dream 006: cold f33t on bunny boilers, artists anonymous and our attention economy

I’ve been sitting on this interview for longer than I would’ve liked. On the other hand, sometimes you just need time to think, and not have the pressure to produce something that ultimately is just another shit in the sewer. Since I last posted in May, I’ve been in America for almost 2 months, and a few days before leaving, I visited artist and friend Cold F33t. We seem to have gone back and forth about the current use of anonymity in the art world quite a bit over the past few years, I have another transcript from over a year ago when we were making our book, which covers similar topics. But before I left, I wanted to see if she had anything for me to sit with during my trip.

Since spending a significant amount of time in New York, I noticed things going on across the pond that maybe connected to our conversation, and reflected something wider happening:

There is a struggle to make good art.

Before you start sucking stressfully on your vape, I’m not saying there are no good artists. Incredible artists are abundant; they are just tired and underfunded. After having been introduced and surrounded by those in the New York art scene for a few months (think of me in your prayers), it seems artists are locked in purgatory. Part of that story involves a tale as old as time: you’re either struggling to make art but working a survival-pay-level job, or struggling to make money but making great art (nepo-rich kids don’t count in this because that would unlock my personal Pandora’s box, debating that whole category). In our current economy, it seems impossible to commit to only one without feeling unfulfilled in another life area. But, it also seems to me there is another unspoken issue, disguised as self-doubt, but born from the fear of failure and what this means for your online presence.

When I say this, I say it with love and respect. I understand it. It’s a real fear, and it seems the marketability of your art in the last 10 years has become inherently tied to your ability to create a personal brand online. The internet has given us a breeding ground of perfection to hide behind, to create an unrealistic extension of ourselves, as traditional social media platforms became a marketplace of personas, particularly since the turn of the roaring 2020s. After the golden age of social media, we are left with too much beauty and perfection, and the commodification of ‘individuality’. Naturally, as we lean into the opposite, it seems a rejection is in full swing (as we saw in 2016/17) with vulgarity and the grotesque.

So, what happens to artists when they want to release work anonymously in our chronically online time? Anonymous artists are not a new thing; nobody doing this in 2025 is reinventing the wheel. But, in the age of the internet, it can feel like the age of anonymity. In a world where being an artist seems simultaneously on trend (whimsy, 2010s fashion and lifestyle revival), and in crisis (where are all the thinkers?), where does that leave our ability to respond to the world around us? Are we struggling artists, or artists struggling? Or, maybe we just need to stop thinking of ourselves as individuals. As much as the powers above would love to keep us all apart, we need to not lose hope and just keep going.

Cold F33t has been an account posting airbrush art since 2020, “Honestly, it started out just as a burner account” she tells me, “I didn’t want the pressure of explaining my art to people. I was just doing it for me.” Which, as validation and self-obsession seem to be the primary drivers of online activity, keeping your identity sacred feels like blasphemy. Below, we embark on chatting through the state of art, anonymity, and Cold F33t’s cold feet for the internet…

alisha: I was thinking of asking you about when people think you’re a guy. Have you ever had anyone say it outright to you?

cold f33t: I’ve never had a brand say it, but I’ve definitely had individuals come up to me and say that, or you can just see it in their face.

a: Like they’re disappointed?

cf: A lot of the time, if it’s a guy, they’re almost surprised and kind of impressed that I’m a girl. But there’s also a certain kind of guy, like the modern, feminist-type, you can tell he almost feels disappointed. Not in me, but in himself, for assuming. I fucking assume people are guys, too. Even as a queer person, a queer woman, I do it. So it’s like, we all do have an unconscious bias that we need to unlearn. But yeah, people assume that. I don’t even know why; it’s not like my branding is particularly masculine. My logo is a bunny. If anything, you'd think that’s feminine.

a: I wonder if it's because a lot of your clothes are quite androgynous?

cf: Yeah. There’s a tattoo artist I know, and she’s told me she gets that too. She’ll have clients come in and they’ll be like, “I’m looking for...” and they assume it’s a guy doing the work.

a: What was your reasoning for staying anonymous or keeping your identity separate?

cf: Honestly, it started out just as a burner account. I made Cold F33t in 2020, and I didn’t want to follow anyone I knew. I didn’t want the pressure of explaining my art to people. I was just doing it for me. At first, it was random digital art, nothing to do with clothes. But I’ve always loved fashion, and I realised that’s what I wanted to do. I started airbrushing because it was an affordable way to make one-of-one pieces without needing to invest in screen printing. And I liked the graffiti influence because I had already been dipping my toe into that. The anonymity came from just wanting a space that wasn’t “me.” I used to post selfies with my face blurred out. I liked how it looked. It became part of the aesthetic. I liked the idea of holding something back, especially now where it’s all about self-obsession. I’ve always been kind of closed off. Maybe it’s a queer thing, when you grow up closeted, you learn to selectively show parts of your identity. So I think I did that with my work too, not out of fear of judgment, but because it felt more personal. Like, “This is just for me.”

