people, are a force to be reckoned with, and the strength of our communities is testament that love always, always trumps hate and fear.”

www.anniefrostnicholson.com

ANTHONY BURRILL

“Two short words joined by an ampersand. Simple, direct, human. A message stripped back to its most honest form — the connection between me and you.

In my work, I use the language of the street: chunky letterforms, bold contrasts, clear layouts, and a voice that feels like it’s talking straight to you. My posters don’t decorate; they communicate. Whether I paint them onto a wall, paste them on a hoarding, or stretch them across a billboard, You & Me becomes both a personal reminder and a public statement — a quiet kind of protest made through warmth and optimism.

This is my love protest: using positive messages to push back against cynicism, division, and noise. When you see You & Me out in the world, I hope it feels like a moment of calm in the chaos — an invitation to slow down, look up, and remember that kindness is something we share. In a time when messages often divide, I want my words to bring us back together. Because change doesn’t always start with anger — sometimes, it begins with love.”

anthonyburrill.com

BABAK GANJEI

“It feels like the world at large would benefit from teaching its younger inhabitants compassion at an early age as opposed to the fear that ultimately divides us.”

www.babakganjeiworks.com

BEVAN AGYEMANG

“Love remembers the stories, sacrifices, that form our foundation. To love across generations is to understand that time does not separate it connects. It’s the omnipresent thread binding past, present, and future.”

www.instagram.com/bevan_agyemang

CORBIN SHAW

“I’m in love in this country is a twist on the idea of finding love in a hopeless place. I wanted people to misread it as they passed by, as if it said, ‘I’m in love with this country’. I liked the idea that viewers could interpret it in their own way.”

www.corbinshaw.com

ELIJAH

“Loving the space and time you exist in is finding the right music to soundtrack it with, so collecting, curating, and finding ways to share that joy with others is an intangible form of optimism that is needed in these crazy times.”

www.instagram.com/eli1ah

GAURAB THAKALI

“The portrait of the man at the piano is Bill Evans, and the artwork is inspired by his song Peace Piece. It’s a beautiful, timeless piece of music with a meditative, reflective feel.

The other artwork is dedicated to Gil Scott-Heron — musician, author, and spoken-word performer. It’s inspired by his lyrics and the themes he often explored: social and racial injustice, hope, disillusionment, and the human condition.”

www.gaurabthakali.com

JEREMY DELLER

www.jeremydeller.org

JOE CRUZ

“Kissing is great — celebrate kissing whoever you love x.”

jcruz.co.uk

MAGDA ARCHER

“Ugh! I’m just so sick of all the hate out there. You know what they say: ‘If you haven’t got anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.’  So, more love for 2026, please.”

www.instagram.com/magdaarcher

MARK TITCHNER

“Raoul Vaneigem writes in The Revolution of Everyday Life  that those who speak of revolution and class struggle ‘without understanding what is subversive about love’ do so with ‘a corpse in their mouth’. Love resists constraints, demands sacrifice, and is selfless. It suggests something that counters much contemporary logic, namely that we individuals, we ‘me’s’, are not in fact the centre of the universe.

Advertising media, in its many forms, informs us that ‘you want’ and that ‘you need’, reminding us of our duty to eternal consumption in the service of self-betterment. In this work, It Is You I Love the Most, I simply wanted to shift this logic. By addressing ‘you’ directly I aimed not to emphasise what it is you lack, but instead to offer a gift — that thing that we all may choose to offer: love.”

marktitchner.com

MOLLY HANKINSON

“I created  Sisterhood  in 2020, and it was part of  Your Space Or Mine  in Glasgow during lockdown. It’s been great to revisit and reflect on its themes of togetherness, solidarity, and coalition-building. It still feels as — if not more — poignant and essential to amplify this message today.”

www.mollyhankinson.com

MORAG MYERSCOUGH

“True Love as protest is about more than personal relationships; it embodies a commitment to collective wellbeing.

True Love embraces empathy, understanding, and compassion. True Love ignites hope, transforms landscapes and inspires us to envision a world that is united by compassion and understanding. In celebrating love, we challenge discrimination and indifference, paving the way for a brighter, more inclusive future.”

www.moragmyerscough.com

REBECCA ZEPHYR THOMAS

“I chose this portrait of activist and photographer Misan Harriman because he is relentless in his work to spread justice and love into the world. His voice is calm, empathic, and informed, and he touches people around the world via his art and activism. The image was shot at a protest for Palestine in London in July 2024, Misan is a light that the world needs in these current times, always advocating for our shared humanity.”

www.rebeccazephyrthomas.com

ROBERT MONTGOMERY

“I’m really happy to be part of this project raising funds for War Child. These posters are an extension of my new poem in the plaza at Centrepoint on Charing Cross Road in London. The words celebrate everyday acts of kindness. Showing kindness to the most vulnerable people in our world is more important now than ever before. Kindness is our highest power.”

www.robertmontgomery.org

SGÀIRE WOOD

“The World is Still Your Toy is dedicated to children, especially those who are victims of conflict, violence and genocide. The heraldic ermine motif represents the abstraction of violence and the anonymisation of those experiencing it but also a call to stand united in our varied experiences against fascism and oppression worldwide. All children should know that the world and all the potential it holds continue to belong to all of us. Free Palestine.”

www.instagram.com/sgairewood

SUEDE

“In a country obsessed with headlines about fear, these two write their own front page: kids of immigrants choosing kindness as their legacy — a reminder that love isn’t soft; it’s resistance!”

www.instagram.com/suede_baby

TRACKIE MCLEOD

“Love itself is an act of protest. It’s time to rise against governments that fuel war, spread hate, and chase profit over humanity. The power they’ve stolen will return to the people, if we speak out and stand together.”

trackiemcleod.com

YINKA ILORI

“This artwork was originally conceived as an allegory for maternal figures. It stands as an emblem of unconditional love, balance, deep care, and benevolence. A force that mirrors what has been freely given. It represents the quiet strength that nurtures and holds communities together, especially in times of division.”

yinkailori.com

“Finish this sentence: I take photos because…”

While the photographers, tempo and locations change from episode to episode, this is the one line you’ll always hear in Walkie Talkie — the street-photography YouTube series founded by Paulie B, real name Paul Baldonado.

Born and raised in Washington D.C., Paulie grew up as the kid who excelled in art class — always drawing, always seeing visually. He started taking photos in the Tumblr era, borrowing his sister’s DSLR before falling deeper into photography during a nine-to-five job in his twenties. After moving to Chicago, he made a rule for himself: take one picture every day for a year. That discipline — paired with the city’s architecture and rhythm — shaped his eye. But it was New York’s unrelenting pace that really pulled him in. The move in 2019 gave him what he calls “the energy my shutter finger was searching for.”

What makes Walkie Talkie unique isn’t just what comes out of it, but the honesty with which it’s shown. There are no guarantees of “the shot.” Some days yield nothing, some days give everything — but the cameras keep rolling. As Paulie puts it, “this is what it’s really like being a street photographer in New York and having conversations with this community that I have.”

Through a new collaboration with UNCLE, that same community is taking over the streets once again — or more precisely, the walls. As Paulie rolls out a rebrand for the channel alongside a new run of videos, work from Walkie Talkie-featured photographers has been wildposted across New York.

Across its run, Walkie Talkie has featured a wide cross-section of photographers shaping the medium today — from Trevor Wisecup to Martha Cooper, to Jas Leon, Mark A. Portillo and Kazu Nakajima who all feature in the wildposting campaign. Each brings their own rhythm, philosophy and city soundtrack to the frame, turning the series into an evolving record of street photography’s present moment.

For Paulie, that moment has come full circle. The work born on the streets finds its way back there, free of galleries and glass. It’s an affirmation of what Walkie Talkie has always stood for: photographers who keep shooting, and keep showing up on the street.

In conversation with UNCLE, Paulie B reflects on the making of Walkie Talkie, the philosophy behind it, and why, even after all these years, the answer to that familiar question still feels the same.

WERE THERE ANY EARLY INFLUENCES — PHOTOGRAPHERS, ARTISTS, OR EVEN FILMS — THAT SHAPED HOW YOU SEE THE WORLD THROUGH A LENS?

One of the first big influences for me was actually a film — the Vivian Maier documentary. I remember watching it and thinking, oh, this is something that’s been done before — people have been out there, documenting life, photographing strangers, just observing the world as it is. It gave me a sense of history, that what I was doing was part of a much bigger story.

From there, I started digging deeper, meeting other photographers, and learning about figures like Fan Ho and Gary Winogrand. Early on I was really into Fan Ho — the way he used light and geometry, how every shot felt so deliberate. But over time, Winogrand became the main influence for me. He’s been a constant ever since I discovered him.

At first, it was about the images themselves, but now it’s more about his philosophy — his attitude towards taking pictures. He just wanted to be outside shooting, every day, without overthinking it. There’s a relentlessness in that approach that I really connect with.
Winogrand talked about how you should risk failure every time you take a photo, and that stuck with me. Most of what I shoot doesn’t work out — there’s a lot of “crap,” as he would say — but that’s part of it. You’re supposed to put yourself in a position to fail a little bit every time, because that’s how you grow. That mindset really shaped how I see photography, and it’s what keeps me out there walking and shooting every day.

LET’S TALK ABOUT WALKIE TALKIE. HOW DID THE IDEA FIRST COME ABOUT, AND WHAT MADE YOU WANT TO BRING STREET PHOTOGRAPHY TO YOUTUBE?

Street photography videos already existed on YouTube, but Walkie Talkie really came out of what was already happening in my life. I’d spend miles and miles walking every day through New York City with other photographers, having conversations — sometimes about photography, sometimes about life in general. I thought, it would be interesting if people could listen in on that. It’s kind of like a podcast, but visual, and grounded in the streets.

For me, New York has always felt like the mecca of street photography, but the stuff I saw online didn’t reflect what I was actually seeing and experiencing here in real life. The culture, the people, the rhythm — it was all different. So I wanted to bring that authenticity online. This is what it’s really like being a street photographer in New York and having conversations with this community that I have. It’s my way of showing people the energy and honesty of what’s happening here every single day.

WHAT DOES THE ACT OF WALKING MEAN TO YOU IN RELATION TO YOUR WORK? THERE’S SOMETHING MEDITATIVE ABOUT YOUR VIDEOS — HOW DO WALKING AND SHOOTING CONNECT FOR YOU?

For me, walking is the whole thing. The way I practise street photography, it’s a game of effort. Most of what you shoot isn’t going to work out — that’s just how it is. So the more you walk, the more you see, the more chances you give yourself to make something.

If you take a hundred photos in an hour, ninety-nine might be bad. But if you walk for two or three hours, that’s a few hundred chances instead of a hundred. It’s not a perfect ratio, but the effort compounds. The more you put in, the more you get out. You have to be outside, you have to make yourself available, and you have to be willing to accept whatever comes your way. Some days nothing happens, some days you find magic — but you won’t know unless you keep walking.

DID YOU EXPECT IT TO GROW INTO SUCH A BIG, LONG-RUNNING SERIES, OR DID IT START AS MORE OF AN EXPERIMENT?

I had a feeling it would do well. Obviously I had doubts, but I also had this gut sense that it was going to connect with people. Like we talked about, New York is the mecca of street photography, and people everywhere are interested in what’s happening here — not just in photography, but across all creative practices. So giving them a peek behind that door felt like something that would resonate.

Early on, I was getting maybe a thousand views per Walkie Talkie, two thousand, three thousand — but I just knew. I had to keep that mindset, even through the ups and downs of YouTube. One thing I’ve learned from listening to successful people in other fields is that they all share this undenying thought that they’re going to make it. They don’t hope; they know. That really stuck with me.

So even when the numbers were low, I just kept telling myself, I know this is going to work. People probably think I’m raking it in, but I’m really not — I’m still convincing myself it’s going to work. But I have to keep that faith. You make a decision, and then you make it right. That’s the mindset. It’s all going to work out.

YOU’VE SAID BEFORE THAT YOU’RE AS INTERESTED IN THE PEOPLE BEHIND THE CAMERA AS THE IMAGES THEMSELVES. WHAT KIND OF CONVERSATIONS DO YOU TRY TO HAVE WHEN YOU’RE OUT FILMING?

I think Walkie Talkie really brings forward the person behind the camera more than anything. It shows the thought and the work that goes into taking a picture — because in some episodes, you’ll notice there aren’t that many photos being taken. That’s not because someone isn’t a good photographer; sometimes there’s just nothing happening. We don’t control that. We can’t control when good photos or interesting moments appear — we all just start walking, and whatever happens, happens.

What speaks to one photographer might not speak to another, and that’s part of what I love showing. It highlights how different people respond to the same city in completely different ways. It also shows how much work it actually takes — it can take days, even months, to get one photo you’re proud of. I’m only filming for a single day, so I hope Walkie Talkie helps people see that process — the mindset, the work ethic, and the thoughts behind taking pictures.

HOW DO YOU ACTUALLY FIND THE PHOTOGRAPHERS YOU WORK WITH — AND WHAT DO YOU LOOK FOR WHEN DECIDING WHO TO FEATURE NEXT?

