#Diner Kitsch

[evan-collins90]

Heartthrob Cafe & Philadelphia Bandstand - Philadelphia, PA (1985)

Designed mainly in the Diner-Kitsch style, a revival of 40s-50s diner motifs but with a vibrant neon 80s color palette, postmodern composition, and new lighting/display technologies.

Designed by Edwin Bronstein

Scanned from the October 1986 issue of Interior Design Magazine

[microgeneration]

From @evan-collins90

[motelpearl]

[pretty-little-aesthetics]

✧✭ Kitsch aesthetic toys!! ✭✧

[welcome-to-alice-in-helll]

[akitschisjustakitsch]

[americankitsch1]

Pink Cadillac Diner

Wildwood, New Jersey

[elinorasims]

Build | Strangerville | Ziggy's Diner

Lot Info

Type | Restaurant Lot Size | 30x20 World | Strangerville Value | 94,857 Baths | 3 CC | No Packs | Unrestricted Ziggy's Diner is a classicly retro mashup of Googie and passenger train inspired styles situated in Strangerville Plaza.

Ziggy's is a compact restaurant and bar combo with a Strangerville twist: classic red booths and an elongated mid-century modern bar layout meets sci-fi inspired and 50's-kitsch inspired cluttered decor..

It's giving the diner from the movie 'Paul'. I hope. lol

Ziggy's has a fully customised menu featuring some Mountain States inspired comfort dishes and some American classics (full menu below the cut).

DOWNLOAD >>

Interior Tour

Bar

Staff Areas

Floor Plan

| hi my loves

hopefully you like this one- it was super fun to build and I'm finding my feet a bit more building for this save, i think!

it's been playtested (briefly lol) and should be fully functional and a smooth enough restaurant experience for your sims to enjoy.

i love Paul so much aha we watched it this past weekend and i was immediately like 'yup. gotta go do a strangerville build now.'

| dag dag fn. <3

Ziggy's Diner Menu

Drinks water ; lemonade ; milk ; orange juice ; coffee ; cream cola ; fizzy fruity drink ; pitch black ; root beer float ; soda ; tang and zing ; boiler room ; eapa ; juice on the rocks ; wrench ; galactic vita-water ; silent film ; sour punch ; sunset valley ; alien juice ; cupid juice ; space energy drink ; jet juice

Appetisers chips and salsa ; mac and cheese ; bowl of olives ; bread roll ; french fries ; whole wheat bread ; popcorn shrimp ; garden salad ; cheesy bread ; grilled plantains ; seafood chowder ; soft shell crab cake ; empanadas ; watermelon salad

Mains mac and cheese ; chicken nuggets ; popcorn shrimp ; baked potato ; hot dog ; lobster roll ; veggie burger ; chicken and waffles ; fried chicken sliders ; mushroom waffles ; sausage and peppers ; scrambled eggs with bacon ; seafood chowder ; tofu dog ; fish tacos ; hamburger ; fried fish ; pancakes ; aubergine Parmesan ; sweet corn pizza ; mushroom steak ; french toast ; vegetable chilli ; egg white omelette ; mushroom soup ; bbq ribs plate ; blackened bass ; gumbo ; steak

Dessert neapolitan ice cream ; rainbow sorbet ; vanilla ice cream ; alien fruit tart ; cream filled donut ; cream snack cake ; honey cake ; plain waffles ; rainbow brownies ; hamburger cake ; chocolate chip cookie ; apple pie ; banana cream pie ; pumpkin pie ; simcity cheesecake ; fruit cobbler

[seat-safety-switch]

Sometimes, when I'm feeling flush, I like to go to this little restaurant near me. It's a sushi joint, and in my part of the world that always has to come with some additional kitsch. For this restaurant, it's "bullet train sushi." You order on a little iPad, and then a train comes out of the kitchen, bringing your sushi behind it. Clean. Efficient. Antithetical to my morals and values.

See, I'm from North America. In case you're unfamiliar, it's very popular these days. You can find it on the north end of America on any map, except for that weird one that is about Pangaea. One thing we love in North America is cars. We spend a couple of hours stuck in one so we can go to an office we hate, then spend a couple of hours going home so we can spend a few more hours taking our kids to a soccer game. If we had a train, then we'd be able to do things like check our text messages without running over a pedestrian.

