Photographer Christoph Bangert Captures the Absurdity of Modern Warfare

Major General Joseph J. Taluto, center, commander of the 42nd Infantry Division, speaks in front of one of Saddam Hussein's palaces during a ceremony marking the events of September 11, 2001. The 42nd Infantry Division was created by General Douglas MacArthur in 1917. Drawing from National Guard units from 26 different states, MacArthur said that the unit would "stretch over the whole country like a rainbow." September 11, 2005, Forward Operating Base Danger, Tikrit, Iraq. All photos by Christoph Bangert (Laif/Camera Press)

Christoph Bangert's last book, War Porn, utilized horrific images (some so brutal that they were sealed within perforated sections a determined reader had to tear open) to highlight the sanitation of much of the media coverage of conflict we see.

Having taken on the darker issues surrounding war reporting and our perceptions of conflict, his new book, Hello Camel, exposes the surreal and blackly comic side of today's wars, a facet of conflict he feels is as important, and as little shown, as the horror he highlighted in War Porn.

VICE: How did the images in Hello Camel come together? I assume that these are more a collection of photos taken over time, during your day-to-day work, which grew into a cohesive series, rather than being a project you actively set out to make happen?
Christoph Bangert: It was a little of both, actually. I think, in the beginning, a lot of these pictures happened by accident, or were taken in passing. I would see these strange or absurd moments and I would just, you know, take pictures—as I would of everything else that I see. After a while I realized that they were accumulating, and so I started to search for these moments. Moments that would show this idea that I had in my head by then about the sense of absurdity in war. The sense of disorientation or surprise.

A lot of your work is more what people may call "traditional" war photography. The sort of images people would expect, rather than these ludicrous moments collected in the book. Was there a definite point at which you decided you had to do a project that showed this side of war?
It happened after I published my last book, War Porn, which was all about the horror of war. I realized that there are two very important aspects of war that are completely underrepresented. They are the absolute horror, the unspeakable madness of it, which we rarely see in published photography, and then the other, equally important aspect is the absurdity. The second side is not represented because it's confusing for the viewer and these sorts of images can be very dangerous—no publication wants to be seen as making fun of war. Of course, I am not trying to do that either. But I think that everybody who has experienced war would find it completely natural and normal to explore these two aspects—the madness and horror is just as true and real as the bizarre and the absurd. Both ideas are very hard to translate into something that normal people at home who don't have experience of war can relate to. So in that way, both War Porn and Hello Camel are dangerous—they could backfire.

Was that a big concern for you? How explicit did you feel you had to be to avoid accusations of triviality?
It is a worry. I am of course concerned that people could do exactly that and feel like I am trivializing these very serious events. But I think people will get it, if they look carefully at the book. All the reactions I have had so far have been thoughtful. People sense that I am not trying to make fun of war or take funny photos. The idea is to go far beyond that.

War is, unfortunately, an everyday event for us, it's happening all the time and sadly it's nothing special. Now, that doesn't make it less horrific; in fact, it makes it more horrific. That was the idea I wanted to convey. And I think people understand that. I am not trying to make people think the way I think. It's just an offer. The great thing about photography is that it's very much a wide-open medium: I can show the same work to all sorts of people and they will have different reactions. I can't control how people react.

There's a sense in the book that the feeling of ludicrousness you have on your side of the camera is also being shared by some of the subjects of the photos. Was that a feeling you got from the people in the photos too?
Absolutely. That is something that divides those who have experienced war and those who have not. We "normal people" expect war to be this dramatic event, this fight between good and evil, a mixture of both honor and misery—but dramatic! And of course it's not dramatic; it's either quite horrific or quite strange. It's weird, surprising, and layered. Often you think you know what's going on, but you don't—you have no idea. A lot of soldiers, and also civilians, in these photos were very aware that what they were going through was not only probably one of the most difficult times of their lives, but also truly absurd. It made no sense at all.

What's your feeling, having worked documenting war in more "straightforward" reportage—and having covered it in ways that are rather untraditional with these two books—about the role of conflict photography today?
I think that the core reason to be there as a foreign photographer is still the same. Our job is to document what we see, to be honest and thorough in our reporting. There's no objectivity, but we should try to be honest and true to our own version of the events we witness. That's not changed, and it's a very old fashioned journalistic ideal, in a way. But I think we also have to make an effort to find a language, a visual language, that interests and that really intrigues people. We cannot continue showing people the same images of war over and over and over again, because people will go numb. If it's all dramatic pictures of men firing Kalashnikovs, of explosions, then what's the point? What do we learn from that, if we just repeat the same images that people know already and that they expect? We have to find an angle that is surprising and different, but which also carries the meaning of these events, the complete picture, even if it is troubling or complicated or layered. Sometimes it takes a book to convey these things; it can't be done in a Facebook post.

What do you hope people will take away from Hello Camel?
My hope is that when people look at it, their own expectations of images of war will change a bit. That people will recognize that these events are complicated and layered and that we have to find ways to visualize that.

