All images courtesy of Brandon Koh.
It all began as a meme. Singaporeans posted photos of “Happy 60th Birthday Singapore” banners online, playfully misreading them as “Happy Goth Birthday”.
It’s an ideological dissonance: gothic subculture versus patriotic pride. Red-and-white against all-black. Collectivism against non‑conformity. Chokers against NDP funpacks. The season of the witch against the season when chilli crab runneth over.
What started as a joke became an IRL invitation for a goth community called the Black Light Tribe to throw a party on 1st August, a week before National Day.
Born from a shared love of goth culture, the Black Light Tribe has spent the last two and a half years building an inclusive space for those drawn to darker, often misunderstood forms of art and expression.
“Happy Goth Birthday” wasn’t just a meme-turned-party. It was proof that subcultures can offer a truer sense of belonging where patriotic festivities sometimes fall short.
From Meme to Movement
I arrive at Enclave, the fiercely independent bar in Tanjong Pagar that has fought against rising rents and shifting tides for years. It’s darker than usual, deliberately so.
The unmistakable whine of Morrissey (“I am the son and the heir…”) floats through the speakers. The theme tune of Charmed welcoming me into the coven feels nearly too on-the-nose, but also perfect.
Inside, the air is thick with moody energy, mingling with the scent of incense and sweat. Under red and ultraviolet lights, rhinestones on cheekbones caught glints like stardust.
If it all sounds sinister, it really is not—there’s a kind of delight one might feel when stepping into a childhood home, or an off-season Halloween party. Nearly everyone wore whatever best expressed their defiance, wearing the counterculture on their sleeves.
Black mesh, corsets, steel-toed boots, leather skirts. Everything shimmers with rebellious glamour. But despite their fierce getups, the crowd is disarmingly cheerful.
As Singapore toasts 60 years of nationhood, the goths tonight mark a different kind of independence: the right to exist outside the script and to be wholly and unapologetically themselves.
Where Misfits Make Home
“Our parties provide a space where people can be exactly who they are,” says E-Reng Tan, 27, one of the organisers from Black Light Tribe.
“It’s inclusive, chill, and respectful. That’s all we ask of our guests—just don’t be an asshole.”
They gesture to a cosy nook where a few attendees are quietly sipping drinks, chatting or decompressing.
“The goth community is neurodivergent-friendly, so we always make space for people who might need a breather.”
E-Reng believes that true inclusivity begins with safety—the kind that allows people to shed their armour and be themselves. Together with the Black Light Tribe team, their intent is to cultivate a space where difference isn’t just tolerated, but embraced.
The agenda is pretty loose and lightly structured. Nine DJs, each with half-hour sets, brought their own interpretations of goth to the table—darkwave, industrial techno, synth-pop, even hardstyle. The mixes and transitions aren’t exactly seamless, but the spotlight was squarely on communion.
“This community is about building joy into the weird and wonderful parts of ourselves,” says E-Reng, before disappearing to announce the next DJ.
Reclaiming Space and Self
“We all have different jobs, genders, interests, but none of that divides us,” offers Ashe Low, 22, a self-described “neurodivergent sapphic trans woman” who only began embracing her identity after joining the Black Light Tribe.
“This space made it feel safe enough for me to go by my preferred name and pronouns.”
While others like me learned to bend ourselves to fit the world’s expectations, Ashe found a tribe where she could show up as her whole self—unapologetically and in full.
She also spoke with bright eyes about the meaningful conversations she’s had at these parties and the deep friendships formed not through small talk, but shared vulnerability. These weren’t mere raves, but acts of reclamation. Independence from the pressure to fit in.
But the world outside isn’t always so gentle. As Singapore approaches its 60th year, it has learned to make space for difference, but often only within safe, cautious bounds.
Here, there is only the freedom to be exactly who you are. Perhaps it’s the kind of independence Singapore, too, is still learning to claim.
Beyond the safety of these walls, differences still draw hostility. Deko, 24, recounts a night when she was leaving another goth-themed party, still dressed in her outfit and makeup, when a drunk man sneered at her.
Don’t be like him, the drunk told Deko’s friend, misgendering Deko. These people are dangerous. They need God in their lives.
Deko shakes her head.
“I don’t dwell on those things. This community is my family. It’s where misfits vibe together without judgement. I only wish each party lasted longer.”
Ashe chimes in. “Singapore is so focused on being straight-laced, conformist and not rocking the boat, but in this community, we are able to let loose and be our authentic selves.”
Ghosts of the Past in Officewear
Then I spotted Hazel Netto, 35, an old friend from my childhood in Hougang. We laughed about our current selves, clad in coloured clothes and office-appropriate hairstyles, a far cry from the chain-draped rebels we once were.
She holds a corporate job now and is married to the DJ who was playing ‘How Soon Is Now?’ earlier. They still make an annual pilgrimage to Nevada for the Burning Man festival if their work schedules permit.
“Goth is nihilistic,” Hazel said, “but as we grow older, our nihilism matures.”
We talked about how some of our peers never packed up their alt selves. They moved abroad, found freer pastures, and kept flying their freak flags high.
“You adapt, but you never really stop being goth. Some of my friends moved to Australia, where they still live hippie lives,” Hazel smiled.
I found myself wondering if we’d betrayed some part of ourselves by trading our piercings and angsty outlooks for PowerPoint and Outlook. Had we grown wiser, or just more palatable? Maybe that’s what Hazel meant by matured nihilism: not giving up, just giving in a little.
And yet, even in our tidied-up lives, the embers still flicker.
On National Day, we’re often asked to reflect on what it means to be Singaporean. But maybe that question can’t be answered by synchronised dance and sing-alongs.
Maybe that’s why we came back tonight—not just to play dress-up, but to recover fragments of our younger selves that still live beneath the surface. And in doing so, maybe we’d unearth something deeper than nostalgia. Maybe we’d find a sense of belonging that ignites us more than fireworks ever could.
A Glorious, Glitchy Love Letter
“Tonight’s party felt like a perfect synergy between artist and audience,” says E-Reng, sweaty but beaming as the final DJ who wrapped the set.
“The open deck format lets people be themselves. We didn’t need approval, just one another.”
And they were right. The warmth I felt that night wasn’t from the strobe lights or the drinks. It was from the way people looked at one another without judgement, and created a fleeting but fierce sense of community.
There’s something deeply patriotic about that.
While National Day parades tout unity through conformity, this little goth party showed a different kind of togetherness. One that doesn’t flatten eccentricities, but honours them.
There were no post-punk renditions of ‘Count On Me Singapore’ nor any nationalistic symbols beyond the tongue-in-cheek ‘Happy Goth Birthday’ banner. Yet somehow, this celebration felt more Singaporean than most.
Singapore is a city that might sleep but doesn’t dream. With rent hikes gutting beloved haunts and zoning laws making it harder for new, organic brands to sprout, Singapore can feel hollowed out. Optimised for commerce, but not for culture.
Don’t get me wrong—I love Singapore. But I’d love it even more if it’s a place that doesn’t discreetly discourage the arts, entertainment, and anything else that doesn’t make dollars and sense.
So as I trudge through the daily grind, goth-y despondency tucked beneath a client-ready smile, it lifts me to see these goths indulging their unfiltered selves, yet finding a rare sense of belonging that eludes so many others.
“Life in this city is not easy, and it can make us very nihilistic… but these parties bring a lot of joy to our daily lives,” quips E-Reng.
For this community, beneath black lights and bass drops, this is home, truly.