There are a couple of ways I go about it. When I travel to a new city, I’ll usually reach out to photographers I already know there and ask them to name three people who really represent the community right now. I’ll do that with five or six people, and once I start seeing the same names come up, I know who to reach out to. That overlap usually tells me who’s active, respected, and pushing things forward.
Here in New York, it’s a little different because I’m so embedded in the scene. I’m out on the streets a lot, watching who’s around, whose work keeps showing up, who’s putting in the effort day in and day out. Over time you develop a sense for who’s genuinely dedicated — the people who are doing it for the love of it, not just for likes or followers. I like to feature people who’ve been out there for at least a couple of years and still have that fire. Street photography can be really cyclical; a lot of people drift in and out. But the ones who stay consistent are the ones I want to spotlight.

THERE’S ALSO A BIT OF EMPHASIS ON THE GEAR PEOPLE USE — THE CAMERAS, THE LENSES, THE SETUPS. WHAT’S YOUR TAKE ON THAT SIDE OF IT? DO YOU BUY INTO THE IDEA THAT “THE BEST CAMERA IS THE ONE IN YOUR HAND”?

Honestly, I only started asking about gear because people in the comments got mad that I wasn’t. Personally, I don’t care that much. Most of the time people are using similar cameras anyway, especially in New York, and that’s usually because they’ve tried something a friend uses and it just works for them.

Gear matters to a certain extent, but I think what people really mean when they say “the best camera is the one in your hand” is that you need to find what works for you. For some people that’s a rangefinder, for others it’s an SLR, or even medium format. You just have to find something that doesn’t get in your way — a camera that feels natural, that lets you shoot without overthinking.

For me, it’s about what’s effective and efficient. Effective meaning it gives you the kind of image you want, and efficient meaning it reduces friction — it lets you move and react without hesitation. Budget’s part of that too. Some cameras are expensive, but if it’s the one that fits your flow and makes you want to go out shooting, then it’s worth it.

AS WELL AS COMMENTS ABOUT EQUIPMENT, A LOT OF COMMENTS UNDER WALKIE TALKIE TALK ABOUT HOW INSPIRING THE EPISODES ARE — PEOPLE CREDIT YOU WITH GETTING THEM OUT SHOOTING AGAIN. HOW DOES THAT MAKE YOU FEEL?

That feels amazing, honestly. There’s this Kobe Bryant quote I think about a lot — he talks about how greatness isn’t just about what you achieve, it’s about your ability to inspire others, who then go on to inspire even more people. So when I see comments from someone saying they picked up their camera again because of Walkie Talkie, that really hits me.

It’s wild to think that someone could watch a video, go out that same day, and take the best photo of their life — and that maybe, in some small way, I helped spark that. That’s the kind of ripple effect you dream of. You put this work out into the world, not really knowing who it’s going to reach or how it’ll land, and then you start to see it actually motivate people to create. That’s the best feeling there is.

YOU’VE BUILT THIS ENTIRE PLATFORM AROUND THE STREETS — AND NOW YOUR IMAGES ARE LITERALLY GOING TO BE ON THE STREETS THROUGH THIS UNCLE WILDPOSTING CAMPAIGN. HOW DOES IT FEEL TO SEE WALKIE TALKIE PLASTERED ACROSS THE SAME KIND OF WALLS WHERE SO MUCH OF YOUR WORK BEGINS?

It feels really natural — almost poetic. The work was made on these streets, and now it’s being put back into that same environment. It’s not hanging in a gallery or someone’s living room; it’s out in public, part of the city again. These posters could get torn down, tagged over, or end up in the background of someone else’s photo — and I love that. That’s what street photography is. You never know what’s going to happen out there, and that same uncertainty is what makes it exciting.
So to have Walkie Talkie plastered across New York feels right. It closes the loop. It’s like the series is returning to where it came from — the walls, the pavements, the chaos, the energy. It’s all part of the same story.

NEW YORK PLAYS SUCH A HUGE ROLE IN YOUR VIDEOS — NOT JUST AS A BACKDROP BUT AS A CHARACTER. HOW DO YOU SEE THE CITY TODAY AS A PLACE TO LIVE AND CREATE? DO YOU THINK IT STILL HAS THE SAME ENERGY THAT MADE IT THE CAPITAL OF STREET PHOTOGRAPHY, OR HAS THAT CHANGED?

New York will always be a breeding ground for creativity. It’s still the epicentre — always ahead of the curve. When I see trends starting here in the photo community, I know I’ll see them popping up in other cities two or three years later. Everything happens a little faster here. The pace, the density, the diversity — it forces you to adapt, to stay alert.

That said, it has changed. I don’t know if it’s me getting older or just the times, but pre-COVID New York felt a bit more random, more eclectic. You could turn a corner and stumble into something special. Now it feels a little more contained, even though the foot traffic’s back. But the diversity is what keeps it interesting — you can walk one block and hear five languages, see ten different worlds intersecting. That constant shift is what keeps the city alive, and it’s what makes it the best place in the world for street photography.

THE SERIES OFTEN HIGHLIGHTS NOT JUST ART, BUT SOCIOLOGY — WHO OCCUPIES PUBLIC SPACE, HOW PEOPLE INTERACT, WHAT THE CITY GIVES BACK. HOW CONSCIOUS ARE YOU OF THAT SOCIAL LAYER WHEN YOU’RE FILMING? AND WHAT’S YOUR TAKE ON THE WIDER MOMENT STREET PHOTOGRAPHY IS IN RIGHT NOW?

When I’m filming Walkie Talkie, I’m usually focused on the flow of the conversation, not tripping over myself, keeping the person in frame — all those small things that make it work. So in the moment, I’m not always thinking about the sociology of what’s happening around us. But when I go back and watch the footage, I notice how much those layers matter — who’s in the background, what they’re wearing, what’s being built or torn down. It’s all a reflection of the city as it is right now.

That’s why I’ll take photos of things like construction sites or people on their phones. It might not seem interesting at the time, but years from now, that stuff will tell a story about how we lived. Everyone’s always chasing “timeless” photos, trying to make something that looks like it’s from another era — but I think everything becomes nostalgic if you give it time. You just have to document what’s in front of you, because in fifty years, those moments will be the time capsule.

As for the wider scene, I think it’s shifting. A few years back, everyone was obsessed with making everything candid — no eye contact, no interaction — but now people are more relaxed about that. There’s less gatekeeping about what “counts” as street photography, and that’s a good thing. The only real frustration I ever hear is people worrying too much about what others think. My attitude’s always been: just go have fun, take the pictures you want to take.

And when it comes to photography in the bigger picture — in this digital, algorithm-driven world — I think it comes down to why you do it. For some people, it’s about validation, likes, engagement. But the ones I connect with are the ones who do it because they have to — because if they don’t, they feel off balance. I think those are the real photographers.

We don’t know what will tell the story of our time — maybe it’ll be the artful street photos, maybe it’ll be TikToks and day-in-the-life videos — but that’s not the point. The point is to make work because you need to. To go out, walk, and pay attention. To me, that’s what keeps the whole thing alive.

WHAT’S NEXT FOR YOU AND WALKIE TALKIE — WHERE DO YOU WANT TO TAKE IT FROM HERE?

We’re rebranding everything with new visuals, new logos, and there’ll be things that branch off from it — merch, zines, other projects that build around the community. The core of it will always stay the same though: conversations with photographers, out on the street, in the places where the work actually happens.
New York will always be the home base because that’s where it was born, but I’m also continuing the “around the U.S.” version and growing the global side. I’ve already done places like Rome and the Philippines, and next year I want to hit four or five international cities. It’s just hard to travel as much as I’d like now that I’ve got two small kids — but I still want to keep pushing it forward and showing how different cities live and breathe through photography.

COMPLETE THIS PHRASE: I TAKE PHOTOS BECAUSE…

I take photos because it fills my cup. Every time I hit the shutter, it’s like taking a sip of water — it keeps me alive. When I’m not shooting, I feel empty, restless, almost dehydrated. I don’t know if I could live without it at this point.

There’s also another side to it that’s a bit more personal. When I first started out, I told a friend I wanted to be one of the greats — not even really knowing what that meant yet. I just knew I wanted to do something meaningful with my life, something that lasts. Photography, and now Walkie Talkie, gives me a way to do that. It’s how I leave an imprint — on people, on culture, on the world around me. That’s why I take photos.

Her practice starts with the model, not the garment.

It is a method that Sinéad O’Dwyer developed during her time at London’s Royal College of Art, where her exploration into detoxifying the industry began. Since graduating, her eponymous work has remained a love-letter to the human body that has continued to challenge the dysmorphia that parallels the fashion industry. Going against the traditional ‘sample-size-orientated logic’, O’Dwyer opts for diverse bodies that remain central to the entire design process.

“It creates better design. It opens the mind to a more expanded vision of beauty, it breaks down the patriarchy.”

Her work explores moulding, stretch and innovative pattern-making as technologies to accommodate women and gender non-conforming femmes who have historically been precluded from access to luxury garments. Sinéad’s work is an aesthetic dialogue between delicate and dominant.

For London Fashion Week, UNCLE partnered with Sinéad O’Dwyer to bring her principles and methodology out of the workroom and into the streets. The posters showcased her SS/PF25 campaign and championed the kaleidoscopic spectrum of feminine expression, with no better time to do so than during London Fashion Week.

CAN YOU EXPLAIN WHO YOU ARE, WITHIN YOUR OWN WORDS?

I’m an Irish womenswear designer living in London. I would say I’m quite a countryside girl still, growing up in Durrow which is outside of the town of Tullamore, Co. Offaly.

CAN YOU TELL US WHAT GROWING UP IN SMALL TOWN IRELAND WAS LIKE FOR YOU?

I loved being outside all the time, the freedom of being able to roam as I liked as a kid, exploring and building things. I was also lucky to go to Gaelscoil though so I grew up speaking Irish. The school was so new, though there was at first just a handful of students in two terraced houses with the walls knocked down in between, I think it was special to be part of a new school that was so focused on Irish learning and music and poetry and stories.

YOU PREVIOUSLY SAID THAT YOU FELL IN LOVE WITH FASHION AT AGE 12 AFTER VISITING AN EXHIBITION IN DUBLIN. WERE YOU MAKING THINGS BEFORE THIS EXPERIENCE? IF SO, HOW DID THINGS CHANGE AFTER?

I was always making things, my Nanny (grandmother) taught me to sew and knit from a very early age and I was always cooking too. Dad is a silversmith and artist so I also was tinkering around in his workshop here and there, I was always making something. However, going to the Philip Treacy/Isabella Blow exhibit was my first taste of fashion. Seeing the ship hat on Naomi Campbell on the runway (in the exhibit) awoke something in me that connected the body and human/emotions with craft.

YOU GRADUATED FROM LONDON’S RCA IN 2018, AND IT WAS HERE THAT YOUR ATTITUDES TOWARDS BODY ACCEPTANCE OCCURRED. CAN YOU TELL US ABOUT THESE TRANSFORMATIVE YEARS FOR YOU? WHAT WAS IT LIKE?

I went there searching for meaning, after working briefly in fashion, and feeling disillusioned about the industry very quickly after seeing the wastefulness and extreme thinness at shows, it sort of freaked me out. I have always been searching to connect with what I do and so I heard about Zowie Broach and wanted to meet her. When I was accepted, I started my course, and in those two years, I finally identified that I had an eating disorder and started thinking about where it came from and that’s truly the beginning of my journey. Understanding the impact that the design of the patterns and who is chosen as the fit model as being the basis for so much misery was a powerful realisation that I wanted to communicate to the world, especially those I love, my sister and mother and myself too. It’s been utterly transformative, I have gone from being singularly obsessed with my size to genuinely not caring, in a way that I thought was impossible for me. I would not know myself if younger Sinéad could see me now.

YOU SAY THAT INCLUSIVE DESIGN GIVES YOUR WORK ITS MEANING. WHY IS IT IMPORTANT, ESPECIALLY TODAY, TO USE A DIVERSITY OF BODY SHAPES AND SIZES?

It creates better design. It opens the mind to a more expanded vision of beauty, it breaks down the patriarchy. It is just more interesting, it is more sustainable, it is kinder, it is radical. To question why you think something is beautiful and who told you to think that and try and figure out what you see as attractive, is a process of unlearning and so meaningful. I feel that I actually started learning a lot about that through watching photographers, seeing Sharna Osborne on set in one of my very first projects shooting Agusta Yr in 2018 really opened my mind. I really saw the tender connection between model and photographer was so necessary to create a good image, as the work is so much about the moment, the connection and trust between photographer and model is so palpable. Observing Sharna and Agusta together, I really saw what it was to see beauty and capture it through your own gaze.

WHAT IS YOUR PROCESS FOR MAKING A COLLECTION? WHERE DOES IT ALL BEGIN FOR YOU?

Usually a memory, a desire to connect emotion and narrative. I am also always inspired by craft so combining techniques across disciplines I find exciting.

IN THIS PARTNERSHIP WITH UNCLE, YOU HAVE USED IMAGERY FROM YOUR SS/PF25 COLLECTION. WHAT INSPIRED IT THIS COLLECTION? WHAT IS IT ALL ABOUT?

Ottilie Landmark shot my SS25/PF25 campaign. It features artists Davia Spain and D.D. Lyonne and that work was about a memory of falling in love for the first time, a year I spent in NC and driving around and fresh water and stifling heat and our first kiss.