a: You wanted something for yourself.

cf: Exactly. There wasn’t this association of, “Oh, I know her, and she’s doing that.” Over time, I’ve become more open and told people. But I still like the idea of holding back, especially online. Now Cold F33t has kind of grown into its own brand. It’s more like an entity. It could be multiple people.

a: What do you think are people’s perceptions of Cold F33t? I know this is probably a horrible question to ask because no one likes thinking about this, but I just mean, since your pieces always sell out so fast, and a lot of people usually buy into brands or art based on the person behind them. Fashion houses are often named after the designer. So what do you think people associate with Cold F33t?

cf: I fucking hate that about fashion brands. Every influencer now has a brand, or an alcohol brand, weed brand, clothing brand. It's so overdone.

a: So by not attaching your face to Cold F33t, you’re kind of flipping that whole model. But besides the fact that your work’s good in all it’s ethereal-ness, what do you think people see in it?

cf: I do think about it, but I don’t really know how to answer. It’s interesting, when people DM me, they talk like they know it’s just one person. Even people who’ve followed me forever assume that. Maybe there’s something in the vibe that still feels personal. Like you said, some fashion brands are literally just someone's name, but there’s a whole team underneath them doing the actual work. I don’t really know what people think of Cold F33t. And honestly, if you think too much about that, it can spiral. It’s easy to start making things for people instead of just making what you want.

a: Have you ever had that battle of whether to give people what they want or what you want?

cf: A hundred percent. But it becomes so blurred, I think what’s interesting is that I’m not separate from my followers, customers, fans, a lot of them consume the same stuff I consume. So it’s not like I’m the creator and they’re the consumers. I’m a consumer too. It’s so hard to differentiate between what they want and what I want, because it could be the same thing. We’re all seeing the same shit. It’s so regurgitative, which I kind of fucking hate. It can make you feel so shit about yourself. I used to think it [social media] just made you feel bad about your looks, but it’s more than that. It can make you feel shit about who you are, your work, your relationships, and your friendships. Every aspect. I really hate that. So I think it’s hard to find a balance between staying aware of what’s going on and reflecting that in your work, and not just making stuff that’s purely for virality. I could post something I know would get loads of likes and shares, but I’m not trying to just make things for that. I’m not trying to make things that are only aesthetically pleasing or made to go viral.

a: Do you feel like a lot of artists do that now?

cf: I’m not saying I’m the first airbrush artist, obviously I’m not. It’s been around for decades and has had waves. But when I started getting into it properly in 2020, there definitely weren’t as many people doing it as there are now. Now there are so many people popping up doing really random shit. But it’s more about the intent. Some people are just making things to go viral. They’re doing it for the validation.

a: Because they can.

cf: And because it’s addictive. I’ve had it before, not something that goes viral, but some posts that have done well. And I was addicted to that feeling, the validation. It’s people-pleasing. But it’s about how I feel about the work. Because if we start deciding that something is only good if a lot of people like it…

a: That’s what it’s kind of turning into though, isn’t it? That’s what Instagram and TikTok have done.

cf: And the more palatable something is, the more successful it’ll be. But even if something I posted went viral tomorrow and I got a million followers, by next week it would be something else. You’ve got to make something sustainable. A lot of people don’t realise that. Now, being an artist is seen as cool, same as musicians. Now, everyone and their Nan is making art. I think art should be for everyone, I fully agree. But a lot of people aren’t making art because they need to make art, they’re making it to post it and get a million likes.

a: And just because you can make art doesn’t mean you should be sharing it all the time, either. If you’re putting it out there for the wrong reasons, then maybe you shouldn’t. It just ends up drowning out other artists, the ones exposing and breaking down things happening in society, and I don’t just mean that in the obvious sense either.

cf: Exactly. And even with art now, it’s just become a business, like everything else.

a: That’s what’s sad. The algorithm decides whose work deserves to be seen.

cf: Who’s worthy of attention.

a: It mirrors the real world, too.

cf: Yeah. The billionaires, like Zuckerberg and Meta, are literally deciding. Instagram has, more than anything else, really killed art. Not completely, I’m not trying to be all negative, because it is amazing that everyone can access and share their work. But it’s also ruined stuff. We’ve all said it before, but it’s just frustrating that as artists, designers, musicians, any creative person, we have to think about the algorithm. I don’t want to think about it, but I have to.