Another important part of the book is the idea that people have this incredible ability to find normality in these extraordinary circumstances. People decorate their homes or barracks, they hang posters. We have this great strength as human beings to find normality—even beauty—in these situations. I think what we long for is order—we want order even if everything around us is chaos and death. The photos in the book are very orderly; that's the way I took them. It's almost as if something inside me also reacted to this chaos and I too was searching for some sort of order. That happened intuitively; it wasn't planned. I'm not a conceptual artist—I react to things I find.

You can purchase Hello Camel on Christoph Bangert's website.

An Afghan civilian employee of the American military helps facilitate party games during Independence Day celebrations for American soldiers and civilian contractors at Forward Operating Base Fenty. Foreign armies depend heavily on local employees working as translators, construction workers and cleaners. The workers risk their lives by serving foreigners, and are often threatened by insurgent groups for doing such work. July 4, 2013, Jalalabad, Nangahar, Afghanistan.

A cardboard toilet is set up by German soldiers of Charly Platoon, Company 2, Mechanized Infantry Battalion 92 near a temporary fighting position in the open desert. The German Bundeswehr might be the only force on earth that brings toilets to a battle. September 28, 2011, Nawabad, Kunduz, Afghanistan.

Iraqi Army soldiers create a human pyramid during a graduation ceremony at Kirkush Military Training Base. Between 2004 and 2014, the US provided the Iraqi Army with an estimated $25 billion in training and equipment. Despite this, the Iraqi Army was unable or unwilling to halt the advance of ISIS fighters, who took control of large parts of Northern Iraq, including Iraq's second largest city, Mosul. May 3, 2005, Kirkush, Diyala, Iraq.

A lavish wedding at the Alwiyah Club in Baghdad. The wedding is the creation of May Nuri, a professional wedding planner. Even during the worst of times, with car bombs going off on a daily basis in central Baghdad and horrific sectarian violence gripping the city, huge weddings and festivities still took place. September 30 2005, Baghdad, Iraq.

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Here’s What We Want from ‘Resident Evil 7’

Here, give us a kiss

It's public knowledge that Capcom has its next title in the Resident Evil series just about ready to unveil—and no, I'm not talking about Umbrella Corps, the imminent multiplayer shooter based on the franchise. I mean proper, main-series Resi, meaning that Capcom's announcement to come will almost certainly be about Resident Evil 7. Chances are that this confirmation will take place at E3 in June. That's the most obvious place for it, anyway.

And you should be very excited about this news, as Resident Evil is a series that has a couple of genuine masterpieces to its name. Resi 4 is regularly singled out as the preeminent third-person action game, while Capcom's 2002 remake of the 1996 original remains one of the most pants-shitting experiences in gaming history.

But Resi's also seen its share of disappointments. Capcom's showed this weird tendency to slowly water down the series, getting further away from the horror core that made the first game, and its initial follow-up, so brilliant. The second game was great, but Resident Evil 3? And don't get me started on Code: Veronica or Zero. After the terrific Resi 4, Resident Evil 5 felt like a very definite step in the wrong direction, an accomplished action title but generic with it, and the three-part Resident Evil 6 suffered for two-thirds of its campaign being, well, kind of boring, basically.

Hiyaaaaaaaargh

Resi 4 felt like a revolution, breathing new life into the franchise and inspiring a legion of pretenders in its wake. And that's what Capcom's famous series needs for its seventh numbered installment. Here's what I want to see in the game, and if you're any kind of Resi fan, you will, too.

Stand Your Ground

Being able to move while you shoot in a Resident Evil game was a stupid idea, a concession to a bunch of fools who thought they knew better than Shinji fucking Mikami. Post-Resi 4, you have games like Gears of War—completely different games, but ones that made people think that Resident Evil was a lesser series because you didn't have that same freedom of movement. Everyone who thought that way: idiot.

Having to plant yourself in the ground to pop off a round in Resident Evil 4 was a brilliant design decision. You have to commit to your attack, stick your feet and start picking your shots. It ramps up the tension with every missed bullet, every time you have to reload, because the Ganado horde is relentless and keeps shambling towards you. Also, the fact that you're shooting over one shoulder gives you a blind spot, so you don't ever truly feel safe.

When it introduced the ability to move and shoot at the same time, Resi fumbled its way towards the action genre, forgetting its survival horror heritage. So please, whatever comes next, make sure it's rid of that run-and-gun nonsense.

Promotional imagery from 'Resident Evil 6,' illustrating the range of playable characters

No-Op

I know we all love co-op gaming, but listen to me—it killed the atmosphere when it was introduced in Resident Evil 5. Resi 4 was all the more exciting because you were completely isolated, on your own, and in a completely terrible situation. Okay, Ashley spent half the game running around with you, but she was AI-controlled and her biggest contribution to battles was the fact she got her head out of the way if you aimed your gun at her.

Put simply, if you're in a scary situation, it's made exponentially scarier if you're alone. When you've got someone with you, you're sharing the experience and easing the pressure. Look at the classics of the (survival) horror genre for inspiration—Silent Hill 2, Dead Space, P.T., and the first Resident Evil—all of them thrive on this fear of being alone in a terrifying place.