HOW IMPORTANT IS LONDON FASHION WEEK FOR UP-AND-COMING DESIGNERS AND THOSE ALREADY ESTABLISHED?

It’s a really vital platform to show our world to potential buyers and customers, so they can understand the story before viewing the collection and all its details at showroom.

IS THERE ANYTHING SPECIAL SINÉAD O’DWYER HAS PLANNED FOR LONDON FASHION WEEK?

Not this season, but I am doing a new performance work at the Barbican in November.

HOW DOES THE CITY OF LONDON SHAPE THE WORK YOU DO? AND ARE THERE STILL SOME ASPECTS OF SMALL-TOWN IRELAND THAT COME THROUGH IN YOUR WORK?

A lot of my collections are based on my formative memories in Ireland, but the city of London shapes me through community and collaborators. I could never make my work without the help, support and commitment of so many friends, designers, journalists, artisans, etc. in London. I love working here; I am very lucky.

As rights are rolled back, Danielle Brathwaite-Shirley’s art archives, amplifies, and protests for trans lives

In the wake of the Supreme Court’s decision to exclude trans women from the definition of “woman”, Danielle Brathwaite-Shirley created TRANS & CONDITIONS with CIRCA, a collaborative archive of trans voices that sits at the intersection of art and activism. What started as a series of posters for a protest fast evolved into a digital platform, offering trans people the opportunity to ‘act in safety’ and document their lived experiences. Now, in collaboration with UNCLE and CIRCA, these testimonies are taking over London as a flyposter campaign.

For Danielle, the audience is her medium. Her art is designed to sparks a reaction or, better yet, an action. In contrast to the cultural tendency to aestheticise and sanitise, she calls for ‘art that isn’t pretty, isn’t kind to the audience, and that is hard to sit through,’ provoking discomfort in order to inspire necessary change.

At its essence, her practice refuses erasure: ‘I archive black and trans existence’ Danielle tells UNCLE. In these hostile times, she warns that ‘the loss of [trans] rights is a trail of the removal of the rights of others.’ Her work exemplifies how, in the face of increasing censorship, we must continue to speak up: ‘It’s time to take all the risks, to mess up and not get it right because there may be a time where that chance no longer exists.’

What is abundantly clear from her work and from our interview: the urgent need to do more and to act now.

FIRST OFF, CAN YOU TELL US WHO YOU ARE IN YOUR OWN WORDS?

I am a reactionary artist. I take in what’s happening around me at the time and create work that allows the audience to take action or react in some way. I’ve said it often, but it’s worth saying again, the audience is the medium I work with and my aim is to give them choices which could stay with them.

COULD YOU SHARE HOW THE IDEA FOR TRANS AND CONDITIONS FIRST CAME TO YOU AND HOW YOU BROUGHT IT TO LIFE?

The idea first came actually after the UK’s ruling that excluded trans women from being categorised as women. It started as a series of posters made for the protest against this ruling and then began to morph into a wider piece when we wanted to give people a platform to discuss exactly how they felt. We needed a way to react, a place to come together, a way in which our voices were not just a footnote.

THE WORK FEELS LIKE A BOLD ACT OF DEFIANCE AGAINST THE ERASURE OF TRANS LIVES AND VOICES. HOW CENTRAL ARE THE CONCEPTS OF PRESENCE, VISIBILITY AND SPEAKING OUT TO YOUR PRACTICE AS AN ARTIST?

I would say my work is about giving people a choice. Through that process often we are speaking to people whose choices are limited. Their thoughts, feelings and words form the foundation of the work we made. Archiving voices that are often ignored means nothing if it’s just used as content. So the voices we archive become the foundation for larger choices within the work.

MUCH OF YOUR WORK CENTRES UPON BLACK AND TRANS EXPERIENCE. HOW DO YOU PROTECT YOURSELF AND YOUR ENERGIES AS BOTH AN ARTIST, ACTIVIST AND BLACK TRANS WOMAN WORKING IN THESE TURBULENT TIMES?

That is and is not a correct statement. My community is black and trans. My family is black and trans. They form the foundation. It centres their voices through the way they think, references and aesthetics. But often it’s the focus on the words “black” and “trans” that is used as a sounding board for tokenism and othering. I archive black and trans existence. But the experience you have through the work will archive who you are and where you find yourself standing. The choices you made or did not make will be your reflection in this instance.

My foundation is black and trans so naturally all those references go in but the work is all about commenting on the current state of the world.

Your experience will be your own. You will learn primarily about yourself, how you think, how you feel, where your effort goes.

WE’RE SEEING INCREASING ATTEMPTS AT CENSORSHIP IN THE UK AND GERMANY TOO. IN YOUR OPINION, HOW CAN ARTISTS PUSH BACK AGAINST THIS AND WHAT ROLE DOES ART PLAY IN PROTECTING FREEDOM OF EXPRESSION?

Art can play both roles in censorship and freedom. It’s not fair to only see it as something that protects freedom. It can be used for both aspects. This is why when we see a rise in censorship we see a rise in the presentations of certain kinds of art and the fall in others. Each artist and piece has its role to play.

When you are showing as an artist, your role is not only defined by what you show but whose place you took. Whose voice you amplified and what subjects you broached.

I think artists should do their own thing but I would love to see art that isn’t pretty, isn’t kind to the audience, and that is hard to sit through. That makes us stand in front of ourselves and face what choice we have made to get there.

We shouldn’t stop taking the risks in the work because of new laws. It’s time to take all the risks, to mess up and not get it right because there may be a time where that chance no longer exists.

Lastly I also think collaboration and doing things for other causes is a great way to get involved with a movement rather than to just stay within an art practice. All this I am also telling myself.

ON TOP OF THIS, YOUR WORK INVITES THE PUBLIC TO GET INVOLVED. WHY IS IMMERSION AND PARTICIPATION IMPORTANT TO YOUR PRACTICE?

Because we have to act now…if we don’t we won’t be able to. I want to offer chances to act in safety. An arena to practice. A method to ease that transition from reacting in safety to standing up for a cause you care about.

I AM INTERESTED IN THE ROLE THAT THE CITY (IN THIS CASE, LONDON) PLAYS IN TRANS AND CONDITIONS AS WELL AS IN YOUR WIDER WORK. HOW IMPORTANT WAS IT TO RECLAIM SPACE IN THE CITY? WHAT HAS THE REACTION BEEN FROM THE PUBLIC?

I don’t have a reaction. I need to do more. Hopefully I can. We don’t collect data on the public so it’s hard for me to say. All I can say is I am thankful for all those who wrote letters and hope to provide better ways in which we can do this again in the future.

DESPITE MOUNTING HOSTILITY IN SOCIETY, THIS YEAR’S LONDON TRANS PRIDE PARADE WAS THE LARGEST EVER, A POWERFUL SHOW OF SOLIDARITY. DO YOU BELIEVE LONDON CAN BE A PLACE OF RESISTANCE AND COMMUNITY? HOW DOES IT COMPARE TO BERLIN?

Trans rights shouldn’t be confined to a single place or court case. Trans people are human and deserve protections. We don’t have that anymore. And we are losing more and more of these.

I don’t want to lose any more trans people than we already have. London is a place of resistance, and that resistance has now been met with fierce crackdowns and censorship by both the labour and conservative government. It’s not just about trans rights. The loss of our rights is a trail of the removal of the rights of others.

Live in London long enough and you’ll soon learn to know one thing: it can charm you and chew you up in the same night.

It’s this truth, that Morgan Allan has stitched straight into Twos, the “janus-faced” magazine that spins on its own axis between devotion and disdain. Twos was born after one of those rolling nights out in London until sunrise, following by the grim reality of having to sell off his Stone Island to pay council tax. The push-pull was too good to ignore.

“The emotional floor and ceiling of this place are so far apart”.

Now three issues deep, the South London art director and editor has built a publication that refuses to smooth over the city’s contradictions. The design of Twos mirrors the mood swings of the city. Flipped one way, it is an ode to the romance of living there. Flipped the other, it’s an unfiltered airing of grievances. Twos is record of a city that inspires as much as it exhausts, and of those who know you can love and hate a place in the same breath, and still come back for more.

In the interview that follows, we chat with Morgan about how that duality shapes the magazine’s identity and why Twos will never pick just one side.

CAN YOU TELL US IN YOUR OWN WORDS, WHO YOU ARE?

My name is Morgan Allan. I’m an art director and magazine editor based in South London.

TWOS IS UNIQUE IN THAT IT IS ROTATABLE AND “JANUSFACED” – A DOUBLESIDED GUIDE THAT EMBRACES BOTH LOVE AND HATE FOR LONDON. CAN YOU WALK US THROUGH HOW THIS DUALITY SHAPED THE MAGAZINE’S IDENTITY FROM THE OUTSET?

It’s an unusual way to format a magazine but once I’d settled on it as a framework, it was a useful way to discern if ideas were right for this issue. If they didn’t fit into either category, they weren’t going in. It also made the project seem more achievable. The proposition of filling 100 pages is pretty daunting. Breaking it down into two 50-page magazines that happen to be attached to each other helped me get moving.

WAS THERE A SINGULARITY – A NIGHT OUT, A CONVERSATION, AN EXPERIENCE, A FRUSTRATION – THAT MADE YOU THINK “I NEED TO MAKE A MAGAZINE ABOUT THIS CITY”?

I had had one of those exhilarating, rolling London nights out – jumping from place to place until the early hours – woke up and realised I had to sell all my Stone Island to pay council tax. I just thought “the emotional floor and ceiling of this place are so far apart”. The love/hate push-pull is inherent to existing in London – you just have to speak to anyone that’s lived here. I was looking for ways to push the format of the new issue of Twos and a double-sided mag centered around this theme felt like an exciting way to do it.

THE “LOVE” SIDE HIGHLIGHTS THE LIKES OF LIME BIKES, THE DLR (A PERSONAL FAVOURITE OF MYSELF, TOO), VENUE M.O.T., WHILE THE “HATE” SIDE CRITIQUES BREWDOG, AND HAVING TO LOCATE PUBLIC TOILETS IN CENTRAL LONDON. HOW DO YOU CURATE THIS EMOTIONAL PULL, WHILE ENSURING BOTH AFFECTION AND CRITIQUE FEELS EQUALLY HONEST AND ESSENTIAL?

I think it’s just that: being honest. You couldn’t make a magazine like this from your bedroom. I’m severely outside in this city so I feel like I can speak authentically about it: both positively and negatively. A lot of the ideas featured in Twos Three start with experience: the DLR is fun to ride, BrewDogs are shit to drink in. Once you have that initial emotion, it’s just about finding the right format.

WHAT WERE SOME OF THE EARLIEST REFERENCES OR INSPIRATIONS THAT SHAPED TWOS FIRST ISSUE? PUBLICATIONS, ZINES, NEWSPAPERS OR PERSONAL OBSESSIONS?

My first job in the industry was at MUNDIAL Magazine, where Alex Mertekis took me on as a junior even though I didn’t know how to use inDesign. I’ll always be grateful for that and for everything the team taught me there. John Joseph Holt’s LAW magazines are foundational texts for me, both in content and form. And then London: being surrounded by people putting so much time into insane projects in a hostile economic climate inspires me to do the same.

CAN YOU TELL US ABOUT THE FIRST ISSUE? HOW DIY WAS IT? WERE YOU WRITING, EDITING, DESIGNING, AND DISTRIBUTING ALL YOURSELF?

The first issue was my final project at LCC. Me and my mates would sit about in the pub, looking at the people being featured in traditional youth culture publications and think “these guys aren’t any better than us or people we know. They’ve just got good PR”. Those magazines had stopped rewarding talent and were prioritising Instagram followers. It felt backwards. So I thought “I’ll just make a magazine and put all of us and the cool people we know in it.” I wrote, designed, edited the original Twos and collaborated with a bunch of my friends on the content. I printed 100 and spent a lot of time at the post office.

WHAT IS YOUR BACKGROUND BEFORE TWOS? HAVE YOU ALWAYS WORKED IN EDITORIAL AND DESIGN? OR WERE YOU DOING SOMETHING ENTIRELY DIFFERENT?

My year at MUNDIAL really birthed a love of editorial design. I was studying Graphic Branding at the time, kind of hated it, then managed to get work experience there and my eyes were opened to this new world. I was born in 1999, so I didn’t read loads of print magazines growing up. I think my love for print is a reaction to how digital my life is. Everything moves so fast, feels so fluid, that it feels good to make something permanent by putting something down on paper. Each magazine is a record of how I wrote, how I designed, how I felt at a particular time.

THE PHYSICAL DESIGN OF TWOS INTENTIONALLY DISRUPTS THE READING FLOW: FLIPPING IT UPSIDE-DOWN REVEALS A NEW ANTITHETIC PERSPECTIVE. WHAT CREATIVE CHALLENGES CAME WITH BUILDING A MAGAZINE THAT DEMANDS A PHYSICAL FLIP TO FULLY EXPERIENCE IT?

I really treated them like two separate magazines during the production process. Of course, they informed each other in aesthetic but it was only right at the end that I joined them together.

TWOS DRAWS ON LONDON’S VISUAL LANGUAGE TOO – FROM HAND SCANNED TEXTURES, TO TUBE SIGNAGE AND TYPOGRAPHY. HOW DO THESE VISUAL ELEMENTS INFLUENCE THE AESTHETIC DECISIONS?

