My techno era didn’t start in Berlin or some sweaty warehouse party at 4am.
It started at a straight event.
In a gay club.
That I worked at.
Already a confusing sentence, I know.

I wasn’t expecting much that night, I was vibing, watching the crowd, just happy to not be on for once.
Then the DJ dropped a set that was harder, faster, louder than anything I was used to hearing in that space.
It was chaotic. Relentless.
It was… kind of amazing?

That night planted the seed.
But the moment it fully bloomed?
That was thanks to Instagram and a sweaty, shirtless man named Restricted, who somehow popped up on my feed with a strobe light, a drop, and a chest that moved like it had its own subwoofer.

I was there for the sound and the visual effects, okay?

And from there… it spiralled.
Techno for the gym.
Techno to clean.
Techno to disassociate (but in a productive, rhythmic way).

It turns out my brain thrives on a BPM that feels slightly unhinged.
And while I may have arrived for the thirst content…
I stayed for the peace.

So thank you to that straight event. And thank you, Restricted for the music and the mildly hypnotic pec bounce. You’ve done more for my focus than my entire vitamin stack, and I can’t wait to see you live for the first time this weekend.