Being presented with this totally viable transportation alternative, albeit in miniature and towing little pieces of raw fish behind it, troubles the mind. If we had made better choices, put monopolists to the torch, could we have a utopian society where you order things on a little iPad and then gleamingly efficient tubes fly you out of the kitchen and into a glorious new world? I love the food, but I hate the frantic cold sweats it gives me as I ponder an alternative civilization that doesn't care quite so much about heated steering wheels. That's why I had to do something.

Welcome to Switch's Highway of Sushi – the only sushi restaurant in town that's sponsored by General Motors Corporation. Here, each table is actually a fully-equipped Chevrolet Blazer. Diners are commanded to get their own goddamn food the way our forefathers once did: in four-wheel-drive. The eight-storey parking garage in which the restaurant is housed features many stalls, containing highly trained chefs making delicious food that's just a complex parking job in tight confines away.

Sure, it makes the restaurant fairly space-inefficient having to make room for sixty 6000-pound SUVs. Our insurance is through the fucking roof because our customers keep backing over the waiters and their own families (why not look at the award-winning ClearView Surround Backup Camera, idiots?) And the air quality inside the place could be defined as "not great," even with the really expensive oven vent hoods you get at the restaurant supply store.

All this doesn't matter. Freedom is what matters. The freedom to not have to occupy the same space as any other member of your civilization, unless you are currently backing over them because you forgot to check the backup camera again. Come on, table four. If you're going to keep this up all night, we might think about giving you some demerits.

[evan-collins90]

Interiors of the Carnival Ecstasy cruise ship, designed by the legendary Joe Farcus (1991)

Mainly designed in the Deco-Luxe style popular in the 1980s-early 1990s, along with Diner-Kitsch in the Metropolis Bar, and the a sort of 'Victorian explorer's lounge' look in the library. The ship was remodeled in 2009, and then scrapped in 2022.

[lunitawrites]

Both Sides of the Moon - part one

pairing: biker!joel miller x fem!reader rating: explicit word count: 2.8k summary: After a troubled childhood you move back to your hometown. You are trying to avoid facing the dark past of your family, but you realize it will be harder than you thought when a mysterious stranger appears in town trying to take revenge. TWs: no-outbreak AU, age gap (reader mid-twenties, Joel is late forties), loss of parents, reference to sex work, reference to foster homes, guns, knife, alcohol consumption, cigarettes, Joel being violent towards reader, petnames, reader has hair long enough that it can be grabbed, otherwise no physical description, no use of y/n a/n: hey! so this is my first attempt at writing, I really hope some of you out there will like it. I am eternally grateful to @papipascalispunk who reviewed and edited my work. Thanks a million to @toxicanonymity and @hier--soir for their suggestions! Shoutout to the other Joel Millers on bikes: a minute from home by @agentmarcuspike, jailbird by @toxicanonymity and little mouse by @katiexpunk & @josephquinnswhore masterlist

You are fidgeting with your nametag in front of the mirror, trying to apply it to your uniform, but you must have bent the needle when you removed it last time because it won't stay up now.

“Don’t worry about it darlin’,” you hear Arlene shout from the kitchen, “It's a small town, everyone knows you by now.”

“I suppose they do,” you mumble and drop the pin to the dresser. She's always been nice to you, almost mothering you, since you started working together in the diner. You take one last look in the mirror, smoothing out your uniform and walking through the kitchen to start your 7 PM shift.

It's a slow start. The townsfolk don't start coming until the sun paints the sky purple and orange, until the dust strats to settle and the cicadas’ song fills up the night. Your shift begins at the bar; whiskey, beer, salted peanuts, a smile or two for better tips. The bar fills up with a subtle buzz, stench of alcohol and anticipation.

Later on in the evening, Sam asks you to wait tables instead. You usually prefer staying behind the bar, but it's Friday night, the dining area will get busy soon. Arlene will need the extra pair of hands taking the orders anyway, so you pick up your notepad and pen and head out to the floor. 