I wanted the reader to feel London when they sat down with the magazine. One of the ways I did that was to incorporate textures I had scanned throughout the city into the graphics. A couple years ago I bought a hand-held document scanner and have been using it to build a texture library that I use to make my designs feel more alive. Now, the signs, walls and windows of the city live on every page.

I also drew a lot from the city’s most obvious existing visual language: the TfL network. The headline type on the cover is P22 Underground – a font based on Johnston’s iconic 1913 design. The Twos logo, redesigned for this issue, is an adaptation of an arrow taken from Tube signage. Even the colour palette is inspired by old TfL tickets (pink and blue for ‘Love’, the inverse green and gold for ‘Hate’).

I treated the two halves of the mag as two distinct publications. There are two covers, two editors’ letters, two contribs’ pages. The cover feature runs twice – once on each side – with different imagery and design in Love & Hate. This division helped when crafting the flow of the mag, ensuring that each section held its rhythm.

THE MAGAZINE FEELS DEEPLY ROOTED IN THE LONDON CREATIVE SCENE. HOW DO YOU GO ABOUT FINDING THE WRITERS, PHOTOGRAPHERS, AND ILLUSTRATORS WHO CONTRIBUTE TO EACH ISSUE?

Like I said, I’m outside a lot. Part of the joy of that is meeting interesting people. I also love discovering new names on Instagram. Building a network there is really gratifying.

WHAT EMOTIONAL OR AESTHETIC “CRACKS” IN LONDON LIFE ARE YOU LOOKING TO EXPLORE NEXT, AND HOW MIGHT TWOS PUSH ITS FORMAT EVEN FURTHER?

We’ll have to see. The next one won’t just be a print publication. I want to make the magazine part of a wider project. What form that takes I don’t know right now.

IN WHAT WAYS DO YOU HOPE TWOS SPARKS CONVERSATION?

I think it would be helpful if we could acknowledge that it’s possible to hold contrasting ideas simultaneously. I love London and I hate London. You can do both. If we understand each other as complex and messy, I think things get easier.

Babak Ganjei doesn’t care if you think he’s joking. His work – part confessional, part protest, part deadpan – will make you laugh before you realise you’re a little broken.

Over the years, Babak has built a world of handwritten posters, sardonic petitions, and quietly chaotic one-liners that hit harder the longer you sit with them. There’s an uncomfortable comfort to his work, a feeling that we can all relate to.

Now, with UNCLE, Babak is revisiting his petition series with a new poster demanding we unplug the world for a second before plugging it back in. It’s a solution that (somehow) works for all things technology, so surely it’ll do some good for us, right? Within days of the first posters going up, passersby began interacting with the petition. If this has taught us anything, it’s that we’re all human and that we could all do with a little restart. Also, who still carries a pen with them?.

In the interview that follows, UNCLE spoke with Babak to talk about his early inspirations, life within his own sitcom and how the city of London shapes his art.

CAN YOU DESCRIBE, IN YOUR OWN WORDS, WHO BABAK GANJEI IS?

He’s a bit of a stranger, I don’t really know him.

YOU GREW UP IN A VERY ART-ORIENTATED FAMILY. YOUR MOTHER WAS A PAINTER, AND YOUR FATHER WAS AN ARCHITECT. CAN YOU SHARE SOME INSIGHT INTO LIFE GROWING UP FOR YOU?

It was just very natural to be making marks everywhere. It was very normal for everybody to be making things all the time so I don’t know any different. Still when it came to Art School I think my parents would rather I fell into a more secure future but I had no back up plan whatsoever.

WHETHER THEY BE ARTISTS OR NOT, WHO WERE YOUR INSPIRATIONS GROWING UP?

I was 13 when Nevermind came out and Nirvana kind of set me off on a path where I could see what being an artist could do. As a kid I hung on Kurt Cobain’s every word and through Nirvana I was introduced to Sonic Youth and through Sonic Youth an entire underground scene of art, music and film. This is pre-internet so discovering these underground worlds felt incredibly rewarding. And liberating. The world didn’t end at Bournemouth town center anymore. In later years Charlie Kaufman’s scripts and Andy Kaufman’s comedy were a massive influence to my work. Both share a surname and a tendency to break the fourth wall. Charlie Kaufman with the films he wrote and Andy Kaufman in pushing his comedy from beyond the stage blurring the lines between reality and fiction.

DID YOU ALWAYS WANT TO BE AN ARTIST? WERE THERE ANY OTHER CAREER PATHS YOU THOUGHT ABOUT GOING DOWN BEFORE LANDING ON THIS ONE?

The only back up I had thought of was to become a writer. When I was seven, I thought I was going to be a screen writer. I’d already decided at that age I didn’t have the guts to tell people what to do so I couldn’t be a director. I’d have to get it on the page first in silence.

YOU’VE MENTIONED BEFORE THAT, SINCE GRADUATING, YOU’VE BEEN LIVING IN A REAL-LIFE SITCOM. CAN YOU EXPAND ON THIS AND HOW THIS DICTATES YOUR CREATIVE OUTPUT?

I try and look at things in a movie like narrative, I guess. This isn’t intentional. It might just come from growing up as quite a silent kid in front of the TV. I like to link events and people and the way a day unfolds. I think I do it unconsciously, it’s now how I’ve trained my brain. I guess maybe it makes it’s a less scary world if I can connect things together.

YOUR ART FEELS DEEPLY CONFESSIONAL, DRAWING ON YOUR INNER MONOLOGUE. CAN YOU TALK US THROUGH YOUR PROCESS WHEN STARTING A NEW PIECE?

I’d say the entire process comes from walking and I guess the inner monologue is running the whole time. I find sitting at a desk and thinking very difficult, so the process is to stay moving. Wander the streets at a slow steady pace, so you can still notice things around you.

HOW WOULD YOU DESCRIBE THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN POP CULTURE AND POLITICS WITHIN YOUR ART?

I was born in Britain my parents are Iranian so there is an element of that experience that is inherent in my work without me making an intentional decision to talk about it. It makes you feel like you are in a way not really from any one place and I think that is quite a liberating space to be in as an artist. Not feeling comfortable coming from one place, the desire to find connections and common ground is a bit stronger. Or at least that is my understanding of it. Pop culture, politics it’s all tribes and groups everyone is trying to find a place to fit.

CAN YOU TALK IS THROUGH THE ARTWORK YOU HAVE CHOSEN FOR THIS PARTNERSHIP WITH UNCLE?

I had been making all these fanciful petition posters for things like “Make my cat like me more”, “Bring Prince back to life” but in recent years it feels like the world is on fire and there is so much rolling news we don’t have a chance to process anything that is happening. There was something nice about making a sort of old school street campaign to turn off the internet. The idea that somebody would pass it by and stop and feel compelled to sign it makes me feel like somehow that’s a success.

WE’VE ALREADY STARTED SEEING THE PUBLIC INTERACT WITH THESE POSTERS IN THE STREETS AND SIGNING THEIR NAMES TO THE PETITION. IS THIS WHAT YOU HAD IN MIND WHEN YOU STARTED CREATING THE PETITION PIECES, OR WERE THEY MEANT TO BE RHETORICAL?

It’s always a bit nerve wracking putting something out there that invites interaction. I think when I first made the “Please bring Prince back to life” petition I imagined it to be rhetorical but it was a large installation at a festival which instantly got signed and it does say “Please sign” on it so I don’t know what I was thinking. I just don’t presume people carry pens around anymore.

HOW DOES THE CITY OF LONDON COME THROUGH IN YOUR ART AND YOUR PROCESS?

Well in this instance hopefully by putting pen to paper, but in general my work is born from wandering London streets. This work is basically a tribute to that. It’s the kind of thing I would like to stumble upon

WHAT IS YOUR DREAM COMMISSION?

T-shirt for the band Pavement.

www.babakganjeiworks.com
www.instagram.com/babakganjei

“Salons, to me, are all about community and self care and I realised there was no where we could all go to be in that together, so I made somewhere.”

Brad is no stranger to the streets of SE15. Having grown up in southeast London, there has always been a tie between him and Peckham.

“I love how much culture there is in Peckham, not the Timeout ‘hidden gems’ but the market stalls, the aunties braiding, the Colombian bakery, the Irish butchers and the jerk drums on the road, they’re all the signs of how many communities are still here within one community despite all the change.”

It makes sense then that when it came time to open his own salon, that Peckham would be the place for it. Enter RINSED. A texture and gender-neutral salon, as Brad describes. After a stint within Holdron’s Arcade, RINSED moved a few roller-doors-down to the iconic Bussey building in Peckham – where it has continued to cater to those underrepresented.

“Us being texture and gender-neutral means that we can be an inclusive space for everyone. Salon services have always been very gendered with you having to fit into the box of a women’s or men’s cut, this excludes people that don’t conform to gender binaries and as a queer person it was important to me that we were a safe space.”

Their latest partnership with UNCLE challenges the concept of ‘basic’ hairdressing, asking the streets of Peckham, through flyposting, to be a bit more expressive up top.

In the interview that follows, UNCLE spoke with Brad to talk early influences, life in southeast London and the importance of community and safe spaces alike.

CAN YOU TELL US WHO YOU ARE, IN YOUR WORDS?

I’m a southeast London born and bred hairstylist and creative. I am the founder of RINSED, a space I built for all the people who feel underrepresented and not catered for in typical salon spaces. I’m queer, so barber shops have never been a place I’ve not felt comfortable in, and most of my friends have textured hair which, until recently, wasn’t even taught in UK hairdressing. I realised there was no where we could all go and have our hair done together, so I made somewhere.

HOW DID YOU GET INTO BEING A HAIR STYLIST? IS SOMETHING YOU ALWAYS WANTED TO GET INTO WHEN YOU WERE YOUNGER?

I was always interested in hair, makeup, anything girly growing up; braiding hair on lunch breaks at school and doing girls makeup for prom, but I never really thought about being a hairdresser. I had no idea what I wanted to be when I grew up, an artist, a backup dancer for Destiny’s Child. I even thought I’d be a mechanic for about ten minutes. My sister was a hairdresser, and I started to clock on that it was basically a job you got paid to be creative and yap people’s ears off, so I thought I’d give it a go. My sister introduced me to her friend Nathan who trained me in salon and session work, and it started from there really.

WHAT WAS GROWING UP IN SOUTHEAST LONDON LIKE?

Growing up in southeast London was fun! It was tough at times, but it was fun. Gentrification hadn’t really taken off, so the sense of community was much tighter, it felt like everyone knew everyone or at least knew your face (that wasn’t always a good thing, haha).

RINSED PRIDES ITSELF ON ITS UNIQUE TEXTURE-AND-GENDER-NEUTRAL SERVICE. CAN YOU EXPAND ON WHAT THIS MEANS? AND THE IMPORTANCE OF CREATING A SPACE THAT OFFERS THIS SERVICE?

Us being texture and gender-neutral means that we can be an inclusive space for everyone. Salon services have always been very gendered with you having to fit into the box of a women’s or men’s cut, this excludes people that don’t conform to gender binaries and as a queer person it was important to me that we were a safe space. For me being texture neutral was massively important as my friends have a massive range of hair textures that aren’t catered for in Eurocentric salons. Salons, to me, are all about community and self care and I realised there was no where we could all go to be in that together, so I made somewhere.

THE FIRST ITERATION OF RINSED STUDIO WAS AT HOLDRONS ARCADE, BUT JUST OVER A YEAR AGO YOU MADE THE MOVE INTO THE STUDIO’S NEW LOCATION; WITHIN PECKHAM’S ICONIC BUSSEY BUILDING. WHAT DOES THE COMMUNITY OF PECKHAM MEAN TO YOU AND TO THE STUDIO?

The community of Peckham is massively important to me. I’ve spent so much of my life in Peckham, so it’s a bit like being in EastEnders now where there’s no two characters that don’t interact. I love how much culture there is in Peckham, not the Timeout ‘hidden gems’ but the market stalls, the aunties braiding, the Colombian bakery, the Irish butchers and the jerk drums on the road, they’re all the signs of how many communities are still here within one community despite all the change.

WITH OVER A DECADE EXPERIENCE WORKING ON FASHION AND MUSIC SHOOTS, HOW DIFFERENT IS THE EXPERIENCE OF EDITORIAL WORK AND THE WORK WITHIN YOUR STUDIO?

Editorial work and working in the studio are completely different, while I love them both I love them for different reasons. Editorial can be quite high pressure and stressful, but you get to be much more creative with your process as you’re often doing stuff that’s not everyday wear. Salon is a much more of a personal vibe. It’s familiar, often with regular clients and there’s more connection involved. I always bring a bit of editorial into the studio with little backstage styling hacks and a big range of styling services.

THE ARTWORK FOR THIS PARTNERSHIP WITH UNCLE IS VERY BEAUTIFUL AND REFINED. WHAT WAS THE PROCESS BEHIND THE SHOOT?

