The deepest pit of this industry lies in animal mills—mass breeding factories churning out stock for retail chains. Rodents, birds, reptiles, and amphibians are packed into barren, cramped tubs with zero enrichment, ripped from their parents way too young, and treated like disposable products. Hand-reared birds grow up with irreversible species identity issues, while wild-caught reptiles flood the market through shady CITES loopholes, only for the vast majority to die within their first year in captivity. The whole setup of a pet store—cages positioned at toddlers' eye levels, warm lighting to hide dull, sick fur, and housing guinea pigs with rabbits carrying deadly parasites—is engineered to trigger your savior complex.

The absolute worst move you can make when spotting a miserable animal behind store glass is pulling out your cash to buy it under the guise of rescue. Paying the register doesn't make you a savior; it clears a slot for the next victim and signals the machine to keep breeding. Basic economics don't care about your feelings: demand drives supply. The only real way to break this wheel is a hard boycott of every shop selling live animals, making noise when neglect happens, and calling out the industry's lies about effortless starter pets.

A ton of backlash around the band comes from people who fundamentally do not understand what vent art is. Songs like Burn, Vendetta, or I Would Hate Me Too were never meant to be pretty radio tracks or flexes about personal flaws; they were raw, unfiltered emotional purges written in the middle of mental breakdowns. On top of that, there is the social media hustle. Instead of grinding in obscurity for decades, Evan leveraged TikTok algorithms, ragebait, and satire to grab attention. Does it look cringe sometimes? Sure. But when that noise is deliberately channeled into shedding light on defunded NGOs that help victims of abuse, like through tracks like The Rain or I Know What You Did, calling it malicious is ridiculous. Activism is not meant to look polished or please everyone, it is meant to cut through apathy.

The tired claims about live vocals and alleged plagiarism spread by self-proclaimed industry experts are just as weak. Alternative shows are not about sounding like a sterile studio master; they are about screaming your lungs out, letting loose, and sharing raw catharsis in a pit. Evan’s vocal progress over the years is undeniably solid, peaking in poetic releases like The Human Disease. Going from a twenty-minute opening slot to headlining major European festival runs within a single year does not happen by accident. This is not about putting musicians on pedestals, because celebrity worship is inherently toxic. It is simply about giving credit where it is due to artists who had the nerve to push through an avalanche of hate and prove their worth on stage.

The game plan is simple yet wonderfully chaotic. On February 20, 2027, we are hitting the VIP meet and greet before the Warsaw show to hand the guys a massive, magical poster collage made entirely out of fan art featuring the band members as... pigeons. Why pigeons? Because let us be real—you cannot ascend any higher than becoming a pigeon, and if God had a physical form, it would definitely be strutting on the pavement. The absolute best part is that you do not need to be a professional artist to jump in. This ritual is not about technical perfection; it is powered by pure creativity, imagination, and community love.

Every single medium is welcome: digital art, traditional sketchbook pieces, canvas paintings, photo manipulations, or even photos of clay sculptures. As long as your piece features at least one TX2 band member as a glorious pigeon, you are good to go. Make sure to attach a short, heartfelt message for the band so the spell hits even harder, plus the name or handle you want us to credit on the poster. Head straight over to the official project site at tx2.emo-changeling.xyz to read the full guidelines and check out the pioneer spells already submitted by our first mages. Come through, submit your art, and help me seal TX2's fate with a gift they will never be able to forget!

Years poured into Summoners Rift clearly show what happens when corporate choices slowly suffocate freedom and creativity. League used to welcome wild, off-meta experimentation, but it gradually morphed into a breeding ground for pure frustration. Gutting natural communication, refusing to add team voice chat, and handing out automated bans over harmless text comments created an environment driven by miserable loser mentality. Players give up after a single bad play, scapegoat whoever is trying something different, and project their own issues because nobody ever taught them basic gaming psychology or anger management.