You are always cautious out here, you have to be. The men are not violent, but they always try to take what they think they deserve. A brush of a knuckle on your thighs, eyes lingering on the swell of your breasts, an inappropriate comment disguised as a compliment, fingertips on the curve of your hips as they pass by. Sam, your boss, always makes sure that it’s not more, keeping an eye on you at all times from behind the bar. Sam is one of the few people who knows about your past, who knows that there were times when you were giving a lot more than a smile for some crinkled up bills, who knows that just a few months ago, your uniform was nothing more than a pair of thigh highs and your underwear.

—

You were six when your dad died, and you moved away with your mom right after. You stayed with her for another few months until they diagnosed her. She passed away before the next Christmas. By January, you were in your first foster home. After you got out from your last foster home with nothing more than a few pairs of clothes and the fifty dollar bill that you stole from your foster dad's wallet, you really didn’t see another option for survival. 

It started at a gentlemen's club called Red Rose, just outside of Austin, all neon lights and kitsch, velvet and satin from a decade before. They gave you a room in the motel next to it, but only if you worked the after hours shift, so you agreed. You didn't know what after hours meant at the time, but you would have agreed to almost anything if it meant that you would spend the night in a bed and not somewhere outside.

The after hours, you learned quickly, meant selling your body to anyone who took interest in it during the opening hours of the club. So while you did spend your night in a bed, it was with a truck driver named Dylan, who paid you hundred dollars for an hour of you being a good girl, as he described. Forty of those dollars covered the motel bill and twenty went to the club manager for organizing the deal.

You spent six years working at Red Rose, eventually saving up enough money so you didn't have to stay at the motel. You rented a flat with black mold and sticky linoleum floors, sharing it with three of the other girls from the club. You were driving an old Chevy that one of the girls passed onto you after she moved up north. Six years of Dylans and Bobs and Johns and Joses and Miguels. Six years of sweat and spit and bruises and slaps and come, until you couldn't anymore. 

You moved back to your hometown, although it was never really your home, and while you knew little about the circumstances of your father’s death, you were still afraid to come back, terrified to face the past. But as it turned out, you never had to, as if there was some silent agreement amongst the town that they never spoke of your family. No one gossipped, or if they did, they did so silently that it never reached your ears. They welcomed you into town as if you were a stranger. 

You moved into your old family home at the edge of town. White paint chipped from wooden boards, almost two decades of dust and sorrow covering every inch. You slowly made it your own home, settling into the master bedroom that was once your parents’, but leaving every other room untouched. You have not dared to open the door of your old bedroom yet. 

You still drove the old Chevy when you started working at Sam’s six nights a week, the only diner in town, serving the majority of the people who lived there.

—

It's Friday, which means a good crowd and better tips. Friday means an extra drink for everyone to celebrate yet another week survived in this dusty town in south Texas, just above the border. So you move among the tables with a smile so wide that your face starts to hurt.

It's almost eleven now and most of the tables are occupied; workers for their well-deserved after work drink, youngsters pregaming before driving up to Austin for a night out, some couples leaning over their drinks to be closer to one another, families finishing up their meals, greasy hands stopping you to order another basket of fries. The buzz is loud now, the air in the diner thick and heavy with alcohol and laughter. A usual Friday at Sam’s, until it isn’t.

The door squeaks open, heavy footsteps on the floor, broad shoulders in the doorframe. You really shouldn't be able to hear it over the sound of Friday in the diner, but you do. You lock eyes with deep amber, a pair of sad eyes, searching for a place to sit. Strong arms hidden under a black leather jacket, dark wash jeans, disheveled brown curls, almost halo-like, lit by the street lights behind him. The diner seems to catch up with you, surprised faces turning to the direction of the door, sentences left unfinished, whispers let out, cheeks turned red in surprise, Adam’s apples bobbing up and down. Is it? It can’t be. The sounds of Friday fun turn into whispers, and whispers turn to silence. Fear creeps up in your spine, something primal, something unexplainable.

