photography and written by KATIE TANG
It’s about to hit midnight outside Hackney Wick station when a flock of brightly dressed people emerges from the exit. A bulbous-bellied Winnie the Pooh, followed by a zombie dripping in kandi and neon plastic hair clips, then Ryuk from Death Note, all walking in the same direction. It’s obvious they’re headed to the Colour Factory for Nitecawr’s second annual Halloween rave. I’m mildly inebriated from a bar of Dubai chocolate, which probably explains why none of this feels that weird yet.
The attendees look like a mix between my TikTok For You Page and 2006 MySpace. When I get inside, it feels like that too. I’m instantly hit with a remix of 100 gecs’ “Money Machine” and lights flashing bright enough to sort out my nausea; I’ve basically been isekai’d into the online world—stunlocked by the sheer amount of everything around me.
This is Nitecawr’s second Halloween event—they started last year and have built a massive following in just a few months. It’s cemented itself in the London hyperpop scene as a place where you can brainrot IRL without anyone being weird about it, which explains both the range of people and the sheer numbers. I’m pretty sure at some points it was impossible to walk.
The entrance clears a bit, revealing the path to the smoking area. It’s packed—somewhere between last week’s Comic Con and Thorpe Park’s Fright Night. I can barely move through the crowd, trying not to smudge against the many, many people whose bodies are painted in colors I didn’t know were possible. It’s funny—someone in a genuinely horrifying costume, face painted white and blood dripping from their mouth, will be talking about Madoka Magica. Everyone’s rushing to catch the next DJ.
There’s a guy in full Circus by Maniac, wearing what looks like about a month’s rent, standing next to a Pinkie Pie, and they’re chatting like old friends. The smell of tobacco clears as I head toward the market stalls. They’re packed, tables covered in handmade stuff, each one reflecting the vendor behind it. One sign reads “scatenthusiast.” I joked to myself that it was more of a general statement than a username. The vendor’s bright red skin and clay hair clips—tiny versions of themselves—stood out. They were selling more clay clips, the most memorable being a mini yuri paddle with a decorated face sticking out.
A duo with bedazzled anime eyes stands in front of me, decked out in diffusion Comme des Garçons. They laugh, and I catch their real eyes peeking out from underneath the paint—which cracks me up before I go right back to awe.
Talking with Jess, one of the co-organizers and DJs, she mentions how great it is that people can tap into internet culture here without anyone being judgmental. That seems to be the vibe from everyone—people are just here to have fun. By now I’m in the green room, slacking off a bit. GFOTY’s favorite brainrot is apparently Capuccina Ballerina, though I couldn’t totally tell because they get churned out at an unsettling pace. Throughout the night, DJs drift in and out of this tiny room. I talk to Kino about his inspirations (JackZebra, Gege) and somehow end up discussing Sarah Bonito’s obsession with cat reels. It’s a wildly diverse mix of people crammed into the smallest room I’ve ever seen.
Back in the crowd, I notice my bag handle smells like beer now. I do one last round—the DJs are split between two rooms with completely different vibes. There’s a guy who looks exactly like The Dare, but it felt rude to ask a potential Hedi boy if that was intentional. Of course, I hear “Caramelldansen” too—probably the one song I’d pick to sum up Nitecawr. There’s this overarching sense of community for what’s basically a chronically online crowd. I spend the rest of the night going “oh my god, they’re so tall” about various people. At one point, it hits me that the room looks exactly like a Fortnite lobby full of funny skins, which entertains me endlessly.
I’m about to leave, but then I hear a gabber remix of “War” by Chief Keef. I stay a bit longer.
