Caracas, the capital of Venezuela, is known for being a cosmopolitan city; the cradle of some of the greatest artists, politicians, writers and academics Venezuela has ever seen. Beyond the elitist face of the city, as evidenced by its massive mansions and big golf courses, the city has a rawer face often looked down on by the [wealthier classes] (https://www.vice.com/es/article/5gvae3/la-escena-changa-tuki-de-caracas). I am referring to the Tuki, a subculture risen from slums in the early 2000s. The origin of their name is an onomatopoeia from “Tuki Tuki”, derived from the heavy and energetic bass of their music. This group is the truest reflection of Caracas, directly contrasting the city’s image as a highly refined and academic metropolis.

The Tuki are the creators of Changa Tuki, also known as Raptor House, a dance and music genre that is the result of the combination of House and Caribbean Guaguanco. They can be spotted by their neon skinny jeans, fake jordans, bright highlights and bleached mustaches. Their flashy looks openly reveal and embrace their queerness at its best.

Being from Caracas myself, it has always been evident to me that the Tuki are a landmark of Venezuela — but they have been negatively stigmatized and discriminated against for breaking the mold.

Their looks and style break the barriers of traditional gender and go against what Venezuelans consider [conventional] (https://www.instagram.com/p/CWogkusrrhI/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link), neat looks with designer pieces — characteristic of the wealthier classes. “The Tuki are like the punk of Venezuela,” stated Venezuelan designer Alejandro Garcés in an interview to The Gazelle.

Moreover, as they originated from the poorer areas of Caracas, many of them have been involved in vandalism and crime to survive the rough reality of living in slums. “We had to do bad things to find the money to go to Marines [Tuki mid-day parties],” said Elbert El Maestro, Raptor house dancer in the movie “¿Quién Quiere Tuki?”. The term Tuki has consequently been used contemptuously as a synonym for criminals.

Nonetheless, thanks to Venezuelan brands like Garcés’ Garzez, this is changing.

Garzez is giving visibility to the Tuki through fashion, which has been done effectively in editorials for Infringe and appearances in Vogue. Garcés put the Tuki and their aesthetics back on the mainstream. “My vision is to give the Tuki visibility, to humanize them so we can understand them and add value to their style,” said the founder and creative director of the brand.

After living abroad and studying documentary film, Garcés came back to Venezuela with a different perspective; the idea of starting to value the pop culture of his country. “This work for me is about identities and collective identities… it is an investigation about the contemporaneity of Venezuela '' added the artist, highlighting that with his brand Garzez, he aims to give visibility to the urban aesthetic of Caracas beyond superficiality. “To understand how they [Tukis] translate the world… it is a rough reality that exists and needs to be acknowledged,” shared Garcés during the interview.

His brand has been gaining more visibility thanks to Venezuelan public figures like Arca, who is a producer and DJ. Arca has collaborated with artists like Ye and Frank Ocean and is one of the most well-known figures of the Venezuelan queer and Tuki communities. Garcés uses his platform to reveal the diversity of Venezuela. “We chose a dark-skinned model, which would never be considered for modeling, and used them as the image for our latest campaigns, to give visibility and show that this is actually how most people look like'' said Garcés during the interview.

During the interview, Garcés stated that although he has been seen as a brand for political activism by taking common logos of political parties and redesigning them in a satirical manner for his works, he does not want to be associated with any political party or ideology. He also said that he considers his brand a platform that advocates for the inclusion, representation and validation of the queer community in Venezuela.

Garcés’ works explore fashion as an anthropological project that humanizes those seen as inferior to others, like the Tuki. During the interview, Garcés emphasized that he aims to promote sympathy among Venezuelans and help show that the Tuki’s woes are a result of the rough circumstances living in slums which have worsened as a result of our economic crisis. He emphasized the need for support and sympathy between Venezuelans regardless of their social classes. As Garcés stated, “If we all just understand and humanize each other, all our problems would be easier to solve.”

Garcés is optimistic that his creations are having a positive impact, mainly on the younger generation in Venezuela, who seem to be more open-minded and embracing of their queerness. Younger people seem to appreciate his art, and that of other Venezuelan artists with similar projects.

Artists like Garcés are the driving force behind an artistic effort pushing for placing the cultures of marginalized and negatively stigmatized groups endemic to Caracas back on the mainstream. As Venezuelans, we have long overlooked the essence and richness of our own urban tribes in an attempt to imitate Western aesthetics, which are regarded as more refined. Starting to give visibility to our own real urban essence is the first step towards claiming and embracing our real and diverse identities.

To support this artistic scene, make sure to follow @garzez on Instagram.