I’ve built the salon aesthetic on youth culture with a lot of emphasis on music and fashion, so for the shoot I wanted to reference my favourite point in youth culture which was Gen X in the 90s. I’ve always loved collecting magazines from the 90s and 00s and my favourite ads in them were always for the original CK One. I love how simple they were but still a bit anarchic and provocative with a lot of play on sexuality and gender – casting androgynous models like Jenny Shimizu. I felt that advert perfectly captured RINSED’s aesthetic and the white vests and denim lent themselves perfectly to showcasing the hair. So, I played homage and gave it a little 2025 RINSED spin.

WHAT WAS IT LIKE TO SEE THE POSTERS UP IN THE STREETS OF PECKHAM?

Peckham has been the backdrop to so much of my life it was a real pinch me moment to see something that was once an idea in my head be all over the streets.

WHAT DOES THE FUTURE OF RINSED LOOK LIKE FOR YOU?

The future of RINSED looks bright! We want to become a beauty brand that stands up in the fashion industry, bringing a lot of backstage work into our salon spaces(s). We want to collaborate with other brands outside of beauty in the fashion and lifestyle scene to widen how we show up in our community of clientele.

www.instagram.com/rinsedpeckham/

Missing teeth. Devil horns. Moustaches. SUBWAYMOUTHS.

For most, the graffiti’d advertisements of the New York City underground is just vandalism, often rejected and dismissed. For Gabriel, who has spent the past decade or so documenting these #SUBWAYMOUTHS, they offer insight into New York City’s attitude.

Born in Mexico City, and now a resident of New York, Gabriel has always “gravitated in the art orbit”. He describes his childhood-home as being full of objects made by hand, with a camera always close by.

In the 80s, Gabriel and his cousins would send letters to the all-American corporations such as Coca Cola, Pepsi, The Dodgers, asking for any kind of “advertising swag”. Most wouldn’t reply. But every now and then, he and his cousins would receive stickers in the mail that they would trade between one another. One day, a red Marlboro cigarettes trucker hat showed up. Jackpot.

Now a professional in branding, photography, and design, it’s those stories, he tells UNCLE, where it all began.

Before FIVEINCHMONSTERS, there was #SUBWAYMOUTHS, a project that began the day Gabriel moved to New York City. Twelve years on, it continues as both a daily artistic practice and a documentation of the city’s collective consciousness.

What follows is a conversation with Gabriel, to coincide with the emergence of these FIVEINCHMONSTERS – out of the subway and into the streets of New York, thanks to UNCLE.

CAN YOU INTRODUCE YOURSELF IN YOUR OWN WORDS?

Mexayorkino since 2005, profesional del branding, fotografía y diseño. Descubridor empedernido de los detalles urbanos y obsesionado con los tratamientos e intervenciones espontáneos naturales y provocadas que suceden en día a día en las superficies de NYC. Por último self-proclaimed Transcultural visual Translator – Traductor visual transcultural – this last has to do with my eternal love of my mexicanidad, mis moles y mis mezcales.

Mexayorkino since 2005, a professional in branding, photography, and design. A tireless discoverer of urban details and obsessed with both spontaneous and intentional surface treatments and interventions that occur daily across NYC. Lastly, a self-proclaimed Transcultural Visual Translator — a title that speaks to my eternal love for my Mexican heritage, my moles, and my mezcales.

YOU REFERENCE NEW YORK AS A SOURCE OF INSPIRATION. CAN YOU TOUCH ON THIS AND HOW IT DIFFERS FROM MEXICO CITY?

I don’t think I could say in good faith that I know the CDMX of the NOW the way I live and Respiro my NYC. Nueva york es complejo y candido. Romantico y Salvaje, Demandante y Dadivoso. Nueva York te quita y te da! NYC is the city that you go to reinvent yourself and for many the city where you left your other self before reinventing the one that leaves the city happy knowing how much it learned on its way out. If you ask me what the difference is, I will say: “EVERYTHING… as it should be!”. I am ever grateful to have lived in both cities during different formative times in my life. Mexico nurtured me and Nueva York allowed me to be the human that I am.

New York is complex and candid. Romantic and wild, demanding and generous. New York takes from you—and gives back!

CAN YOU TELL US A BIT ABOUT YOUR BACKGROUND AND HOW YOU FIRST GOT INTO ART AND DESIGN? WHAT WERE SOME EARLY INSPIRATIONS OF YOURS?

I have always gravitated in the ART orbit. There was always a camera and photos being taken, just documenting life. My home was a ‘DIY-everything’ type of home. So, it was never strange to make things out of random objects. We travelled a lot by car, and I was able / forced to see the world differently, time elongates and warps when you are a kid in a truck for twenty-seven hours. Details become stories and you create full universes in your head. My mother’s side of the family lives in Culiacan Sinaloa and that is also part of my (norteño) history. I don’t think I ever said this out loud, but a defining moment was in the early 80s – my older cousins sent letters via snail mail to corporations like Pepsi, Coors, the Dodgers, the USA Olympic Committee 1984, asking for any kind of swag. Apparently, this was a thing with all their friends. There was a paragraph in English that was passed along, transcribed letter by letter, and FYI, no one knew English. So, this makes it even more Mexican – if you know, you know – and the result was that months later, from the dozens of letters you sent, one will send you back the wildest most American advertisement swag. From the highly valuable and tradable stickers to crazy things like a Marlboro cigarettes red trucker hat. I mention all of this because your question makes me realise this is where my love for branding design and advertising started. They had the door of their room covered with stickers and I always thought that was the coolest thing on earth. Years later I discovered by mere casualty the beginnings of what became El Sensacional Mexicano project.

I found myself in a underground parking lot in CDMX then DF, looking at people hand painting rótulos of Mexican slang phrases, this was right around my first years studying graphic design and it changed everything and allowed me to see the same design and work that I admire on the stickers from Culiacan but now in my own city and in my own language with the strength that only hand painted letters can achieve. This allowed me to develop my own graphic style and pay my education doing silkscreen jobs and wearables. Fast forward a few years, this took me to the FWM (The Fabric Workshop and Museum) apprenticeship in Philadelphia and eventually to live in NYC.

HOW DID FIVE INCH MONSTERS BEGIN? DO YOU REMEMBER THE FIRST #SUBWAYMOUTHS YOU PHOTOGRAPHED?

It began the moment I moved to NYC. It was the first thing I noticed going down the stairs to the subway station. The #SUBWAYMOUTHS were impossible not to notice. Larger than life, right at the height of your face. Purposely designed to hit that stop of attention, whether you wanted it or not.

FIM took a little longer to collect. Every day observing, analysing my surroundings, everything was new and needed something to make sense of it. FIM had a few transformations from products (toys) to silkscreen fashion ideas – to become the artistic daily practice of documenting “the everything” around me.

WHAT DO THESE DRAWN MOUTHS, OFTEN ANGRY, GROTESQUE OR PLAYFUL, SAY ABOUT THE ATTITUDES OF NEW YORK?

This is something that I am constantly aware of but I don’t think it has a final answer; the #SUBWAYMOUTHS are always ever-changing. They do show a snapshot of the time we live in, often political and highly socially conscious. I would describe them as never-ending New York attitudes, Nueva Yorks has too many personalities to pigeonhole it into one.

THE PROJECT IS ALMOST LIKE A VISUAL DIARY OF THE CITY’S COLLECTIVE SUBCONSCIOUS. WOULD YOU AGREE?

It is and documenting it has always been its intention. I was and still am mesmerized by what it communicates in silence, in your face, with their unapologetic truths. And seeing them all together for the first time printed at the CHOLITA cafe show in June 2025 gave them the collective freedom that allowed the connection with UNCLE. They now peek out of their long-term-residency with Instagram.

WHAT THEMES OR PATTERNS HAVE EMERGED OVER TIME IN THE MOUTHS THAT PEOPLE DRAW? CAN YOU DRAW PARALLELS WITH THE ‘MONSTERS’ AND WHAT IS HAPPENING AROUND THE WORLD?

Patterns are everywhere and #SUBWAYMOUTHS are not an exception. The black tooth, dick on mouth, ripped-torn-scratched-destroyed-bullied-empty surfaces… It all sounds familiar and to me, it resembles and describes the social problems of major metropolitan cities.

DO YOU SEE THIS AS AN ART MOVEMENT, SOCIAL COMMENTARY, OR BOTH?

FIM is my personal artistic daily practice. But I am sure as the posts in the subway disappear, these may one day be studied, and their messages will be louder and amplified. Years ago, a friend of a friend of mine, a teacher, gave a class at an NYC university and used FIM as a reference of continuity and longstanding urban documentation and art practice.

WHAT HAS IT BEEN LIKE TO WITNESS THE PROJECT’S EVOLUTION ACROSS SO MANY YEARS? WHAT HAS IT TAUGHT YOU ABOUT NEW YORK, OR ABOUT PEOPLE IN GENERAL?

People throughout history like leaving their mark and people get bored quickly. As for FIM, there is an expiration date, the boards are being removed as I write this and their day as #SUBWAYMOUTHS are numbered. I probably need to look UP again.

WHY DO YOU THINK THE SUBWAY, AND NOT THE STREET, IS SUCH FERTILE GROUND FOR THIS KIND OF ARTISTIC EXPRESSION?

This happens everywhere, I just happened to narrow it down to the subway as a documenting subject, as their size and form were more standard and the encounters were inevitable. Capturing this on the street is more about timing. And as you guys know well, this is the bread and butter for wildposting in NYC.

THIS WHOLE PROJECT SEEMS QUITE POETIC. FROM TRADITIONAL ADVERTISEMENTS IN THE SUBWAY, TO NOW BEING FLYPOSTED ABOVE GROUND THROUGHOUT NEW YORK. IS THIS WHAT YOU ENVISIONED OF THE PROJECT WHEN YOU STARTED DOCUMENTING IT BACK IN 2013?

In all honesty, this is just magical and has allowed me and the #SUBWAYMOUTHS permission to dream bigger. So, I see this just as the beginning.

VIDA ETERNA A LAS SUBWAYMOUTHS! And many more reinventions for FIVEINCHMONSTERS GRACIAS TOTALES.

www.ggvz.nyc
www.instagram.com/fiveinchmonsters

“Breakers means anyone breaking a mould – not just dancers, but people carving their own path.”

That definition, offered by designer and co-editor Sebastián Esguerra, sits at the heart of Breakers Magazine, a print-first platform rooted in breaking but reaching far beyond it. Founded by Paris-born dancer Tom Chaix in 2021 while living on Réunion Island, Breakers began as a self-taught experiment in editorial storytelling. Inspired by the likes of The Surfer’s Journal and independent skate zines, Chaix envisioned a magazine that could do for breaking what print culture had long done for other street movements: document it with care, creativity, and intent.

Now five issues deep, Breakers has evolved into a bilingual, community-built project run between Paris and Montpellier, with an extended network of contributors around the world. It’s as likely to include essays on dance as it is portfolios on graffiti, interviews with hip-hop academics, or short stories that orbit the culture in more abstract ways. Its design sensibility, led by Esguerra is raw, tactile, and always evolving. More than just a magazine, Breakers has become a kind of ecosystem: producing events, collaborating on video and editorial projects, and working with cultural spaces across France.

Their latest collaboration with UNCLE sees Breakers return to the street, this time through a wildposting campaign that turns pages into posters. Bold quotes pulled from past issues now line Paris walls, inviting passersby into the world they’ve built. “It’s not just marketing,” says Tom. “It’s part of our DNA. DIY, physical, public-facing. Just like breaking itself.”
At the centre of everything is a belief in community over clout. Their Tribe Tales event series, channels that same ethos: bringing crews together not just to battle, but to build. For Breakers, success isn’t measured in followers or sales, but in relationships and in staying true to the culture that raised them.

What follows is a conversation with the two co-leads Tom and Sebastián, about their creative process, how to grow something without diluting it, and what it means to build a platform that’s local, global, and rooted in real movement.

CAN YOU INTRODUCE YOURSELVES IN YOUR OWN WORDS?

TOM: I’m Tom Chaix. I was born in Paris but didn’t grow up there, I’ve spent most of my life abroad. I started Breakers Magazine in 2021, during a period of reset on Réunion Island, just off the coast of Madagascar. I was trained as a civil engineer, but I’ve been breaking for over a decade now. That mix of technical background and creative curiosity led me to try something new. The magazine began as a personal experiment: a way to learn design, writing, and publishing on my own terms and to offer breaking the kind of visual and editorial culture that exists in skateboarding or surfing. I did the first edition solo, but thanks to that, I met Sebastián and from there, we started building a collective.

SEBASTIÁN: I’m Sebastián Esguerra. I grew up in Colombia and moved to France a few years ago. My background isn’t in dance, it’s in skateboarding, football, photography, and design. I’ve always been close to hip-hop through friends and creative projects, but it was when I saw Tom’s first issue of Breakers that I really felt connected. Even though it focused on breaking, it wasn’t just about moves or battles, it was about the lives, the stories, the emotion around the culture. That human side of things drew me in. Now I help lead the artistic direction of the magazine, and we try to make it a platform that goes beyond breaking, into the full spectrum of street culture and creative self-expression.

HOW WOULD YOU DESCRIBE BREAKERS MAGAZINE TO SOMEONE PICKING IT UP FOR THE FIRST TIME?