Switching over to Dota 2 felt like hitting a massive wall, yet it unexpectedly turned into a mental training ground. Dealing with ADHD, brain fog, and heavy CPTSD baggage made running into voice chat users utterly terrifying—to the point where pure panic literally made my screen turn into an unreadable blur. Instead of quitting, I decided to treat this unforgiving, complex game as a personal workout for neuroplasticity and social exposure. Learning to track multi-threaded chaos, taking accountability for mistakes without spiraling into toxic shame, and gradually facing the fear of interacting with strangers online became a low-stakes bridge to building resilience for real-world social situations.

Video games are neither pure evil nor a miracle cure. It all comes down to mental hygiene, harm reduction, and knowing when you desperately need to step away from the desk and touch grass. Modern schools still fail miserably at teaching emotional regulation or digital addiction, wasting hours on useless tech tasks instead of equipping kids for reality. If you feel like your gaming habits stopped being a healthy escape and turned into a dark cage you cannot handle alone, remember that reaching out for help and going to rehab is never a sign of weakness—it is hands down the bravest, most badass move you can make for your future.

It’s textbook victim-blaming from people who don't know the first thing about you. You mention living with neurodivergence, battling mental health symptoms, or surviving a brutal past, and the comments immediately twist it into your own fault—claiming you got bullied in school because you refused to obey the social food chain and chose to be cringe but free. None of these anonymous experts witnessed the grueling years of therapy, firing incompetent shrinks, or breaking painful trauma bonds with toxic family environments. They never saw the agony of unlearning the fawn response—that sickening survival reflex where your reptile brain forces you to people-please your abuser on autopilot while your actual consciousness watches in disgust.

Sitting in front of a lens, owning an alternative look, openly talking about mental struggles, and experimenting with crossdressing or wearing a skirt isn’t a sign of being broken. It’s a massive win against years of conditioning and brainwashing. Talking openly about your weak spots strips haters of all their ammunition; you’re handing them a weapon, but the blade is made of f***ing paper. Don't let random online trolls or toxic relatives gaslight you into thinking your progress isn't real or that getting help messed you up. Hit block, ditch the noise, and remember that nobody knows your battles better than you do.

Before you start throwing mud at me - I have made my fair share of mistakes too. As a kid, I collected fish like Pokemon (one of each kind), kept solitary guinea pigs, and at 16, I wanted to breed snakes in plastic drawers, aka rack systems. But you know what? You have to learn to put your pride in your pocket. When someone tells you that you are doing something wrong, instead of foaming at the mouth and throwing tantrums in terrarium groups, admit you f***ed up and start reading actual scientific papers.

Just because a reptile can survive in a plastic tub doesn't mean it is happy. Surviving is not thriving. Breeders feed you BS just so you buy more animals. Educate yourselves, listen to science, and stop treating living beings like toys that exist just to love you. They don't owe you anything.

Here you can find some sources of knowledge and advice on the topic of animal welfare, based on scientific research (and experiences of people, who actually care)

Birds: Pigeons: — EN The Palomacy Animal Rescue: https://www.pigeonrescue.org/resources/

Parrots: — PL Papugi. Papuzie Centrum Informacyjne FB Group:(https://www.facebook.com/groups/papuziecentruminformacyjne/ — PL Druga strona papug. Niszczą, śmiecą, dziobią... FB Group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/drugastronapapug/ — EN World Parrot Trust: https://www.parrots.org/

Reptiles: — EN ReptiFiles Evidence-based care guides:(https://reptifiles.com/ — EN Reptiles and Research YT Channel: https://www.youtube.com/@ReptilesandResearch — EN DIY Reptile Enclosures FB group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/DIYReptileEnclosures/ — EN Everything Ball Pythons FB group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/EverythingBallPythons/

Aquariums: — EN Seriously Fish Species & welfare database: https://www.seriouslyfish.com/ — EN Fish For Thought YT Channel: https://www.youtube.com/@FishForThought — EN Fishlore.com Forum: https://www.fishlore.com/ — EN Aquarium Co-Op Forum: https://forum.aquariumcoop.com/

