SEPT–4–2025
Summer might almost be over, but my musings about FLINTA* representation are perpetual.
Words by: Angelica Santini
Photo by: Tina Dubrovsky
Photo by: Tina Dubrovsky
WHOLE festival ran this year between July 18 to 21 at Ferropolis, an event space about two hours outside of Berlin, promising a sexy, queer lineup. Founded by Chris Phillips and Raquel Fedato in 2017, WHOLE was born from the Berlin queer party scene.
Though WHOLE is a “queer” festival, there has been past criticism online (particularly on Reddit) about the centering of white, cis, gay men — not just at WHOLE, but across the Berlin queer party scene. Specifically, the physical and energetic space they take up, as well as the way in which the majority of prime-time acts were white men.
Given this feedback, changes were made to the festival this year to redress the marginalization of FLINTA people. It was important that dedicated FLINTA spaces were central in the festival, and that FLINTA, as well as BIPOC acts, were featured at peak times on each of the six stages.
Photo by: Rafael Medina
So, what was it like?
The Erotic Nest, created by Team Hotspace, a design and architecture group led by Eva Ventura, formed part of the WHOLE cruising area, providing a FLINTA-focused area in the typically male-centric zone. “Cruising” involves seeking out casual, possibly anonymous or one-off sexual encounters in public or semi-public spaces, usually with strangers. While anyone can take part in cruising, it is often associated with gay men, and WHOLE has always had a space referred to as the “cruising village,” where people can look for potential hook-ups.
In past years, FLINTA people have commented that the WHOLE cruising village has not felt welcoming or catered to suit their desires. This issue was addressed this year by having a space specifically designated as a FLINTA cruising area, with a physical layout designed to feel comfortable for FLINTA people to use. Though anyone could enter, the idea was that FLINTA people would have first priority in using the space, and would be the main moderators of the space’s vibe.
Sauntering around the cruising area, I first stepped into a tree-house-like outdoor area of the Erotic Nest. The nest also had an intimate, closed-off indoor area, with cushion-lined beds and gauze curtains. After hours of struggling through sticky crowds of mostly shirtless men, the sight of people reclining in various positions, relaxing and connecting, was a welcome change of pace.
Photo by: Berk Akkaya
Lounging in the outdoor area, cigarette in hand, it didn't take long for someone to approach me. We chatted about the festival, where we’re from, our deepest hopes and fears in life — you know, the usual. The weather over the festival was hot and sunny, so we met the next day for a heavenly swim in the cool and refreshing lake.
The Dyke U-Hall Rescue Van, run by Ali Wagner and Lucy Nurnberg, was a portable dance floor celebrating the Dyke* community. Located near the entrance to the festival, the emcee invited passersby to join in on an arm wrestling competition. I can confirm even if you (badly) lose, this was a cute and campy way to facilitate connection, with the victors shrugging modestly and the losers giggling.
Highlights from talented FLINTA DJs included the fun tech house beach set from Sedef Adasi, starting Saturday night off right. Later, the sexy, fast b2b set from DJs Aya and THC had the crowd shaking ass and feeling free on the dancefloor. On the main stage, b2b sets from Nene H and Badista brought a heavier, bouncy techno sound which I was still thinking about on the bus ride home.
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Though there is still a lot of room for improvement, it was reassuring to see space thoughtfully made for FLINTA people at the forefront of the festival. The positive response from this increased inclusivity, will hopefully be a step in the right direction in making queer party spaces feel genuinely inclusive of diverse identities.