Myself, and others stepped into a glittering fever dream. One stitched together with latex, lace, and liberation. Everywhere colors burst rather than stay flat. Inside The Van Buren on March 18th was a night I personally am clutching until my knuckles turn white. Absolutely unforgettable. A sold-out room buzzed with anticipation. The air was electric humming through the walls. The energy was the oxygen that lifted everyone’s chest like some weird, and whimsical bliss. Even as doors opened, fans were still pouring in, prompting a rare and thoughtful delay. Ashnikko's set pushed back 22 minutes to ensure every single person made it inside to witness what was about to unfold. Once settled, the venue bloomed far beyond a concert space. Packed wall-to-wall with fans dressed as extensions of the artist herself or expressing their truest free form. The venue was a breathing manifestation of a shared aesthetic. One that was beautifully artsy, cute, chaotic, and bubblegum goth. The barriers of my own creativity were jaw to the floor when seeing what people could hot glue together. This concert created a space where expression was encouraged. Encouragement was the currency. Fishnets tangled with ribbons, platform boots stomped beside glitter-smeared cheeks, and no one held back. There was a striking sense of safety in that freedom. An understanding that you could be whoever the hell you truly were without judgment. As any space for anyone should always safely be. 

Trinkets dangled from wrists, bags, and belt loops, echoing Ashnikko’s own world-building. At the merch table, a communal exchange box allowed fans to leave behind pieces of themselves while collecting something new in return. Tiny artifacts of connection. As a photographer, it was intoxicating. I wandered through the crowd capturing wildly creative outfits. Some fans even offered me trinkets in exchange. Somewhere along the way, I stopped feeling like an observer and became fully engulfed in the experience itself. I’ve been a fan of Ashnikko for years. Always drawn to the way she fuses sugary pop melodies with sharp, subversive lyricism. A created universe that feels like a fairytale dipped in darker, intoxicating, honesty. That energy was already alive in the crowd. From the get go, everything felt overwhelming. A blissful current running through everyone in the room.

That current detonated the moment Princess Nokia stepped onto the stage. Saturated in deep blues and greens, the lighting cast an aquatic glow. The energy surged to a point where the structure of the venue felt like it might give way. I’ve loved her music for years. Often blasting “I Like Him,” “Gemini,” and so many others with my best friends. I couldn’t help but feel a bit homesick. However, witnessing Princess Nokia finally live felt surreal. A Korn flag draped over her setup was threatened to be whipped violently in the chaos of jumping feet. When “Drop Dead Gorgeous” hit, the entire crowd screamed. Hands were thrown skyward in unison. The room felt euphoric, and undeniable. If you were chasing a fucking good time, this was exactly where you needed to be.

Ashnikko emerged. Her stage design resembled a warped storybook portal. A theatrical curtain spiraling inward like a tunnel to another dimension. Reminiscent to my own thoughts and love of Coraline. Pulling my thoughts to the character Coraline crawling to the other side in the movie through the tunnel. Entirely whimsical and magical. On one side hung a mask-like version of Ashnikko’s face. Eerie and divine.  Flanked by a door labeled “full frontal lobotomy here.” On the other, another door read “2 for 1 boyfriend.” At the center sat a tiny, Alice-in-Wonderland-like door, and when it creaked open and she crawled through. 

“STICKY FINGERS” launched the set with fanatic chaos. Followed by “Working Bitch,” where Ashnikko posed like a doll in a box. Barbie reimagined. Her humor was sharp and unfiltered, calling out to a fan drenched in fake blood at the barricade. “You’re covered in blood! Did you eat someone? Someone who was menstruating?” Before warmly accepting a handmade hat covered in rose-shaped vibrators from another fan. That exchange perfectly captured the heartbeat of the night that was all mutual love, acceptance. A complete collapse of distance between artist and audience.

“LIP SMACKER” snapped with attitude. “Trinkets” unfolded like a surreal vignette, complete with dancers carrying props. A giant open locket that Ashnikko nestled into, turning herself into a living keepsake. “Skin Cleared” pulsed with sensuality, while “Toxic” and “Invitation” collided in an explosion of energy. Wrapped in a medieval, decadent aesthetic. Bold, and provocative. Entirely her own. At one point, adjusting her headset mic, Ashnikko laughed, “How does Britney (Spears) do it?” A passing joke that was a quiet nod to pop lineage. “You Make Me Sick!,” “WEEDKILLER,” “Wet Like,” and “Liquid” kept the momentum surging. Later on a lucky fan was trinket-crowned and sashed as the night’s Smoochie Girl.

“Itty Bitty” sent the crowd into a feral rush so intense that reality blurred at the edges. (Bodies jumping, voices screaming, everything dissolving into pure sensation.) As the night edged toward its climax, “Slumber Party” brought Princess Nokia back to the stage. The two fed off each other’s energy and it was downright iconic. “Daisy” was the last song. The song was the first Ashnikko song I had ever heard, and the one that made it clear they were destined to become one of the most brilliant artists of our time. Ashnikko bloomed and blossomed The Van Buren to life. Gifting every single person in that room the space to be unapologetically themselves and have the best time. Just vividly themselves celebrating an artist loved among the best community.