Guinea Pigs: — PL Stowarzyszenie Pomocy Świnkom Morskim: https://www.swinkimorskie.eu/ FB: https://www.facebook.com/StowarzyszeniePomocySwinkomMorskim/ — PL Caviarnia Forum: [https://forum.swinkimorskie.eu/](https://forum.swinkimorskie.eu/ — EN Guinea Lynx Medical & care guide:(https://www.guinealynx.info/ — EN The Guinea Pig Forum: https://www.theguineapigforum.co.uk/

People accuse me of romanticizing mental health issues, but for me, it is pure catharsis. My art isn't for the masses. I trashed all my old, "Instagram-positive" artwork because it was just fake garbage made for algorithms and clout. No community guidelines are going to dictate how I process my own personal hell. Art is supposed to be a purge, and if someone is mad that I draw sick sh*t just to stay sane - go ahead, cancel me.

Recently, I had this absurd DM drama with someone trying to dictate what I can and cannot draw. They claimed my vent art was fetishizing self-harm and completely lacked logic. Seriously? I struggled with that for years. Instead of hurting myself IRL, I channel that pain onto a digital canvas, drawing all sorts of sick sh*t. If drawing loops or doing coloring books works for someone - awesome. It doesn't work for me.

Art is supposed to purge your worst emotions, not fit into corporate guidelines. Nobody is going to pixelate my artwork or throw ban hammers at me just because I don't fit into a family-friendly algorithm. That's why I'm cutting ties with this censorship circus and doing my own thing on my own terms.

The main topic today, though, is our survival report from the Bring Me The Horizon and Knocked Loose concert. BMTH killed it so hard that their new album sounds almost too pop for me now, and "Mantra" played live was absolute fire. But right before they hit the stage, I had the worst panic attack of my entire life. Eighteen thousand people in one place made me want to smash my head against the walls and bolt out of the building. Luckily, the music saved me. I ended up buying Knocked Loose merch because their energy was insane.

The ride back home was classic polish public transit chaos. In a packed tram, someone started singing a christian song and suddenly the whole car joined in. I tried to start "They Will Not Erase Us" by TX2, but somehow nobody caught the vibe. Anyway, this whole post-concert crash is pure biology - depleted serotonin and dopamine give you a comedown similar to MDMA. That is exactly why post-concert depression hits so hard.

Finally, a quick update: I am heading back to Warsaw in February for TX2, this time for two days and with a VIP ticket (Very Important Pigeon). I hope the Hydrozagadka club allows for better crowd interaction. And in my free time, I am planning to go sightseeing in Warsaw's graveyards, because apparently they have some beautiful cemetery art.

Another cringe trend is bragging about skipping opening acts. People proudly post about only showing up for the headliner, skipping awesome opening bands. You are wasting your money and just flexing your musical ignorance. For example, I had mediocre expectations for Taylor Acorn after hearing her studio albums, but live, they absolutely killed it, and the guitarist was going so crazy he almost knocked her off the stage.

Thanks to today's music industry and streaming, our brains are so fried that if a track doesn't hook us in 15 seconds, it goes in the trash. You have to learn how to listen to music. I had the same experience with Noahfinnce - at first, his synthetic vocals didn't click with me, and now he is one of my favorite artists. Do yourselves a favor and give niche creators a chance. And if anyone says I am doing this shoutout just to clout-chase, I will personally come over and permanently glue f*cking spiders to your ceilings. That is a threat.

I'm also going on a rant about stuff that's been triggering me online lately. First: treating animals like objects. Why do people have such a hard time with basic respect for other species? Rats have social structures almost identical to humans, and calling yourself a dog's "owner" is just cringe. An animal is your roommate, not a slave.

Second: polyamory. Seriously, are people pretending to be dumber than they actually are, or is it some inside joke? Questions like "why do all you poly people look the same" are pure comedy, and my poly-radar keeps glitching anyway, so it would save me a lot of heartbreaks if that were actually true. Throw in getting brainwashed by Duolingo, which traps you in a dopamine loop and leaves you unable to actually speak the language... and you get the full picture of my mental state today. Did I fix the skirt? Spoiler: I failed. But at least my necklace is awesome. Stay scene, stay weird!