He walks up to an empty table, heavy boots on sticky floor are the only sound now. The squeal of a chair, denim rubbing against the fake leather of the booth, fingers tapping on the tabletop, an impatient sigh. You move your feet from where they were rooted to the ground just a minute ago. Sweaty hands flipping paper on the notepad. You clear your throat before closing up the space between you and his table.

“What can I get you?”, your voice comes out raspy, almost scared. He looks up at you, a faint smile on his face, eyes not quite meeting yours. Instead, he looks at your lips, gaze burning on your skin, you press your lips together, as if you could hide them entirely. Your eyes flick over to the bar, searching for another pair of brown eyes, searching for comfort. But comfort is not what you find, Sam looks back at you with a wild gaze, almost panic in his eyes.

“Whiskey, neat,” the stranger says, now looking at his hands on the table.

“Coming right up!”, you answer with fake cheerfulness in your voice. Legs heavy as you move, “A whiskey, neat,” you say when you reach the bar, waiting for Sam to prepare the drink. You understand that the questions are not for now, the questions are for later. The people slowly turn their attention back to the drinks in front of them, conversations starting again. But still, the air stays as if it was frozen the minute the stranger came in, Friday never has been so quiet at Sam’s diner..

“There you go”, you say as you place the glass in front of him, voice heavy with the accent you thought you never had.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says, not looking up at you this time.

Time feels slow, dragging on every minute, every second of the night. You cannot take being inside anymore. You feel like you are going to suffocate.

“I am going on my break,” you say quickly and don’t wait for anyone to acknowledge, just disappear through the kitchen. 

The muggy evening air hugs your skin as you open the back door of the diner. Being outside is just as suffocating as being inside, but at least it's quieter. You take a cigarette out from the crumpled package in your apron, place it between your lips but don't light it just yet. You should quit. You exhale sharply and put the cigarette back. Istead, you lean your head back to the wall, looking up at the moon. She's in her full glory tonight, casting pale light to the dark forest in front of you.

You are not sure what happened inside. This man who you are sure you have never seen in your life just woke up something deep inside you. You feel like you are drawn to him by a strange force, a force that is so foreign to you. There was a certain kind of sadness in his eyes that you only see when you look into the reflection of your own eyes. Grief. Lost. Denial. Something that balances between madness and sanity. 

You hear the front door open with a squeaking sound. Footsteps, drunk laughter and heavy drawls take over the silence of your break. You are about to go inside when you hear an intoxicated voice call out:

“Where do you think you’re goin´?” the drunk man shouts. “You think you can just walk in here and have a drink like the rest of us? Like you fuckin’ belong here.” he spits. The rest of the men stop talking. Now he is the only voice. “Let me tell you. You don´t. You should not come around anymore. You are not welcome here and you should know that.”

“So what happens if I do  come around?” the stranger's voice is laced with coldness. You slowly start walking to the front. You need to see him again. You need to understand what's happening. You feel yourself shaking, despite the warm humidity of the night. 'You should just stay out of it,' the voice in your head says, but you keep walking.

You peek around the corner of the diner. There he is with six men from the town. They all seem fairly drunk. They seem like they are looking for trouble.

“Well, if you are so fuckin´ sure you gonna come around,” he drawls “we might as well just give you a taste of what we are plannin´ to do with you. Right, boys?” he laughs and the men laugh with him, like a pack of coyotes. They all sound way too drunk to do any real harm, but there are six of them against him.

“Try me” the stranger grits through his teeth. He doesn't seem to be afraid, he seems like he would not care if he lives or dies. He seems like someone who gave up a long time ago.

“That ’s enough!” You shout and start walking up to the crowd. ”Go home or I will call Sam out and we will see who won’t be allowed to come around here anymore”. The loudest one flashes you a drunk grin and says: “That is just fuckin’ hilarious. You wanna protect him?” he asks.

“I am not protecting anyone, it’s my job to keep this place running. So I am doing just exactly that.” you say putting your hands on your waist. “Now, gentlemen, I would appreciate, if you all went home and cared about your wives and kids just as much as you care about your liquor. I reckon you had enough fun for tonight. Go! All of you!” you order them.

You are surprised to see that they do. It might be the mention of their wives and the reminder of how they would react if they saw them coming home drunk and all beaten up. The loudest one turns back for a second and addresses you. “You don’t know what you are doing.”

