Hey, Afua!: Making a Culture Out of Your City
Antagonizine usually likes to keep things Northern. We love the strange little pockets of creativity happening across Glasgow, Manchester, Sheffield and everywhere in between. But every now and then, someone comes along with such a ridiculously bubbly personality that we simply cannot resist. And, well, who doesn't love a free, or at least cheap, cute and cultural thing to do in their city?
Meet Afua Owusu-Ansah, the woman behind @heyafua, a London-based platform dedicated to finding the best free events, exhibitions, workshops, community spaces and cultural happenings across the capital. If you've ever thought London was too expensive to actually enjoy, Afua would like a word.
The Cat in the Hat Has Come to Glasgow, and TikTok Is Terrified
There is apparently a man in a Cat in the Hat costume terrorising Britain. He has been spotted outside houses, wandering around housing schemes and lurking beneath streetlights. Parents are warning their children, siblings are filming response videos and, somehow, even grannies have got involved. Now, according to TikTok, he has made his way to Glasgow.
Except, of course, he isn't real.
The latest Cat in the Hat panic is an AI-generated internet hoax, with images and videos placing the character into recognisable streets and residential areas. What makes it so effective is how quickly the story has become localised. It isn't simply the Cat in the Hat is scary; it is the Cat in the Hat is in Glasgow. Then he is in another town. Then another. Suddenly everyone knows someone who has supposedly seen him.
It feels remarkably similar to the killer clown panic of 2016. Back then, sinister-looking clowns were supposedly appearing outside schools, in parks and around residential areas. Some sightings were real, some were pranks and plenty were rumours, but the internet transformed them into a nationwide phenomenon. The Cat in the Hat is essentially the AI-era version: a recognisable character, a slightly sinister image, a supposed sighting and an audience ready to make it bigger.
Curating Yourself to Death
Curation used to describe a specific, slow, accountable act: a person selecting and arranging objects, deciding what belongs next to what, and being professionally responsible for the argument that arrangement made. It required expertise and restraint, because the whole discipline rested on knowing what to leave out.
Somewhere in the last decade, the word got detached from that discipline and reattached to an Instagram grid, a Depop shop, a For You page algorithmically arranged for you rather than by you. Everyone curates now. Almost nobody is exercising judgement.
The shift isn’t cosmetic. A museum curator’s selections are legible, arguable and attributable; you can disagree with a hang and say why. A TikTok feed’s curation is opaque by design, optimised for retention rather than argument, and arranges you as much as you arrange it. Calling both of these curation flattens a real distinction between a discipline with standards and a recommendation engine with a retention target.
The Romance Economy: Pink Pill Culture & Dating Strategy
A few months ago, I realised I had become, at least in part, what the internet now calls "pink-pilled".
Not because I wanted to marry a millionaire or because I believed women should manipulate men into paying for their lifestyles, but because, after years of hearing women apologise for wanting more, something about the rhetoric felt refreshing. My TikTok feed became increasingly populated with videos about "high-value men", "provider mindsets" and Shera Seven's now infamous phrase, "sprinkle sprinkle". I found myself agreeing with more of it than I expected. After all, what was so controversial about believing women deserved better?
Battle For Glasgow 2026: How Students Built One Of Scotland’s Largest Esports Events
When it comes to esports, and gaming in general, there is often a narrative that struggles to break through the stereotypes associated with competitive online gaming. Some have a view that esports remains confined to dark rooms, players disconnected from social groups, and niche online spaces. But student-led events like ‘Battle for Glasgow’ are working hard to challenge that perception. What began as separate university societies and rival student teams across Glasgow is quickly becoming something much larger: a live production built on community, creativity, and collaboration. Once you begin to look past the competition, you see an incredible collective effort of a student-led volunteer group, from players performing under pressure, production teams working behind the scenes to make the event as best as possible, commentators driving in-game narratives, and student communities gathering around a shared experience. Battle for Glasgow highlights what students are capable of building when they are given a stage to showcase their passion and ambition.
Cyberfeminism Now: Hopecore, Cyborgs, and the Platformed Self
There is something distinctly cyberfeminist about hopecore; the strange, dissonant meme format pairing low-resolution animals with WordArt affirmations and early, internet aesthetics. Its visual language recalls the surreal gloss of 1990s desktop environments, evoking a moment when the internet still felt unstable, open, and full of possibility. Yet hopecore is not utopian. It emerges from what Polyester mag describes as a “fragmented soup of life,” in which online culture mirrors a broader social drift toward disarray, and where existentialism and nihilism increasingly underpin everyday experience (Quin, 2026.).