Trying to be "normal" and forcing yourself to pass is literal emotional self-harm. Begging phobes for acceptance is pointless because they will never respect you anyway. Cutting yourself off from your scene/alt roots and locking yourself in a cage just to please others makes you start hating yourself. You throw your personality in the trash, and they still whisper behind your back that you are mentally ill and need electroshocks.

Coming from someone with DID, it gets even crazier. In the innerworld, all feelings are multiplied. Your anger turns into literal fury with lightning strikes and explosions. My internalized phobia made me a terrible b*stard in there, traumatizing the rest of the system. Luckily, Zebroid pulled us out of that mess. It is not worth pretending to be someone you are not. Be weird, experiment with pronouns, and just don't care about their opinions. Huge shout-out to our editor for taking this absolute chaos and making a video out of it.

Speaking of BMTH, it is time for a little story time from 2016. They were one of our alt-awakening bands. We were in a really dark place back then, totally excluded and terrified of the world. And suddenly, completely out of nowhere, a social worker managed to get us a trip to the Woodstock Festival, literally for half a day, just so we could catch their set. The train ride across Poland with ticketless festival-goers was just the beginning. The place was a total shock - a massive crowd of weirdos, outcasts, and subcultures that usually fight each other, all living in total peace. We saw a parade with a giant spaghetti monster float, bought a white pentagram that normies still confuse with a satanic one, and just felt completely at home.

Musically we started with DragonForce, but the real magic happened during the BMTH set. When we looked back from the stage, the crowd was endless. There were conspiracy theories going around that Oli was lip-syncing because of his damaged vocal cords, but I still had the time of my life. On the way back, I was so sad, convinced I would never get to experience anything like that ever again. But here we are. During the recording of this vlog, a few people from our system co-fronted, so it got a bit chaotic again, but hey, that is just how we roll. See you in the pit!

But the problem goes way deeper. When you grow up in a toxic society and constantly get beat down for being different, you start to internalize that hate. That is how internalized trans-homophobia is born. You start believing there are "good" gays and lesbians who fit into the cis-het norm, and the "bad" ones who wear flags, do makeup, and ruin your reputation. Trying to be the normal one is literal emotional self-harm. It gets to the point where privileged white cis gays promote movements like "drop the T" to exclude transgender people from the scene and treat them like they are mentally ill. They conveniently forget who was at the forefront of the Stonewall riots. You guessed it - it was trans women. Instead of fighting each other, we should be sticking together, because our experiences of being outcasts are exactly the same.

Trying to find friends is an absolute disaster. You drop the mask, start talking honestly about experimental magic, and people suddenly vanish. Getting ghosted for being real is the standard. I have been through a ton of psychiatric screenings and no one ever diagnosed me with psychosis, simply because I know exactly how absurd it sounds to normies. My magic isn't some TikTok fairy tale - I have a shamanism mentor, and I rely on actual experience and quantum mechanics, not pop-esoteric internet trash.

I wanted to study religious studies at Jagiellonian University to research this academically, but I failed my high school finals, so that plan is dead. I don't fit in with system communities or therians because most of them don't get my perspective. But honestly? I genuinely don't care. I recorded this because I am done pretending to be someone I am not. If this scares someone off, they are doing me a favor. And if anyone out there relates - high key nice to meet you.

The changelings are planning to pull up and do a quick vibe check, assuming life doesn't throw 10,000 reasons at us why we can't leave the house. We all know massive crowds and social anxiety aren't our favorite combo, but events like this happen once a year and you have to try to combat your fears. Come face your barriers with us and let's meet on the streets. Have a totally gay day, everyone!

You ask why I don't just go to therapy? Because the system is a total joke. Most public healthcare shrinks are clueless hacks who will just hand you three new diagnoses, and the waitlists take a decade. The good ones cost way too much. So my therapy literally happens in a world that doesn't exist - inside my inner world, consulting my own head. And honestly? It works. Recently, I finally realized my life will only actually start once I begin my medical transition. That shattered my mental blocks and released years of suppressed emotions.