TOM: It’s a physical object first. That’s always been central to the vision, something tactile, something to hold. From the beginning, I didn’t want to build a website or chase SEO. I wanted to make something beautiful, like the surf and skate mags I admired. That kind of print culture never really existed in breaking, so we made our own. It’s bilingual, built from scratch, and it’s grown issue by issue alongside the people who’ve joined the project.

SEBASTIÁN: And it’s not just about breaking, it never really was. We use breaking as a way in, but what we’re really interested in is the people: their stories, struggles, creativity, and how culture lives in the everyday. For me, Breakers is a platform for all kinds of street culture, not just dancers, but skaters, DJs, photographers, writers, even academics. It’s a home for stories that aren’t always told, but that carry a lot of weight.

WHAT WAS THE ORIGINAL MOTIVATION BEHIND STARTING A PRINT MAGAZINE IN A DIGITAL-FIRST WORLD?

TOM: Honestly, digital never even crossed my mind. I wanted something physical, something you could leave out on a table, something collectible. That feeling of print as an object, not just a container for content. It wasn’t about starting a media company or building a brand. It was more instinctive: I love breaking, I love talking to people, and I wanted to make something that could archive all that in a way that felt meaningful. And to be honest, I also wanted to teach myself how to do everything, from editing to layout to building a website. The magazine gave me a reason to learn.

SEBASTIÁN: For me, it was about getting back to that feeling of permanence. As a designer, I’ve always loved books, posters, printed matter. I’ll buy something even if I don’t speak the language, just because of how it looks and feels. And I think print helps us slow down, it lets you sit with something, come back to it. It becomes an archive, a reference. Each issue of Breakers is a snapshot of the culture at that moment, and I think there’s value in that beyond the instant pace of online content.

WHAT’S THE HISTORY OF BREAKING IN FRANCE, AND WHY DO YOU THINK IT RESONATES SO DEEPLY HERE?

TOM: France has a long relationship with hip-hop, but breaking’s position here is still pretty unique. One reason is that, unlike rap or DJing, breaking was never tied to a product. You can’t sell a dance move. It’s not like skateboarding, where there’s a whole industry built around selling boards and shoes. In breaking, you’ve got music, a floor, maybe some shoes but that’s it. So the culture grew live, in the moment. You had to be there. And I think in France, that suited something about our creative spirit, especially in cities like Paris, where street culture has always had a strong presence. There’s a history here of reclaiming public space, performing in the street, and building scenes without needing permission.

HOW DO YOU DECIDE WHAT MAKES IT INTO AN ISSUE OF BREAKERS?

SEBASTIÁN: From the beginning, we’ve tried to keep a strong editorial structure, things like the photo portfolio, the “Talks” section, interviews with people inside and outside of dance. Some articles focus on breaking history, others are more abstract. We’ve even included fiction. What matters most is the voice and the perspective. We’re not interested in sport-style breakdowns or fitness routines. We want to know how people use breaking or hip-hop more broadly, to navigate their lives.

TOM: Exactly. We’re more drawn to the stories behind the moves. Breaking teaches you emotional intelligence, how to collaborate, how to fail and keep going. It’s a hustle. And once someone’s learned to move through all that, you know there’s a lot they can say about their environment, about culture, about themselves. We’re open to anything that carries that kind of depth, whether it’s a dancer or a photographer or someone writing about film. What links them is mindset. That’s what Breakers is really built around.

WHAT WAS SPECIAL ABOUT THE ENERGY AT TRIBE TALES II, AND HOW DID IT EXCEED YOUR EXPECTATIONS?

TOM: Tribe Tales came out of a feeling that we needed to bring people into the Breakers world, not just as readers, but physically into a space. The magazine is about building something slowly, with trust, with emotional intelligence. And the event was the same. We created a concept based on how crews work together: how they make decisions, how they choose who battles who. It’s not just about the best dancer, it’s about communication, about understanding your crew and how to support each other. The name “Tribe Tales” reflects that. We wanted to celebrate collectives and the way they move together.

SEBASTIÁN: And it wasn’t just the format, it was the energy. The second edition completely blew us away. So many more people than we expected showed up. It was full of love, of community. What made it special was that it didn’t stay inside one bubble, we had one day inside a library, with cyphers and DJ sets, and another with a party and a battle in a totally different venue. That contrast helped draw in new crowds. It’s what we always try to do: keep things rooted in breaking and hip-hop but also open the doors to anyone who wants to connect with the vibe. People came as crews, as friends, as families. That’s the kind of unity we care about.

BREAKING IS SOMETHING THAT TYPICALLY HAPPENS IN THE STREET, SO IS WILDPOSTING A NATURAL FIT FOR YOU? WHAT EXCITES YOU ABOUT THIS FORMAT, AND WHAT DO YOU HOPE THE POSTERS WILL ACHIEVE?

SEBASTIÁN: The wildposting campaign is a way for us to show that Breakers is much bigger than just breaking. The posters going up around Paris right now are designed to communicate the spirit of what we do, bridging hip-hop with other street cultures, and opening the door to new collaborators. We want people who don’t know the magazine yet to see something that makes them curious, that draws them in. And for those who do know us, it’s about reaffirming what we stand for: independence, creativity, and cultural connection.

TOM: One of the things you’ll see in the posters are quotes pulled straight from the pages of Breakers, lines that capture the energy, values, and voices of the people we feature. Things like “Ego is a dance.” We kept the design raw and direct: just the quote, the speaker’s name, and our logo. Because for us, wildposting isn’t just a marketing tool, it’s a continuation of our approach since day one. DIY, street-level, self-funded. Like breaking itself, it’s about being present in public space and sharing something real. This is how we reach people by being visible, not just online, but on the walls of the cities we care about.

HOW WOULD YOU COMPARE THE CREATIVE SCENES OF PARIS AND MONTPELLIER, YOUR TWO HOME CITIES?

TOM: Paris is amazing if you’re organised and know exactly what you’re aiming for, it’s full of opportunities, but also full of noise. So many creatives, so much competition. For me, Montpellier made more sense. I’ve got family here, and I’m not trying to do this full-time for a living. It’s still a passion. And here, you can build more stable relationships, more community. People trust you quicker. I linked with venues super easily, they believed in Breakers right away. In Paris, it might’ve taken longer to get that trust.

SEBASTIÁN: That’s it. In Paris, before people even give you a chance, you need the social network, the right references, all that. In smaller cities, like Montpellier, it’s more, “Okay, let’s talk, let’s do something together.” There’s less gatekeeping. And the crowds are more mixed. You’ll get families, young people, older people, people who’ve never seen breaking before all at the same event. It feels more open.

WHAT’S YOUR FAVOURITE PLACE TO HEAR MUSIC? IT DOESN’T HAVE TO BE IN PARIS…

TOM: Honestly? My car. These days, I spend so much time in it with my daughter that it’s where I listen to everything.

SEBASTIÁN: I’ve been enjoying smaller venues in Paris like New Morning, La Gare Jazz—places where you get live jazz jams with different line-ups every night. It’s raw and made for the moment. There’s also a good scene around Bastille with everything from rap to rock.

AND THE BEST PLACE TO DANCE?

TOM: My car, again… No, maybe a crowded room with tight cyphers, or a techno afterparty. Anywhere with energy bouncing off the walls.

SEBASTIÁN: I don’t break, but I love to dance, especially to Latin music. I’ll go wherever there’s movement, even if it’s a reggaeton night. But honestly, any place with a good vibe and a fast two-step works for me.

HOW CAN PEOPLE SUPPORT BREAKERS MAGAZINE?

TOM: The best way is just to reach out. Write to us, share your ideas, show us your work. We’re always open to building something interesting together, whether it’s editorial, design, photography, or events. It doesn’t have to be big or polished. We’re a collective at heart, and collaboration is what’s kept this whole thing alive.

SEBASTIÁN: Yeah, and it’s not really about money. Of course, funding would give us more time to dedicate to the project, but what we’re really looking for is connection. People who get what we’re doing and want to contribute creatively. Writers, designers, editors, cultural workers. If you see a way to build with us, let’s talk.

A voice for resilience and revolution.

Jasmine is a fearless artist whose music is as unflinching as it is tender. Emerging from Manchester’s DIY underground, she has carved out a sound that is both raw and meticulously honed – a balance fully realized in her debut album, ‘You Are The Morning’. A deeply personal manifesto of identity, love, and survival, the record pulses with spirit and the defiant energy of queer resilience. To celebrate its release, UNCLE partnered with Jasmine to amplify its message in Manchester and London through flyposting, ensuring its themes of visibility, solidarity, and defiance resonate far beyond the underground.

At its core, ‘You Are The Morning’ is a testament to resilience. The album brims with raw emotion, weaving together intimate songwriting and expansive production, bolstered by contributions from indie-rock luminaries like boygenius. But beyond the sonics, the record is a rallying cry – a declaration of presence in a world that often seeks to erase. It’s about survival, about finding and holding onto the people who make life worth living. It’s a love letter to the queer community, to trans joy, to the underground scenes that build something beautiful out of struggle. It’s not just music; it’s a movement.

In the interview that follows, we dive deep into the heart of the record. From the songwriting process to the weight of representation, from Manchester’s impact to the transformative power of live performance, nothing is off-limits. This is an artist who isn’t afraid to speak her truth – who, in fact, sees it as a responsibility.

‘You Are The Morning’ is such a personal and emotionally rich album. How does it feel now that it’s out in the world?

I feel honoured that it is out and reaching people in the way that it is. Queer people around the world are telling me it has resonated with them in a way they haven’t experienced before, and I’ve had older trans women tell me that they wish they had someone like me to look up to when they were transitioning, which means the world to me.

What message do you hope listeners take away from it?

The importance of solidarity. Queer friendship, mutual aid and international solidarity quite literally saved my life and got me to where I am today. And to those in need, a message of hope: things can and will get better. You will find your people.

You’ve spoken about your songwriting process starting with voice memos and stream-of-consciousness writing. How do you know when a song is “finished”?

I don’t think a song is ever finished. I don’t feel comfortable playing a song the same way twice, it feels gross to me. The songs on the album have already changed.

How Did The Presence Of Boygenius (Julien Baker, Phoebe Bridgers And Lucy Dacus) Shape The Sound And Energy Of The Record?

In so many ways. I think it sounds very boygenius in a lot of ways. Julien’s guitar tone, Lucy’s editing and sequencing skills, and Phoebe’s knowledge of the studio and leadership in arrangement were vital aspects. All of their voices really carry the record.

Many of your songs explore love and identity in a deeply personal way. Do you think music has helped you find and express your truest self?

Fully. In the words of Avril, I’m a rock chick. But seriously, expressing myself through music and writing has really helped me through my darkest times and helped me process and heal.

Diy magazine called you a “testament to the importance of trans representation”; do you feel a responsibility as an artist to represent trans voices in music?

Yeah, a massive responsibility. It’s an honour to step into the spotlight as some random Manchester doll and be a voice for trans liberation. The world is so cruel to trans people, especially trans children, trans people of colour, transfeminine people and disabled trans people. It’s honestly terrifying leaving the house in our most deadly year on record, let alone touring internationally as a group of trans women. Those in power stoke more and more hatred towards us as a distraction from the real evils of capitalism, and the consequence is that trans people are being killed in the street more than ever. We are losing our jobs more than ever. We are homeless more than ever. There have been so many direct attacks on trans people in legislation around the world already this year, including Wes Streeting’s ban on trans children accessing puberty blockers (non-trans children are still prescribed them freely). As a consequence, we have seen a huge spike in trans children killing themselves. Edinburgh women’s shelter has started denying trans women escaping abusive partners. Trans women are being raped and murdered in men’s prisons around the world, including here in the UK. These are the real trans issues that should be in the media. We are victims, but instead, we are painted as predators, aggressors and perpetrators. I want to do my bit to change the mainstream conversation.

You’ve been vocal about your work with trans mutual aid manchester. How do you see the intersection between your music and activism?

When your very existence is politicised, you don’t really get much of a choice!

How has Manchester shaped you as an artist?

Coming here I met my community and fell in love with trans people for the first time, which is what the record is about. So, entirely!

Favourite spots in the city?

The Peer Hat is a fave of mine — my website is based on that pub.

You’re embarking on a full UK tour this year. How are you feeling about taking ‘You Are The Morning’ on the road?

So excited to meet more of my community, mainly! I love playing live, I love my bandmates, and I love the impact that our shows have had. Trans people have told me they’ve found their chosen families at my shows, others have told me that seeing me has allowed them to accept their own trans identities, others have reached out to say that seeing us out here as a group of trans women has given them hope for their own futures. You can’t make an omelette without cracking some eggs!

The album title represents new beginnings. What’s next for you after this release and tour?

There are loads more shows and festivals to be announced. I’m so excited for this year. I’m also hoping to start being able to make a living from music and so have more time to spend with my incredible partners and my chosen family. And of course, I’m constantly writing — really hoping to share more music imminently!

How Bushwick’s Zodiac-Themed Bar Embodies New York Nightlife

Plenty of places throw parties, plenty more serve drinks. But the ones that matter – the ones that actually feel like they belong to a city – are something else entirely. Maybe it’s the music, or even the lack thereof. Maybe it’s the faces behind the bar, or the heads that turn towards the door when you walk in. Or maybe it’s something less tangible – a feeling that this place isn’t just a setting, but an active part of the experience itself.