“I guess not.” you whisper and turn your head to the stranger.

“You didn't need to, darlin’. I can defend myself,” he says, drawl thick as the night above you. 

“Mhm, you seem like the type who can,” you say with a half smile. He laughs at that, but there is no humor in it. It should not be possible for a laugh to sound that sad.

“You new around here?”, he takes a step forward, cornering you to the wall. His eyes are searching for the name tag on your uniform. As he cannot find anything his eyes flick back to your face again. His gaze lights something up in you, deep inside your stomach. Frozen flames licking your insides. You are terrified of it, you are terrified of him.

“You can say that, moved back recently. And you? It seems like everyone knows you around here.” you say, heart pounding in your throat. 

“Wasn't hard to sense that, was it?”, you can feel his breath on your skin. Whiskey, burning on your cheeks.

“No,” you say, casting down your eyes. Somehow his proximity makes you restless. His presence makes the blood rush faster in your body. Your reaction is almost instinctual, you want to rip his flash and sink your teeth into him. To be closer or to get away. You are not sure.

He must sense it, a sly smile across his lips. He lifts his hand, hovers his knuckles over your cheeks tentatively. You are red burning fire. He brushes his knuckles over your left cheek, your chin, the curve of your neck. He rests his palm on your shoulder at last.

“You are shaking,” he murmurs. He takes his hand away. It's almost like you couldn't breathe while he touched you. Lungs filling up with air again. You lock eyes with him. “So what's your..,” he starts but cannot finish, Arlene opens the back door and calls your name. 

“Everything okay here?”, she asks.

His eyes darken. Amber turns black. “It's you,” he says, “I should have fuckin’ known.” One hand grabbing your hair, the other turning you around. Rough denim scratching the back of your thighs as he pushes you up to the wall. Head knocking on wood, you feel dizzy. You hear Arlene’s muffled scream, the door opening again. Cold steel pressed into your throat, you taste your death. “I couldn't have planned this better, could I?”, he whispers into your ear.

“Who the fuck are you? What do you want from me?”, you spit, fear blinding you as you try to grab a hold of him behind you.

“You don't know who I am? That's good. That´s just fuckin’ good”, he laughs, blood freezing in your veins from the sound of it.

You hear footsteps, Arlene’s breathy cry in the background. Boots then. Heavier than she could be. 

“Joel Miller,” Sam says with venom in his voice, “Leave her the fuck alone!”

His gun is pointing to Joel’s temple. Sam takes a step closer, “Get out of here. Right fuckin’ now.” Joel slowly releases the handful of hair he still has in his fist. As he does, a bitter smile spreads on his face.

“Another time then,” he murmurs, low enough that only you can hear. He steps back, walks slowly to the parking lot where he swings his leg over a 1990 Harley-Davidson, the exact same model that is in your father's garage. 

You look at Sam, eyes blurred with tears and confusion.You are certain of one thing, and one thing only. Joel Miller wants to kill you.

—

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs are much appreciated. Please let me know if you'd like to be on the tag list for the next parts!

[ddagent]

"i never thought i'd wait so long for you"

Margo/Sergei | Time Travel AU | FR15 | 1,351 words     Margo Madison finally meets Sergei Nikulov - only he's met her before. Or: four Margos walk into a diner in Iowa and wait for one Sergei. A time travel AU. Crazy thoughts during morning break and watching copious amounts of Orphan Black have brought me here. Title is from Past Lives by Børns. Happy reading!

They were in a diner in Iowa, some mom-and-pop place with 50s era booths and large milkshakes that were more like cement. For the customers, it was kitsch, but for Margo Madison, with a hastily scrawled 69 on the back of her right hand, this was closer to home than the actual year she found herself in. 2003. What the actual fuck.

Margo had yet to work out the science. She knew it had something to do with solar flares: before the arrival of her future selves, Gene Krantz had warned that it might affect the follow-up mission to Aldrin and Armstrong. What little she'd been able to glean from her counterparts had revealed similar issues: disrupting planned trips to the Moon, to Mars, and the capture of an asteroid. They had yet been able to track the solar flares; unable to determine why they kept shifting timelines. So far Margo had been back in '69, then gifted a brief look at the Apollo-Soyuz capsule, before offering a couple of insightful suggestions for the Mars habitation modules.