I realized that for me, time literally stopped a decade ago. As a DID system, I experience life in a series of blinks. When I go on Facebook and see people my age getting married and working corporate jobs, I hit massive derealization. In my head, we're still 14. It's totally normal in systems for some alters to just not age linearly. Time flies, and I just feel exactly like that quote from The Last Unicorn: I can feel this body rotting all around me.

I totally withdrew from society. I never really had many friends, and my childhood was just being mocked and isolated. After coming out in middle school, things got worse, and in high school, my depression went completely off the charts. I cut everyone off, looking for the smallest excuses to burn bridges. For about five years I didn't leave the house, basically living the hikikomori lifestyle. My social life moved to a dreamworld, inside my D.I.D. system.

Inspired by some weird visions, I started the emo-changeling project to try and get back online. But it turns out my emotional system is completely broken. Instead of normal feelings, I either get a flood of neurotransmitters and feel stimmed up, or I just feel pain. Every interaction is a threat to me. Someone texts me, and I overthink and panic that it is a trap. I ghost people because the mess in my head is just way too big.

I am out of touch to the point that at a disability evaluation board, I had a panic attack just hearing the words group therapy. F*ck, my buddy had to speak for me. The only time I somehow managed was after a Mayday Parade show when a group of people approached me. I didn't have a panic attack only because we were talking in English, and my brain had to focus entirely on that. But I still overthought it later, wondering if my body language showed I was terrified of them. Everyone is a potential enemy to me, and I am just trying to somehow survive this.

In this issue's breakdown, we're tapping into the stuff people usually only whisper about - or completely ignore. We're talking identity spirals, having a scenecore rat fursona named Cindy (whose entire existence is basically meant for taking Ls), and those dark middle-of-the-night thoughts where you wonder if institutional care is low-key better than ending up on the street. But hey, no drama-bait here. Just straight-up honest talk about how messy it gets when you try to sort through old family baggage and mental health archives.

Between the heavy real-talk, there's always room for the things that actually keep us grounded - music, show memories, and absolute fan obsession. We're looking back at All Time Low eras, sleepless nights hype-waiting for fresh TX2 drops, and literal pigeon fan art threats to force a Europe tour. Because even when the psych evaluation looks like a chaotic meme and real life feels staged, dropping your guard and making art out of the mess is the only way forward.

Quick Takeaway: No matter how "normal" a home looks from the outside, your rough past doesn't get to dictate where you'll be two years from now. Reaching out, fighting for your space, and keeping your creative vent alive is never a weakness - it's the real power move.

My family had massive expectations for me: world-class artist, vet, famous actor. Instead, I'm sitting in front of a camera in a basement, looking like a total mess online. But nobody wants to address the diagnosed DID beneath it all, or the history behind it. Years ago, a doctor gave me a piece of "golden advice": Next time you get a rage attack, don't lunge at anyone - just smash a mug. So one night, fed up with the domestic hell at home, I smashed a mug. The domino effect? I ended up locked in a psych ward that exact same night.

Survival in the ward, getting escorted out of trade school by cops and an ambulance, taking math classes on a psychiatric floor, and playing the "good behavior" game just to get released - none of this was done for sport. It was a raw struggle to stay alive in an environment where a supposedly "safe" home was actually more dangerous than hospital restraints.

This is part one of the story. No cheap drama, no sugarcoating - just an unfiltered log of how fast society and your own roots can write you off. But real talk: you're not alone in the chaos, and fighting for yourself is always worth it before you completely go offline.

Stay scene, stay weird... and fr, watch out for "golden advice"! 🖤🏥

This unboxing had every possible fail: fighting the camera's focus depth, hunting for a non-existent visual sweet spot, and aggressively opening the package with a razor blade purely for cheap shock value (even though the box could've been ripped open by hand). On the menu: a rainbow titanium setup for the upcoming pride parade, spare septum horseshoes meant for archery safety (since snagging a released bowstring on a 1.6mm nose ring sounds like a horrific involuntary body mod), and the mandatory sticker loot. Highlights include a glittery rat sticker reading "Bite Me," which directly feeds our imaginary band The Half Dozen Rats in the Bucket.