Mood Ring – a ten-minute walk from the centre of the Bushwick universe, Myrtle Ave and Broadway – is one such place. Open since 2017, it’s carved out its own space in New York’s nightlife, balancing the intimacy of a neighbourhood bar with the energy of a club that feeds the underground.

The zodiac-themed cocktails are the initial hook. “Virgo seeks discounted drinks from August 22nd to September 23rd.” But astrology alone doesn’t keep people coming back. What does is a space that constantly shifts with the city – a venue shaped by the people who run it, rather than a corporate identity rubber-stamped across multiple locations.

That flexibility allows it to be reactive in ways larger venues can’t. Its recent Valentine’s event, for example, a staple in their calendar as the bar’s theme and recent wildposting campaign with UNCLE would suggest – raised funds for those affected by the LA fires. They don’t have to wait for approval from a boardroom to make things happen. They’re defined by the people who fill them, from the DJs on the decks to the regulars perched at the bar, and the connection they foster extends far beyond a transaction.
There’s also the bigger picture – the role that a venue like this plays in a city’s ecosystem. “If the only places to play are massive clubs with big fees and bigger expectations, you’re skipping a whole part of the process,” says co-founder Bowen Goh. Mood Ring, like other small venues, is where artists cut their teeth, where new sounds emerge, and where a DJ can experiment with an audience that’s open to the unexpected. Without places like this, the grassroots pipeline collapses.

And yet, in a city where rising rents and shifting trends force independent venues to fight for survival, Mood Ring keeps evolving. Like its ever-changing cocktail menu, the space adapts to the season, the moment, and the people who walk through its doors. Call it fate, call it intuition – whatever it is, it’s working.

Can you introduce yourself and Mood Ring?

Bowen Goh: I’m one of the founders of Mood Ring. We opened in 2017, and over the years, we’ve evolved into a bar and club that’s home to a lot of New York’s underground and up-and-coming artists. We started out with more of a house music focus, but as the scene has grown, so has our programming. We try to be a dynamic space—always shifting with what the city and its people want.

What was the original vision for the space, and how has it evolved?

We actually didn’t set out to open a club. The initial idea was a small restaurant, but my business partner was really involved in the underground techno scene. We took a trip to Berlin, and after a few nights out there, the idea of opening a club just felt right. Back home, there was a gap in Bushwick for something on the lighter side of the dance spectrum—not full-on heavy techno, but something with a bit more house music. We saw that opportunity and ran with it.

At first, we didn’t even plan to throw as many events as we do now, but the demand was immediate. We got a little press early on because of our astrology concept, and from there, things snowballed. The DJs came, the crowds followed, and we kept making improvements—better sound, a proper booth, more intentional bookings. Mood Ring just grew into itself.

Mood Ring has a strong astrology theme. What inspired that?

Astrology was just something that felt natural to us. Before we even opened, we saw how much people loved talking about it—especially in nightlife, where you’re constantly meeting new people. Asking someone their sign is an easy icebreaker, and we wanted the space to feel like that—somewhere you can strike up a conversation with a stranger without it feeling weird.

It also gave us a way to keep things fresh. We have a rotating cocktail menu based on the zodiac calendar, and over the years, we’ve constantly updated the space’s look and feel. We even put out an astrology-themed cocktail book, which was a fun way to extend the concept beyond the bar.

And how does the astrology theme influence the overall atmosphere at moodring?

The theme was never just a gimmick—it became part of the culture of the place. You’ll see people asking each other about their signs within minutes of meeting. It’s funny because, even if you don’t care about astrology, someone in the room will. It creates this shared language that people can tap into, whether they take it seriously or just use it as a fun way to connect.
Beyond the cocktails, we’ve always treated Mood Ring as a space that shifts and evolves—kind of like how people see astrology as being tied to cycles and change. We update the decor, switch things up seasonally, and try to keep the energy feeling fresh. I think that’s why people keep coming back—there’s always something a little different, even if it’s subtle.

Mood Ring has become a hub for djs and electronic music. What’s your approach to programming and curating events?

Bowen Goh: From the start, we wanted to offer something different from what was already out there. Right across the street, you’ve got Bossa Nova Civic Club, which has been a staple for heavier techno. So, when we were setting up Mood Ring, we leaned toward the other end of the spectrum—more house, something a little lighter, more groove-driven. At the time, there wasn’t much of that in Bushwick, and it just made sense to carve out that space.

Over time, we’ve expanded to include club music, Latin nights, and other genres that reflect what people in the city are gravitating toward. But we always keep the core of it intact—it’s about energy, movement, and making sure the space stays fresh.

Mood Ring feels like an incubator for up-and-coming artists. Do you see it as a stepping stone for djs on their way to bigger venues?

Yeah, that’s something that’s just naturally happened. We’re a small venue, so we’ve always attracted underground talent—DJs who are on the come-up, trying things out, and building their following. Some of the artists who’ve played here have gone on to much bigger stages, but a space like ours is where they get that first real connection to a crowd.

I think a lot of people don’t realize how important that is. If the only places to play are massive clubs with big fees and bigger expectations, you’re skipping a whole part of the process. Small venues like Mood Ring are where DJs test out new sounds, build a vibe, and figure out who their audience is. We’ve had plenty of nights where you just know someone’s about to blow up. It’s a good feeling, seeing that progression and knowing we’re part of that pipeline.

How do you balance keeping things fresh while staying true to the space’s original vision?

We try to keep our ear to the ground. As much as we have our own tastes, it’s about what people in the scene are excited about. Some of the best nights we’ve had have come from just trusting the right people—whether that’s resident DJs who understand the crowd or collectives that bring something new to the space.

At the same time, we don’t want to overextend. We built this space with a clear vibe in mind, and while we’ve branched out, we always come back to the idea that Mood Ring is meant to be intimate, energetic, and a bit different from everywhere else. That’s what’s kept us going all these years.

Nightlife and club culture are in constant flux. From your perspective, what’s the biggest challenge for independent venues in nyc right now?

Bowen Goh: The biggest challenge is survival, honestly. Everything keeps getting more expensive—rent, insurance, staff wages, liquor, even just the cost of running a sound system. But that doesn’t necessarily mean more money is coming in. People are going out less often, and when they do, they’re more selective about where they spend their money.

A lot of that comes down to how nightlife changed after COVID. Right after the lockdowns, there was this explosion—people were out constantly, drinking, partying. But then came the backlash, where people started cutting back, drinking less, and being more mindful of how they spend their nights out.

Bushwick has undergone major changes over the years. How have you seen gentrification impact the neighborhood and the nightlife scene?

It’s changed a lot, even just in the time we’ve been here. A lot of people moved here because rent was cheap, and that led to an explosion of bars, clubs, and creative spaces opening up.
Now, it’s shifting again. Rents have gone up, more luxury apartments are being built, and that always changes the kind of people moving in. A lot of the older spots have closed, and you see nightlife becoming more polished—more corporate, in some cases. It’s not necessarily a bad thing to have new places opening, but when independent venues start disappearing, it affects the whole culture.

What’s your favorite thing about New York?

It’s a cliché, but the energy here is unmatched. Everyone’s here to make something happen—whether that’s in music, art, food, whatever. You can feel it when you’re out. People don’t just go through the motions; they’re putting real intent behind what they do. That keeps things exciting, even when the city itself can be exhausting.

What’s one standout night at moodring that has stuck with you?

One that really stands out was right before the COVID lockdowns. We were doing a party with musclecars for their two-year anniversary, and you could just feel it in the air—everyone was in the moment, dancing, balloons flying everywhere, no one worrying about anything outside that room.

At the time, we had no idea things were about to shut down, but looking back, that night feels like a perfect snapshot of what we love about Mood Ring. It’s those moments where you look around and realize you’ve built something that brings people joy. That’s what makes it worth all the stress of running a venue in this city.

Event photo credits David Brandon Geeting & Lina Sun Park.

Style, Storytelling, and the Power of Representation.

Style isn’t just about clothes – it’s about presence, attitude, and the stories woven into every fabric choice, accessory, and perfectly curated look. To My Titas is a bold, fashion-forward tribute to the Filipino aunties who have been serving effortless elegance long before social media made it a trend. In partnership with UNCLE, this photobook isn’t just a celebration of their impeccable style – it’s a love letter to the culture, resilience, and quiet power of a generation of women who’ve always understood the art of showing up and showing out.

But this project goes deeper than just aesthetics. To My Titas merges editorial fashion photography with raw, personal storytelling, highlighting the lives these women have built far from home while carrying their heritage with them in every detail. From church hall gatherings to house parties fuelled by karaoke, the book captures the energy, tradition, and community that shape Filipino identity in the diaspora. It’s an intimate yet strikingly stylish look at how fashion and culture intertwine, proving that heritage is never out of style.

In this interview, we sit down with the creative force behind To My Titas Nicole Alonzo, to talk about the vision, the process, and the beautiful chaos of working with a group of legendary, Facebook-loving aunties. From deep cultural connections to high-fashion influences, this conversation is about more than just a book – it’s about the power of representation and why these stories need to be seen. Let’s get into it.

What inspired you to create to my titas? Was there a particular moment or experience that sparked the idea?

I remember having a conversation with my girlies, who come from different ethnic backgrounds to me, and we got to talking about how fashionable and stylish our aunties are. Down from the jewellery, to the designer bags, the extravagant cultural attire they like to wear to church, or how well they hold themselves when wearing their sunday’s best. I chose to do a photobook because i go to photobook stores to get inspired or feel some type of relatability through visual storytelling and realised there were no photobooks about my filipino heritage. I felt a need to put my country on the map.

Tell us about some themes in the book. How did you decide on the visual and narrative elements to achieve this?

I have a love for fashion imagery and clothing since i was a young kid. I currently study a fashion communication course at ual and i know that visual storytelling through fashion editorial style is how i best express myself. However, besides the fashion imagery and clothing aspect of my photobook, i understood the importance of interviewing these amazing women and collecting cultural artifacts that they brought to the motherland, to represent their stories properly. I really wanted to celebrate their lives that they’ve made in england and their relationships with each other. These themes include our love for karaoke. Every time i go to a filipino house party, there’s karaoke.

What was the process like for selecting the titas featured in the book? Did you face any challenges in capturing their stories?

In terms of process, i grew up in a strong filipino community in nottingham. My father is the chairman of the nottingham filipino community and so the titas in my photobook are women who have seen me grow into a woman. In my culture, you call everyone auntie or “tita” even if they aren’t by blood, but by culture and community, they are. The biggest challenge for me was getting all my aunties in one place lmao, they’re very busy women. I had to do a lot of facebook messaging and physically going to their houses to interview them. I am currently based in london, so i had to go back and forth to where i am originally from, which is nottingham, just to talk to my titas. They love their facebook.

How do you hope to my titas will impact perceptions of filipino womanhood?

I hope it will help people realise that no matter what culture or community you’re from, we’re all the same. We all have at least one auntie who is always dressed to impress. I also just wanted to celebrate my culture by looking at traditional perspectives and contemporary perspectives that a young filipino person would be able to look at and feel seen. I guess i just want people to know how proud and strong our women are.

Can you share any standout stories or moments from working on this project that resonated with you in particular?

For me, my most standout moments were being in a shoot with all my aunties. They bring such vibrant energies and this sense of ‘diva’-ness to a room that i just adore.

How has your own background influenced your creative practice?

My own background has influenced nearly everything i do in my creative practice. I think i was so excited to get out into the world and step into the fashion industry and then quickly realised that most high-end fashion spaces made me feel like i wasn’t allowed there unless i was known. Of course, this is slowly changing but the exclusion is definitely still there. Due to this, it forced me to look within and really understand what niche communities speak out to me and accept me as a creative. In turn, this project is a rebellious act to the fashion industry. One, mature women and people deserve to be in the fashion limelight as much as young people because they love fashion too, and two, my culture is equally as fashionable and elegant through our clothing.

If you could describe to my titas in three words, what would they be?

Strength, adaption, and style.

If younger filipino artists want to explore their heritage through storytelling, what advice would you give them?

Look at the people around you, create work with the communities you already have. There is so much beauty in it that you may not notice because it isn’t on a campaign ad. Obviously, dream big but don’t forget your roots or who you are along the way. Bring those attributes with you to the industry; it will set you apart from the others.

Talk us through the artwork of the campaign?

One of the artworks for the campaign is the front cover of my photobook, which showcases all my aunties in one photo wearing their best-dressed clothing, all in different colours and designs that best describe their individual personalities. I wanted the location to scream britain, but the poses, style, designer bags, and jewellery to scream fashion! My auntie on the left took her shoes off mid-shoot because they annoyed her and decided to take a photo because she can, on her facebook, and i knew that capturing that moment would best describe these women and our culture from a contemporary perspective. The rest of the artworks were taken in my local church while wearing our cultural attire to showcase our local church hall in nottingham. A lot of events hosted by the nottingham filipino community have happened in that church hall, so it’s a very sentimental space for my aunties and me. Our cultural attire is equally as sentimental to us as filipinos away from home, so i knew to capture both of these important elements together to best describe our culture to london.

How has london informed the project?

London is a very multicultural city, filled with such beautiful heritages living together in one place. Living here forced me to look at my heritage and how my community has shaped me as a creative growing up in the midlands.

What parts of the city inspire you?

