Final photos from Chengdu’s queer club in the sky

From the outside, .TAG, the underground techno club, is unassuming. It’s housed within the Poly Center, one of many skyscrapers scattered across Chengdu’s clouded skyline. Here, clubgoers pile into lifts, shoulder-to-shoulder with office workers, and ride up to the 21st floor where the city’s most elusive club awaits to “take them to another galaxy”.

It could easily sound mythical – a hidden club up in the clouds packed out with club kids raving until the light pours in. But, however high up .TAG may be, the club is firmly grounded by a desire to create a space for people to become something larger than themselves. 

Founded in 2014 by Ellen Zhang, the space has become a sanctuary for LGBTQ+ partygoers in the city, thriving despite regulatory hurdles and sociopolitical pressures. Just over a decade since its conception, the club is now closing its doors, living on in the hazy memory of the clubbers and photographs like those captured by Berlin-based photographer Julien Tell in his latest series.

Some photographs capture a dance floor packed out with sweaty ravers: lollipops in mouths, arms wrapped around waists as DJs tether to the decks and their sprawl of colourful cables. “It’s all music, all the time,” Tell says. “The sound fills every corner, even the spots where you can sit, catch your breath, and sometimes nap, as some of the Chinese ravers famously do.”

In other shots, the space feels more sparse as clubbers rest along window ledges or on each other’s laps. Light cuts through the window to cast singular silhouettes of those who have made it to see the morning in. There’s a noticeable split in the space: moody industrial techno sets downstairs, ambient and house upstairs in the Hidden Bar. But beyond the sound, if you can escape it, the club produces space for both hedonism and tenderness, often in conjunction.

Although hidden high up in the sky, .TAG attracted a diverse crowd of clubgoers. “There were tattoo artists, students, office workers, and anyone who just wanted to be themselves and dance,” Tell recalls. This included the ‘Chengdu OGs’ – regulars who’d been coming to the club since its inception. “Then there were the boss women. Chengdu femmes are direct, powerful, almost intimidating, and they owned the room,” Tell continues. 

Those nights also challenged the photographer’s own assumptions. “Growing up in the US as a person of Asian descent, I was often surrounded by stereotypes portraying Asian people as shy or reserved. Over time, and through my own experiences, those notions were completely shattered. The people I met were bold, open, and unafraid to be themselves.”

The photographer was first welcomed into the club while visiting a friend in Chengdu for the Lunar New Year. The annual celebration sees cities come to a standstill for a week – shops close, traffic halts, and people travel back home. But as shutters came down, .TAG opened up, hosting an eight-day Hot Pot Marathon where DJs, ravers and friends from across China and beyond came together for techno, house, ambient sets, live performances, massages and a communal hotpot meal on the final day.

A community like .TAG can be hard to come by for queer people, especially in places with restrictive politics. While the city of Chengdu has become known as China’s gayest city – a place distant from Beijing and Shanghai, where the government maintains a tougher image of social order – it’s not perfect. It’s an impression of the city that Tell quickly learned was more complicated. “On my first trip, a raver asked me what I thought of China. I immediately said, ‘I love it!’ But he went on to explain how challenging life can be, especially for queer people and ravers like those at .TAG, with constant police pressure, raids, and threats of closure. That really hit me. I began to see how much love and quiet resistance was settled into that space.”

That’s why his documentation feels especially vital: a way to immortalise and share the legacy of what can be created when club spaces are built on genuine care and consideration. While the club has now closed, Zhang already has plans for a new space – one that will keep the spirit alive. “I have no doubt she’ll continue creating places like this: spaces that are alive, inclusive, and full of care,” Tell says. “The spirit of .TAG isn’t gone; it’s just evolving.”