Let's clear something up though: actual LARPing in subcultures isn't about being a clueless poser. A dedicated LARPer playing an emo kid would literally memorize full discographies of early emocore bands just to be 100% prepared for any callouts. As for this unboxing? Zero corporate polish, just raw honesty, past DIY piercing mistakes, and pure ADHD chaos from people who completely lack math and geometry skills.

Stay scene, stay weird... and fr, leave the piercing needles to the pros! 🖤🐀

First, my phone decided to ditch my hoodie pocket. If three random people hadn't chased me down to give it back, I would've been cooked - though my brain dissociated so fast that the rest of the system dipped, leaving me with a simple "oh f*ck." Right after that, I glitched at a crosswalk for five straight minutes because I straight-up forgot how traffic lights work. At the parcel locker, it got even worse: I was using a friend's code and almost accidentally robbed someone else who happened to open their locker remotely at the exact same second.

To top off the social cringe, on my way back, someone stepped toward me just to compliment my fit. My social anxiety went straight to the moon - I gasped, jumped back, made a terrified face, and almost bolted down the street. The poor guy probably thought I was an absolute a**hole. And the final boss? Reinstalling TikTok after a 3-hour hyperfocused recording session to Escape the Fate, completely wiping 20 music video drafts into the abyss.

A year ago, a cascade of fails like this would've mentally destroyed me. Today, I'm just sitting here like, "well f*ck it, it happened." The first solo trip set the bar embarrassingly high, but hey - at least the hoodie actually glows in the dark.

Stay scene, stay weird... and fr, watch out for fake hoodie pockets! 🖤📱

Case in point: male peacocks. Evolutionarily speaking, they got completely wrecked by toxic beauty standards set by the females. Thanks to those massive, completely useless train feathers, they can barely move or fly - a solid lesson on where absurd aesthetic expectations get you. But it gets even crazier with older peahens. When their hormone levels shift later in life, they straight-up grow male plumage, adopt male courtship behaviors, and fully transition socially within the flock.

Ask anyone who's ever owned parrots or pigeons about the classic owner jump-scare. You spend years convinced your bird is a dude, only for "Kevin" to suddenly lay an egg on a random Tuesday. Or you raise "Mariolka" thinking she's a female, until a blood panel confirms he's 100% a male who just decided to take on a completely different flock role because the hierarchy reshuffled.

Birds don't ask for permission, they don't read self-help trash, and they definitely don't care about human boxes. Nature is infinitely weirder and more diverse than normies could ever comprehend.

Stay scene, stay weird... and fr, respect the trans peacocks! 🖤🦚

If I could force one class into the high school curriculum, it'd be practical sociology with social engineering workshops. Society would be infinitely less cooked if people actually understood how they're being manipulated on a daily basis. But do yourself a favor: stay away from pop psychology. Self-help books and TikTok coaching brainrot will literally just make you dumber. Hit the actual academic databases and research papers if you actually want to deprogram yourself.

Meanwhile, behind the scenes? Absolute system chaos. As the final layer of black paint goes onto the infamous box (now as black as our literal future), the inner Twitch Chat bleeds directly into the front. The result? Hot takes on throwing the entire concept of gender into the trash, callouts on fake feminism, random internal roasting, and sweet, sweet real-time dissociation. Project Box is officially wrapped, but the bottom line stays: you only get one run with this exact set of memories. Stop acting like an NPC.

Stay scene, stay weird... and fr, stop consuming pop-psychology trash! 🖤📦

My restless mind is literally the sole reason we walked out with an official ADHD diagnosis. Sitting still isn't an option, and this is already my third attempt at recording this rant today. Mix that with some legendary anger issues that literally landed us in a hospital bed, plus my role as the lead guitarist and vocalist in our band - a band that Zebroid totally stole, even though I was the only non-hallucination pushing to get back into making music (even if we still haven't bought new guitar strings).

