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The clothes kept the score, with graffitied bomber jackets, cut-out leather pants, face-obscuring hoods, big villainous collars, and three-eyed sunglasses all bearing the marks of a world on the edge. Slawn, Rico Nasty and Yves Tumor looked as though they’d emerged from a pile of rubble; sheepishly scanning the audience, wringing their hands. The whole thing was soundtracked by industrial remixes of the Spice Girls, PinkPantheress, and Rosalía, which felt both aggressive and completely silly.

Photography Cris Fragkou

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