The less said about '03, the better.

Continue Reading at AO3

[nostalgicfun]

[seiunzzz]

XDINARY HEROES AS AESTHETICS.

🌐 seya : before we dive into an amazing world of web-aesthetics, there are few things that i’d like to point out. first of all, i chose aesthetic for each member based solely on my associations with their vibe. meaning: i associate the vibe of aesthetic with them, rather than the history behind it. secondly, some of the information was gathered from such sites as:

https://cari.institute/aesthetics.

https://www.are.na.

https://eyeondesign.aiga.org.

now that we got that out of the way — enjoy!

𝐠𝐨𝐨 𝐠𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐥 : 𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐑 𝐊𝐈𝐓𝐒𝐂𝐇

“baby boomer & silent generation revival of various 1940s-1950s cultural iconography, design, and kitsch associated with diner, drive-in's and malt shop culture. jukeboxes, poodle skirts, 1950s advertising kitsch, neon, chromed-out automobiles, metallic paneling, 'american graffiti'-style fonts.” — ©️ cari institute.

diner kitsch – aesthetic familiar to everyone, yet not that many people know it’s actual name (or that it is, in fact, an aesthetic!). checkered floors and walls, milkshakes, burgers, neon signs and, of course, waitresses on roller skates — these things define diner kitsch. originating from 1950s, when diners were seen as a place, where you could enjoy a hearty comfort food and have a good time with your family or friends it was finally revived in our years through media that depicts mainly high schoolers or travelers of any sorts, going out for a dinner.

🌐 seya : i chose diner kitsch for gunil because he is literally the embodiment of a nerdy boy who would definetely hang out with his group of friends in a place like that. doing homework, reading comics, getting cookies on the house because of how often they visit a diner… 🥤🍔 yum!

𝐤𝐢𝐦 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐮 : 𝐍𝐄𝐎𝐍 𝐍𝐎𝐈𝐑

“the term neon-noir is a film genre, but it can also represent an aesthetic. this aesthetic includes a brooding, mysterious, cyberpunk, and dangerous atmosphere. the neon-noir aesthetic can be related somewhat to the sibling-genre neo-noir (without the “n”), including avant-garde fashion, femme fatale style, dark clothing, technology, and neon lights.” — ©️ wendy zhou (from her blog wendyzhou.se)

neon-noir (also known as future-, cyber-, tech-noir) was born in the film industry around 1980s, when sci-fi was blooming yet again. not so popular in web, it is still quite known in gamer community, thanks to such games like “cyberpunk 2077”, “anno mutationem”, “blade runner” etc. this aesthetic is mixing old-school noir with futuristic elements, giving it a whole new look. neon signs, robots, androids, futuristic technology are going hand in hand with good old detective genre, accented shadows, rain and fog.

🌐 seya : i find this aesthetic to be the most suiting to jungsu. i can imagine him in this type of setting so well and i’d actually like to read or even write something, where he is portrayed as a detective in a mysterious and futuristic setting!

𝐤𝐰𝐚𝐤 𝐣𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤 : 𝐀𝐂𝐈𝐃𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐈𝐗

“rule-bending, medium-blending "instagram grunge". full of horror vacui, chrome type, oddball textures and self-referentialism.” — ©️ cari institute.

originated in the 1990s and revived in 2010s, acidgrafix (also known as: acid graphics and acid design) aesthetic is mainly seen nowadays on the covers of music albums. bright colors (usually red, orange and neon green, neon yellow, neon purple), wireframes, distorted images, liquid metal forms – all of these are key elements of acidgrafix. the term acid, as you might��ve already guessed, came from the acid house and rave culture. it first appeared on flyers, used to promote and to invite people to raves. smiley faces (of course, resembling nothing else but the actual drug), op-art-esque patterns, sci-fi futurism – all of these were such an eye candy for party-goers, that soon enough this style overtook the music industry. after being long forgotten in the 00s, acidgrafix finally found it’s new home in instagram, where musicians would design their insta-stories and albums with all of the key details of this aesthetic.