I currently live in whitechapel, and the bengali community there is strong. However, even though we have cultural differences, the themes of family, community, and styling (down to their traditional clothing shops, which i always adore every time i walk past them) are all the same. In such a big city, a niche community is what makes you feel connected, and it made me think of mine back at home in nottingham.

What’s next for you as an artist? Any upcoming projects we should look forward to?

As an artist, i am currently working on my next project, which is creating a physical exhibition curated by bame women who live in the midlands, who love fashion and also take inspiration from their cultural heritage. I am planning to have this exhibited in nottingham because nothing creative happens there. Not because there isn’t creative talent, but because there’s no funding that goes to those regions as they’re all being pumped into london. Therefore, i am planning to create this exhibition to showcase the amazing bame women creatives in nottingham.

“Art is our chance to turn intangible things into tangibles.”

What does it take to release 10 albums of music?

It’s not a question we put to MIKE directly, but his latest studio album, Showbiz!, serves as its own answer. Still only in his mid-twenties, the Brooklyn-based artist has lived a lot of life, and his commitment to the belief that music should be a lived experience is a testament to that.

`“It’s like, are you making art, or is art just a part of your life?” he asks. “I think for me, it’s always the second one.”`

Michael Bonema arrived in New York as a teenager. Having been born in nearby New Jersey, he has also spent time in Philadelphia and in London as a child. MIKE’s previously acknowledged that the now-nostalgic staple, Channel U – the British TV channel that platformed a generation of underground rap and grime artists – influenced his wide taste in music, as well as the 2000s R&B his sisters played in their home.

The rap music he makes – particularly when self-produced – has a tendency to pack two or even three different beats into one, sometimes flipping the same sample in two different ways. Something for the subway and something for a dj blackpower set (his producer alias), all within one track. ‘If I’m making a track and I feel like flipping the beat three times, I just go with it. It’s never a forced thing – it’s more about feeling,’ he says, speaking to us candidly from his home, the day after a studio session that went into the early hours of a Tuesday morning. ‘Hip-hop is already a freeform sport – you don’t have to follow rules if you don’t want to, and that’s what always excited me.

His music is shaped as much by the people and places around him as it is by his own creative impulses. Whether it’s his independent label 10k, which has grown from a close-knit collective into a globally recognised platform, or Young World, the free-to-attend New York festival that now belongs as much to the city as it does to him, MIKE’s vision has always extended beyond just making records and releasing them.

His partnership with UNCLE does more than promote this landmark tenth album. It brings 22 collages – one for each song on Showbiz! – onto the streets of New York. These pieces, designed in collaboration with a longtime friend, aren’t just promo, but an extension of the album itself – just as personal and vulnerable as the music. “The collages reflect each song and are very personal to me,” MIKE says. “I feel like the vulnerable nature of my music is something people appreciate, and this is an extension of that.”

This philosophy extends to his touring, too. His upcoming 71-date world tour is more than just his biggest yet – it’s a travelling community effort, bringing at least 24 other artists on stage across various dates, including duendita, Navy Blue, Liv.e, and Maxo, as well as label mates like Anysia Kym, Sideshow, and Jadasea. On stage, MIKE has always created space for younger artists, introducing them to like-minded crowds, while also sharing bills – and a song – with artists like Sister Nancy, the dancehall pioneer, adding an intergenerational essence to his approach.

“Everything we’re doing now is part of something bigger that’s been happening for decades,” he says. “Sister Nancy wasn’t supposed to be who she is – there were barriers, systems that weren’t built for her to thrive in. But she broke through anyway.”

“That’s how the lineage keeps going. If you’re truly part of something bigger, you can’t be scared of new people coming up. You want new contenders, because that means the culture is alive. The real ones always stick around.”

Whilst there’s no single answer to what it takes to release ten albums of music, it seems to be an amalgamation of all the above. And the below…

How long have you lived in New York for now?

The end of ninth grade. I graduated in 2016, and I was in New York from the beginning of tenth grade. So, 2013 – twelve years now.

Do you think moving to New York from elsewhere gives you a different perspective on things?

Definitely, but not in a way where I ever felt too much like an outsider. Nigerians, specifically, have four, five, maybe six home bases where you know you’re going to find a lot of Nigerians. I was moving around my whole life, so coming to New York wasn’t too big of a shift for me – I could already understand what was going on.

I had cousins in the city, and I used to visit them every summer. They were putting me on to what was happening – whether it was the first people to show me Pop Smoke before he was making music, or putting me on to different styles, the way people dressed. I’d be in the Bronx rocking hella Polo because that’s what I was seeing.

When I finally moved there, I was living with those same cousins, so it already felt normal. And I think moving around so much helped me figure out how to exist in different communities. Maybe not for the best reasons, but it gave me a broader understanding of how to find my people. So when I got to New York, it was easy to find my tribe.

Your music always embraces that tribe, and your albums have always embraced featured artists and collaboration. So does this latest, your 10th mike album, feel like as much of a community effort as it does a ‘Solo’ album?

Yeah, I think every project is always a community effort. Even if it’s just me writing or working on something alone, the experiences that shape the music come from the people around me.

I’ve been working on Showbiz! since the end of 2023 and just thinking about how much life has happened in that time – it had to be a collaborative thing. There are people who’ve saved my life in different ways, and I have to credit that. It could be a homie who looked out for me, or just the small moments that shift your perspective. Everything plays a role in the music.

It’s like, are you making art, or is art just a part of your life? I think for me, it’s always the second one. The music reflects what’s happening around me, so it’s always tied to the people, places, and energy that surround it. That’s why every album – this one included – feels like more than just me.

And where does Showbiz!, The name of this project come from?

I think Showbiz! started as an idea while I was on tour. We’ve been touring non-stop for the last three years, and I’ve been making music seriously since 2017. At a certain point, it just felt like my whole life had become this—like I had fully stepped into what it means to be an artist.

For me, Showbiz! is about coming of age, not just as an artist but as a person. In four years, I’m gonna be 30, which is crazy to me because I feel like I’ve already lived so much life, but at the same time, I haven’t done shit yet. That’s what this album feels like—coming into myself, realising that this is what I do, and fully accepting it.

I was talking to my homie the other day about how parents always say, ‘Don’t put all your eggs in one basket.’ And we were like – why not? We put all our eggs in one basket because this is the only basket we got. But that doesn’t mean the basket has to be small. It can be as big as we make it. That’s what Showbiz! Is – realising that I’m in this, all the way, and there’s no backup plan.

The album’s once again released on your own label 10K. From the outside looking in, at times 10K has felt like a platform for yourself and friends to release music via. Now it feels like it’s kept that ethos, but evolved and expanded – sonically and geographically – to be a record label that can compete with other indie labels. What’s the vision for 10K?

We don’t necessarily see it as a label—maybe more like a crime organisation. [laughs] But nah, for real, from the start, we always looked at it like a mom-and-pop shop. The idea was to do everything in-house, to build something where we didn’t have to rely on the same industry systems that a lot of people feel trapped in.

A lot of it comes down to figuring out what makes us different. How do we stand next to these other labels that have the resources to do all the crazy industry shit? And I think we found that answer by just staying true to the people around us. We’ve got homies who run venues, people who handle different aspects of music and events, and a network that isn’t just about one scene or one city.

So, the vision is really just to keep building on that – to create a space where artists can drop their art comfortably and do what they need to do without all the extra bullshit. If you prioritise the art and the artist, things can be okay. And I’m grateful to be part of something that pushes that forward.

You’re about to embark on a 71-date tour – your biggest yet. How important is touring for you as an independent artist, and what role does it play in sustaining your career?

Touring is super important. Besides just performing, we’ve been hitting some of these cities for three, four years now, so it’s deeper than just a show – it’s about the people we’ve met along the way. Every time we go somewhere new, it feels like the family gets bigger.

I have this theory that one day all the good people in the world are gonna link up – whether it’s in one big-ass Instagram chat or something, I don’t know. But every time I’m on tour, it feels like that’s already happening in real life. You go somewhere you’ve never been before and realise there are people out there who relate to you, who feel the same way about things. It reminds you that this music, this whole journey, is bigger than just me.

And in terms of sustaining what I do, it’s everything. Touring is how I connect with people, how I keep growing, how I survive as an artist. Performing is one of my favourite things to do – it feels spiritual, like church or something. It’s where I feel the most like myself. On stage, you’re supposed to be the master of the ceremony, creating your own world, and I love that shit every time.

What’s special about new york as a place to come home to after all that touring?

Man, good weather, good gas, good food—that’s what I’m coming back to. We’re about to be in some weird places, so when I get back, it’s just turn-up time. But honestly, even when the world tour stops, we just hit the city and keep it going. That’s how it always is. We go around the world in the first quarter, then do everything we just did overseas back at home for the summer.
New York is special because it’s home, but it’s also not a place where you sit still. There’s always something happening, always somewhere to be. After being on the road, it’s not like I come back and just stop – it’s more like a shift in energy. The movement doesn’t stop, it just comes back to where it started.

And new york in the summer is also the location of young world, the free-to-attend festival that you’ve been organising for four years now. What inspired you to start that festival, and what’s been the most rewarding part of building it?

It actually started as a completely different idea. I wanted to do a series of shows in different warehouses, where all the stages would be set up in the middle and the crowd would circle around. That was the dream at first but figuring out how to actually make it happen led me to what Young World is now.

From the beginning, I wanted it to feel like more than just another show. I wanted it to be something that really brought people together, that felt like it belonged to the city. And over the years, I’ve seen it do exactly that—it’s a space where different generations of artists and fans all come together through hip-hop. Seeing that in real time, seeing how much it means to people, that’s the most rewarding part.

What makes new york the perfect place for a festival like this?

New York is built for something like this. It’s already a place where different generations, different cultures, and different sounds are always crossing paths. That’s what Young World is about – bringing all those worlds together in one space.

Even from the first one, when we had the deal with the art centre in the Lower East Side, it just made sense. The people involved, the energy of it, the way it brought everyone together – it all felt like a natural extension of what’s already happening in the city. When we moved it to the park in Brooklyn, it became even bigger. That was the moment where I really saw how much it meant to the community.

Now there are people who don’t even know me for my music but know me for putting on Young World. I was walking in my neighbourhood, and someone called me “the guy who does the park thing.” Didn’t even call it Young World – just “the park thing.” That’s crazy to me. Or I’ll be in the gym, and one of the security guards who’s been there for years didn’t recognise me at first, then he’s like, “Oh, you’re the guy from Young World?” That’s wild because that means it’s reaching people beyond just the ones who listen to my music.

That’s what makes New York the right place for this. It’s not just my thing anymore. It’s something that belongs to the city now.

You’ve been working with a designer to create collages for each song on the new album – these will be seen across new york as part of your collab with uncle. What do these visuals add to the experience of the album?

The visuals are just as important as the music. They tell the story in a way that sometimes the music alone can’t. Every project starts with a loose idea – something that visually sticks with me – and I let it build from there. With Showbiz!, I was thinking a lot about performance, about stepping into a role, and about how real life feeds into that. For example, I say a prayer to my mother before every show – praying that she can see it and that people enjoy it – and so I’ve been able to incorporate that tradition into this album and into the visuals ‘You’re the Only One Watching’.

The collages reflect each song and are very personal to me. I feel like the vulnerable nature of my music is something people appreciate, and this is an extension of that. It’s not just about promotion – it’s about being able to present the art in a different way, separate from the music. Art is our chance to turn intangible things into tangibles, and that’s what these visuals do. They make the emotions and ideas behind each track something you can actually see and experience in the real world.

How do you feel about bridging that gap between the digital and the real world?

It’s exciting because there’s no algorithm in real life. Anyone can walk past it, interact with it, and be introduced to something they weren’t looking for. That’s the part I love – the randomness of it.

It reminds me of how I’ve been put onto things in life. Someone shows you something, takes you somewhere, and suddenly your whole perspective shifts. That’s what I hope can happen with this – people coming across the art in their day-to-day and maybe discovering something that sticks with them.

On the topic of connecting with audiences, how has your relationship with social media evolved, particularly as an independent artist? It wasn’t too long ago that you turned your instagram off private…

Man, I’m about to go back on private. [laughs] Social media sucks, bro. But at the same time, it’s powerful. And anything that’s powerful – if it can be used for good, it’ll also be used against us. Every social media platform now just feels right-wing.

I do be a scroller, though. I rap, and I scroll. That’s really my shit. [laughs] And when you sit back and really look at it, it’s like a hamster wheel. My homies who have kids tell me about Cocomelon – how it’s just playing with their dopamine, messing with their brains. And I’m like… bro, we’re all on Cocomelon too. Social media does the same thing to us, just dressed up differently.

That’s why I try to remind myself – and other artists – that we still have free will in this. You can step away, you can use it how you need to without letting it run you.

Whether they interact with it on the streets or via the music in headphones or at a show, what do you hope people take away from the new album?

I just hope the music gives people a space to feel themselves. I want the shows to be a safe space – somewhere people can listen and maybe connect with feelings they’ve had but didn’t know how to put into words or be able to portray.

Even outside the music, with the collages or seeing it in the street, I just want people to experience something that sticks with them. Maybe it inspires them to look at their own life in a new way, or to reflect on where they are and where they’re going. That’s really all I could hope for.