Vanishing Points

Sound of Fashion – an anti-club night and creative community spanning a range of European cities – returned home in a cloud of ash and glitter just as the London scene hit the precipice of its grave. With legacy venues such as Corsica Studios falling like dominos, and widespread conservatism rising to fill their space, nightlife in the city felt almost unsalvageable. Mayfair cesspits and catatonic content-mills stood like roaches in the apocalypse. Ketted out zombies outnumbered the living. The left-over purist club rats were ravenous for an antidote.

Enter: Adora. A London/Madrid based electronic duo consisting of Fran Sylver and Romi Alter, who have worked tirelessly to inject the ‘life’ back into nightlife. They appeared as prophetic saviours in lacy black blindfolds that tease the bondage-heavy visuals of Berlin’s infamous techno scene. Their ethos is simple: we all need to care less and dance more. They’re here to save us. Performers against performance. Exhibitionists against (inauthentic) exhibition. Their persona exists as a satirical flirtation with everything they stand to oppose; even going so far as to create open-invite, connection-focused creative group chats, only to title them the “Inner-Circle”. Crossing EDM, hyperpop, and 2010s classics – their musical endeavours encapsulate their philosophy perfectly. They want to bring fashion to the masses. They want to bring freedom to fashion. But overall, they want to make cool music and meet cool people and dance the night away in loving company. Through this, Sound of Fashion was born.

A good night never begins as such. Each night that I’ve made the decision to venture over to SoF has begun in a tangled mess of uncontrolled chaos. For Fran and Romy, the hours leading up to each party consist of a similar whirlwind. Running through the Milan airport an hour before doors open, Romy locking herself in the bathroom to savour an ephemeral silence, and often getting dolled-up backstage whilst attendees are already swarming the doors and baiting the bouncers. On top of this, they do everything sober – having made a pact of never touching a nerve-eradicating drink before setting foot on stage. Chaos. Controlled. 

This atmosphere of “controlled chaos,” according to Romy, is key in creating a night to remember. Careful curation combined with freedom of expression. The duo have learnt that to execute a curatorial vision in a scenario quite so unpredictable, you must perform it. Each instance of Adora taking the stage is intoxicatingly magnetic and every crowd unfailingly follows suit. Free of expectation, embarrassment, limitation, their performances set the tone for partygoers to rid themselves of the same vices. This same energy and ethos is adopted by every artist on their bill, which has included the electrically-charged likes of Leoni808, Hot Stamp, Lith, and many more. Beyond that: assess the chaos, adjust accordingly. Change the line-up, change the genre, move as the party moves with you. 

The result is surreal. A vortex of free-spirited movement over a sonic landscape brimming with nostalgia for the millennium’s teen years. Memories of the night are reminiscent of something akin to speed-flipping through a rolodex of Cobrasnake’s portfolio. The smoking area sits at the epicentre: once disoriented by the dancefloor, attendees migrate en masse for the type of unfiltered connection that can only occur when you’re sweaty and spinning. Inhibitions lost and status forgotten, the love shared whilst being herded by disgruntled security rivals that of a sixties hippie commune with a bit too much acid for their own good.

When asked about stories which encompassed more chaos than control, Romy recounted the tale of almost getting kicked out of her own party in Milan; mid-performance by a disgruntled bouncer that didn’t take kindly to her table-dancing, crowd-joining, caution-to-the-wind stage presence. Fran declined to answer but for brief mumblings about how what happens in the green room is sacred, concealed on a strictly need-to-know basis. For the purpose of both privacy and mystique – in slight contradiction of their traditional ethos – he decided that the unanointed public did not need to know. 

Jonah Ernst – a Sound of Fashion regular whom I met during the integral post-party, pre-afters portion of the April event, when the dancefloor cleared and the dancers lingered – characterised SoF as a “celebration of pure self-expression”. It stands on the ground paved by Lost and Post Party as a lifeline alternative to the oxygen-vacuum status socials that have become synonymous with the haute couture circle. It has a beating heart and meat on the bones. It has air. The golden mean between networking tedium and unadulterated hedonism exists in a simple tagline. Sound of Fashion: not a club, not a showroom, not a gig, it’s a scene.