The Hedonism Capital of the World

I’ve been in Berlin for eight years now—the longest I’ve ever lived anywhere as an adult. Crazy, right? I never thought I’d stay this long, but I got sucked in, seduced, always flirting with the idea of leaving. Lots of us have this love-hate thing with Berlin, but right now, it’s home.

Berlin gave me a kind of midlife puberty—a creative coming of age that I couldn’t have had anywhere else. I realigned with my creativity here, shed old baggage, and unlearned stuff from childhood that crept in over the years. I’m passionate about exploring my own creativity and engaging with others’ too—whether it’s filmmaking, photography, photoshoots, or the music community. But a lot of my passions are intangible: feelings like connectivity, passion itself, ambition, sensuality, identity. I’m hooked on this ongoing exploration within myself and what I can learn from others. I just love connective, transformative, chaotic, beautiful fun.

People think of Berlin and imagine wild partying, raving, rave culture—that big umbrella. But funnily enough, partying wasn’t why I came here. It started way earlier for me. Even as a kid with my cousins at my auntie’s place, I was a dancer—always will be. We’d choreograph Spice Girls routines, put on dress-up shows for the parents. No clues I was gay, of course—ha! “Mom, I’m not gay, but I’m late for ballet!” As a queer teen in Tasmania, I craved understanding and connection. With my girlfriends, I was mischievous, rushing to grow up.

Homophobia kept me from teenage parties—I felt safer in adult spaces, clubs with security. Sneaking into nightclubs at 14 or 15 with a fake ID was thrilling, intelligent, stimulating. I’d go to the Victoria markets with my auntie and come back with a strobe light, mirrorball, lava lamp, and a mushroom disco lamp. My friends and I would lock ourselves in the bathroom, blast Ministry of Sound CDs, and lose ourselves in the slow-motion strobe. I was hooked on house music, cutting tracks together for dance routines—partying, fun, bringing people together has been in my blood since I was a baby.

The Sweet Pursuit

Hmm, what are the things I’m most passionate about, the stuff that brings me the most pleasure? First, sex—I love it, especially with multiple people. Second, dance—moving my body taps into a state of being nothing else can touch. Third, screaming my lungs out underwater when I dive in for the first time. Those are my holy trinity of pleasure, raw and real. Hedonism’s a buzzword here—Berlin’s dripping with it. Club culture, raves, modern life—it’s everywhere.

We’re all hedonistic to a degree; it’s human to chase pleasure. The question is: what’s pleasure to you? Sustainable or self-destructive? Fleeting or long-term? To me, it’s multifaceted—food, community, friendship, expression, love, connection. But also small stuff: fresh fruit, a hot tub, rosé in the gutter with people I love. It doesn’t need to be excessive—that’s where it goes wrong.

Excessive pleasure is unsustainable; it turns into greed, addiction, escapism. You see C-suite dudes rolling down that road—babe, get out of my way, I’m a man! But hedonism’s real definition? Pursuing pleasure as life’s main goal, avoiding pain. The smart ones, especially marginalized folks like me, take pleasure in pain too—seeing it, accepting it, letting it go. That’s strength.

Philosophically, hedonism’s tied to living in the moment—tomorrow might not come, so make the most of now. My therapist told me, “Feel how it feels to feel,” and it blew my mind. We’ve got five senses, but we’re usually in overdrive, missing them. Walking to my partner’s place, I stopped overthinking—felt the pavement after the fruit market, heard cars beeping, smelled shawarma and falafel, felt the winter breeze on my cheeks. For ten minutes, I felt human. If that’s hedonistic, I’m all in.

Extra Sweet vs Sugar Free Insanity

A lot of people correlate rave culture with drugs, and while there is an obvious connotation between the two, it’s not a requirement to have a grand old time. That’s why we did a sober edition, “Sugar Free”, because drugs aren’t everything. It was a choice, sparked by hearing the community—some overconsume, hit eject, leave Berlin because they can’t handle it. That’s sad when music and dance floors stop bringing joy. Kids dance their butts off, high on life, not Molly. We amped up stimulation—dance workshops with Alvin and Phoenix, more performances, sing-along tunes. It was fun, cunty, inviting—no additives needed. It’s not about shaming; it’s about options.

You can club without lines—it’s better.

Then there’s the Ket Gala, our Christopher Street Day (CSD) Berlin Pride blowout. This yearly event is not sugar-free at all. Bigger production, weirder, wilder—a spin on the Met Gala, but flipped. It’s not about ketamine, unless you want it; it’s a psychedelic mindset. People show up larger than life, and we go big—performances, live acts, extra days. But regular Lunchbox Candy’s cute simplicity still wins—good music, sexy love room, the people I love. Picture this—it’s 3 am on the Lunchbox floor, it’s thick with sweat and sensuality—a damn good time that slaps you in the face. Salty, sexy sweat fills the air, bass runs through my body. The dancefloor is like the Great Barrier Reef—buoyant, an ecosystem. People lock eyes, groove on the checkerboard floor to breakbeats or disco, challenging how we move. It’s hot, grimy, fun, uplifting, a fruit salad of self-expression. Newbies might feel overwhelmed, like “How do I look? Am I doing okay?”, but it’s about letting go. I’m home, I deserve this.