🌐 seya : aaand this is the part that i was worried about the most. this aesthetic took it’s origins not from the best culture, but i still find it’s style being quite suiting for gaon. it’s bright, innovative and bold – just like he is!

𝐨𝐡 𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐦𝐢𝐧 : 𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐏𝐔𝐍𝐊

"the millennial and gen-z iteration of edgy grunge aesthetics, associated closely with "pop punk" and the store hot topic." — ©️ cari institute.

*puts a cd in the drive, "girlfriend" by avril lavigne starts playing* now that we're in the mood, let us find out what the hell is a teen punk. the dirty, the angry, the free and THE wild – this aesthetic conveys the whole essence of the rebellious period that every teenager eventually goes through. you can usually see this movement being expressed through clothes, style, make up and, most importantly, music, rather then the way you could draw something or edit a photo. mainly seem in early 00s, teen punk found it's new home in hearts of people through nostalgia that overtook us all as soon as pandemic started. this aesthetic combines different colors like foggy green and blue, obviously black, red and pink (yes, the tricolor of emo aesthetic is very important here). essential details of teen punk are denim jackets, torn jeans, big ass t-shirts with logos of musical groups, fishnets and those humongous military boots that everyone used to wear. the pioneers of this movement are mainly musical artists, like the infamous avril lavigne, all-time favorites my chemical romance, green day, paramore etc.

🌐 seya : now i need you to look me dead in the eyes and say that THIS isn't his aesthetic. bro literally dresses as if hot topic was more grunge and still managed to survive.

𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐲𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐣𝐮𝐧 : 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐓𝐈 𝐏𝐎𝐏

"first wave of corporate appropriation of graffiti culture. typically includes urban streetscapes & iconography contemporary to the time period (eg. trash cans, brick walls, chain link fencing, street lamps, sidewalks, industrial elements, general 'urban decay'). it's also associated with that eras' portrayal of street, hip hop, & punk culture." — ©️ cari institute.

disclaimer: this part is mostly retelling of an article from this site: https://www.grafftergallery.com/2023/08/graffiti-pop-art-vivid-intersection-of.html | i really don't think that i would be able to express myself better than they already did, so let me give the credit to the rightful authors!

this aesthetic is a firm proof of the dynamic between street culture and the world of art that was born in early 80s and was especially popular till the 00s. bright colors, bold splashes of different patterns, provocative slogans, popular singers, models, tv personalities – it screams fight for the freedom of self expression. this movement is first and foremost was heavily affected by socio-political issues, causing street artists to voice their concerns through art. graffiti itself is a rebellious act (you're literally damaging private property) and when you mix this with media icons and pop culture that was thriving, you're guaranteed to have all the attention that you need.

🌐 seya : i feel like this aesthetic really suits jun han because in my eyes he is one of the most brave idols in terms of expressing himself through his style and art.

𝐥𝐞𝐞 𝐣𝐨𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐨𝐧 : 𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐌

"let's take a look at what is included in such aesthetics as retro-surrealism (also known as airbrush surrealism and included in the subgenres of retro-futurism), shall we?"

retro is an imitation or conscious derivative of a lifestyle, trend, or art form from history, included in music, fashion, or looks. the retro art movement always invariably revives and in one way or another refers to everything that happened in the past. surrealism is an art direction that always strives to revolutionize human experience. it balances a rational vision of life with one that asserts the power of the unconscious and dreams. combining these two trends of media art, we get abstract paintings made in the style of sci-fi comics from the 70s-90s. very often they feature elements such as musical instruments, outer space and electronic objects such as telephones, radios, televisions, etc. usually such paintings are airbrushed, which gives them a slightly hazy, matte effect, typical for surrealism (promotes immersion into the unconscious me thinks!).

🌐 seya : i love, love, LOVE this one so much, i just had to give it to my favorite boy jooyeon! i feel like this one suits jooyeon just because he looks like that one dude obsessed with weird ass comic books, always going around with his old mp3 player and vibing to daft punk bangers. sorry not sorry, no one is getting this image out of my head.