a: Do you think the anonymity thing has gone too far? Like, people are hopping on that now because they think it’ll work? I feel like I’ve seen lore become so popularised— like with 2Hollis. He’s in his slutty era now, but he used to be mysterious.

cf: Yeah, and that’s such a good example. That [male] privilege still exists, and it’s so clear in the creative industries. What’s weird is that these scenes are all so left-wing and feminist on the surface. I just don’t want my face to be my brand. But I’m not intentionally hiding anymore either.

a: I think it’s interesting too, in the wider sense, that as soon as a detection of not being a white man is apparent, those labels, those narratives are pushed onto you, whether they’re spoken about or not.

cf: Why can’t we just be known for being good? And sometimes it is important, but only if you want it to be. It shouldn’t be the first thing people assign to you.

a: Right. Because art is inherently political. Fashion too. People act like they’re open-minded, but Instagram is an echo chamber. It’s probably made us more shallow.

cf: Even I catch myself being shallow, and I hate that. But Instagram has done it so gradually. That’s what’s scary. None of us really noticed.

a: I think COVID amplified it too. It made people hyper-online. It just intensified everything.

cf: I feel less connected to people when I’m online.

a: I think we’re all realising that now. After three or four years of being chronically online, people want out.

cf: Yeah. I’ve been trying to figure that out too, like, how can I make Cold F33t less online? Even just travelling with the work, doing shows in different countries. That excites me. I want to focus on things that actually nourish me, and others. Some of the best experiences I’ve had weren’t online. There was this girl at a pop-up I did at Waste, and she told me she loved my work. We ended up having this really sweet heart-to-heart, and what struck me is that it was a woman, saying she connected with my work. And that meant so much more than any number of likes ever could. Also, men at these things never really approach me, one time some guys kept going up to our friend and being like, “Oh, are you Cold F33t?” And he was like, “No, she’s over there.” It’s so funny.

a: Even with anonymity, people assume that if someone’s doing really well, it must be a man.

cf: Exactly. And there’s also an element where, because I’m a queer woman and sometimes I present more androgynous or masculine, it’s like I get a pass. Do you know what I mean? Not that they necessarily know I’m gay, but there’s that tomboy thing where people are more accepting of women who aren’t super feminine, but it’s still through a masculine lens. Power’s still tied to masculinity. Meanwhile, a lot of these guys can just be themselves online and never think about any of this. For us, it’s political. There’s always something to navigate. Like... what does it even mean?

a: Do you ever feel like you want revenge?

cf: Yes! I don’t know what form that would take though.

a: Have you ever thought about what you'd do if you could get revenge on someone? Boil their bunny?

cf: Yeah, boil their bunny! Airbrush their face! [laughs] I think the best revenge is just showing that you can do anything you want. So, yeah, I guess my version of revenge is just... doing it anyway. Showing them I can beat them at their own game.

a: Last question, what was the last dream you had?

cf: Oh, I’ve had some weird ones recently. This one though, was from the other night. I was in this weird kind of house complex, it felt very GTA vibes, and I had to escape because there were people after me. The whole time I felt like, “I have to get away, I have to escape.” The people chasing me had weapons, and I was genuinely scared. Then, at one point, I was hiding behind this wall and I had this really rare moment of awareness where I thought, “Wait, this is my dream. I can control what happens.” It wasn’t full-on lucid dreaming. But I just had this thought like, “It’s my dream, I have control.” So I kept running. Then I teamed up with this random guy. And this is where it got creepy. I found out he’d been obsessed with me since childhood. Apparently, we were pen pals as kids. I found this chest of letters and photos that I had sent him when I was younger — it was really weird and stalkerish. We fell into a ditch at one point, and the enemies were right there. I panicked and said, “No, no, I’m one of you!” And they believed me. So they took me to wherever they were based, and suddenly I was in this new town. It turned into something that felt like a school trip, then I was in a museum, and my dance teacher from secondary school was there.

a: This is a loaded dream.

cf: I know! My dance teacher from secondary school was there, even though I didn’t take GCSE dance, she used to go on all the school trips. In the dream, she was super calm but saying, “We need to escape.” We started walking up these stairs, and that’s when I think I woke up.

a: So you were saved by your dance teacher?

cf: Yep, saved by my GCSE dance teacher. So random. But I’ve been playing loads of GTA and rewatching Breaking Bad, and I just finished rewatching The Sopranos this week. So I think my brain is just... chaos.

Cold F33t’s book Feeling Lucky? is available to buy here

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