To top off the cringe: I used to grind League of Legends for 14 hours a day, which is insanely embarrassing considering we're hardstuck Silver. I'm basically the direct cause of Zebroid's existential failure rants. Also, I'm the only real communist here with actual anarcho-collective background. Zebroid is just larping - man secretly wants to be a full-blown dictator in a pseudo-communist country.

Why is the video tilted? Because life is tilted, or whatever. It was supposed to be deep and philosophical, but I've been stuck in this basement for half an hour just spilling words. Half of you won't even get it anyway.

Stay scene, stay weird... and fr, don't you dare call me a furry! 🖤🐺

Time to drop the main card: we're a diagnosed DID system. There are six of us in here, and each alter brings their own hardware-heavy energy, which creates some pretty wild neurological spaghetti. Think of it like running six heavy programs simultaneously on a single CPU. Obviously, software glitches happen, tasks overlap, and your short-term memory gets wiped right before you finish a point.

The mainstream media loves to frame plurality as either a creepy Hollywood villain trope or a romanticized fairy tale with mystical superpowers and magically shifting eye colors. Real talk: it's continuous teamwork, learning how not to talk over each other, and trying not to technically choke yourself out when someone from the inner world decides to troll you live on camera.

We aren't here to lecture you with boring medical textbooks or fake corporate empathy. We're dropping the raw, unfiltered experience of a collective sharing one body, showing how despite all the glitchy brain fog, living as a system can actually be turned into an advantage once you build real internal trust. Destigmatizing plurality without the normie filter - that's the whole point.

Stay scene, stay weird... and fr, don't troll in the comments or I'm dipping into the inner world forever! 🖤⚡

Let's talk about fast fashion monstrosities like Shein and Zara. Everyone knows these giant corps are out here speedrunning new ways to blend cheap nylon and plastic just so your fit disintegrates in two weeks. But does slapping an "alt" label on yourself automatically clear your hands? Yeah, not really.

Here's the hot take nobody wants to hear: secondhand shopping on Vinted can literally just be a placebo to make your moral ego feel cute. Scoring a huge thrift haul to "save the planet"? Cool flex, but are you realizing you're just freeing up closet space for someone who's straight-up addicted to fueling Shein overconsumption?

We live under late-stage capitalism - slave labor and eco-destruction are baked into basically everything we touch. You can't fully escape the grid unless a giant asteroid hits and resets earth. But there's still a massive difference between buying one solid piece every 3 years vs. dropping half your paycheck at fast-fashion racks every single month.

Bottom line: stop gatekeeping being "alt" like it makes you a saint. Being alternative just means thinking and existing outside the brainwashed mainstream - and newsflash, alt people can be total trash human beings too.

Stay scene, stay weird... and fr, don't eat the paint. 🖤🦖

Being a beginner is brutally hard, especially when your feed is constantly flooded with flawless, high-end work from literal pros. It's so easy to compare yourself, panic, and give up. But this disaster is literal proof that every single legendary artist went through the "whatever-the-f*ck-this-is" phase. After spending five years trapped in severe depression, barely leaving the bed, and realizing nobody actually gave a sh*t, deciding to finally express your true self - even if it turns out completely crooked - is a massive win.

Also, a quick reality check for fake clout-chasers: the moment you start dressing alt and upgrading your wardrobe, random people suddenly spawn. Alternative fashion fetishists and clout-sharks who just want a "fancy, rebellious" friend to boost their own social standing. They treat alt people like living props. Watch them run for the hills the second you start talking about who you actually are, being a diagnosed DID system, sociology, magic, or arthropods. Good riddance. We don't need people who view our identity as a decorative accessory.

Makeup was originally invented for men anyway, so if anyone tries to call it a "gender blender," nah - we prefer Gender Chaos. No eyebrow shaving, no fake expertise, just pure trial and error because failures teach you more than fake perfection.

Stay scene, stay weird... and fr, don't poke your eye out with an eyeliner! 🖤👁️