Post-apocalyptic realness
We walked into a warehouse in the North of Amsterdam. We got stamped as honorary Fireflies, cocktail in hand, we found ourselves in a maze of floating white sheets, each one flickering with scenes from the previous season. A fragmented memory palace of everything that broke us last year. With a pretty hard dress code (midnight survivalist), people showed up and served looks. There were drinks, small bites, and some silent conversations. And then: silence. The lights dimmed, and it was time for the new season to commence.