Both Resi 5 and 6 were designed with co-op play in mind, which means that levels were loaded with points that split you up for gameplay purposes, or large arena fights in lieu of a tailored, focused path through the game. When you're playing on single player, you're reliant on some pretty ropey AI partner to save the day when the going gets tough. And if the Terminator films taught me anything, it's we don't want them the computers to get any better than we are. So scrap them. Scrap all co-op play in the main Resi series. Cool? Cool.

Slow Down

Some of the best parts of Resident Evil are when you're exploring this creepy place, the audio and visuals combining to keep you on edge, uncomfortable about what could be behind the next door. And, rather than put you in some hellish, demonic landscape full of obvious horrors, the best survival horror games put you in awfully familiar settings. Silent Hill's empty streets and abandoned buildings, P.T.'s family home corridor, and, of course, the mansion in Resident Evil. All these games allow the atmosphere to build between moments of action—which is unlike the past two Resident Evil games, that rush you from set piece to set piece. Barring a couple of brilliant parts in Leon's campaign in Resident Evil 6, it's been a long while since Resi's main focus was this sort of slow-and-steady-and-now-I've-soiled-myself experience.

Now, I'm not asking for Resi to be turned into one of those so-called "walking simulators" you all argue about. God, no. The combat in Resident Evil 4 was far too good to be dumped completely, so a little of that in what comes next is A Good Thing. But, imagine a mansion with the depth of storytelling and atmosphere of something like Gone Home, only with the occasional corridor full of zombies for you to tear through? Finding out what exactly caused this outbreak through the environment, and slowly piecing together information about characters and plot as you cut about the place. Resident Evil 4's incredible opening battle as the Ganados lay siege the village is made all the more effective by sticking it after 20 minutes of gently building dread. And the longer that tease is, the more potent the explosion of violence or horror becomes.

A screenshot from 'Resident Evil 4'

Mikami or Bust

Shinji Mikami is obviously The Man when it comes to all things survival horror. Director on Resident Evil and its brilliant "REmake," as well as being responsible for revitalizing the series with Resident Evil 4, he knows what makes a survival horror game work. I remember an interview published in The Guardian where he likened, of all things, Colin McRae Rally to a survival horror game. Because that's just how he thinks. It's in his blood. Sure, 2014's The Evil Within, his last gig as director, had a couple of rough instant-fail stealth sections at the beginning and end; but the middle of that game was pure, brilliant survival horror. Every confrontation was a heart-pounding battle as you were had to manage your resources, pick your opportunities, and scrape through to the next horrible situation as best you could. Between fights, you were navigating a series of nightmarish environments, all of which leave you dreading what could be around the next corner.

For the second time in its history, Resident Evil has lost track of what made it great. Mikami is the man to put it right. Again.

'Resident Evil 5' took the story to Africa, and forgot to bring it home again

A Hard Reboot

Do you honestly know what is going on in the Resident Evil story right now? By the time it reached the end of Resident Evil 6 it'd become a complicated mess of silly viruses, super-villains, and other crap things that seem to be added purely to entertain people who enjoyed any one of the five genuinely terrible Resident Evil movies. (And there'll soon be a sixth. Fuck me.) The time's right for Resi to get rid of all of its "lore" and start again. No more Albert Wesker, no more Chris Redfield. Hell, no more Barry Burton. I know, I'm sorry. Get it all in the garbage.

The characters don't matter. The situations do, and the atmosphere, and the events. Really, here's all you need to successfully reboot Resident Evil:

A nefarious company pissing about with stuff they shouldn't.
An accident happens! Zombies appear!
You play as someone who happens to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
You must SURVIVE the HORROR.
Game wraps with some conspiracy chat that sets up the inevitable sequel.

There, pretty straightforward, no? Hopefully Capcom has the bottle to go through with this, because they've been burned before by the scalding piss thrown their way when they had the gall to redesign Dante and reboot Devil May Cry (which turned out to be awesome, so fuck the haters). The company is acutely aware of the amount of entitled, whining babies that take to Twitter to complain about it no longer being "their" game.

You might look at this piece and read that it's been just that, actually. But it all comes from a sincere place, from someone who wants the best for this series, for it to matter again. The progression of Resi hasn't produced many awful games (we don't count Operation: Raccoon City, right?), but it's gotten to the stage where it needs a shake up. It needs fresh blood, ready to be infected with some new, never-before-seen horror. So what the hell: it's time for a REboot.

Follow Andi Hamilton on Twitter.

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How Self-Employment Can Impact Your Mental Health

Image: Dan Evans

This post originally appeared on VICE UK.

The highs and lows of your mental health may not define you, but they can certainly shape your life. Work, in particular, insistent and inflexible, is deeply bound up with how close to the edge you happen to be at any particular time.

I can trace my own life back in this way. I left home and started work at 17, having already had treatment for mental health issues. There's definitely a link between this, my 15 years of uncontrolled "self-medication," and the fact that, until I was 26, none of my means of income can be put in black and white on a résumé. After that, I worked full time in a bar for a few years. It wasn't until I was 30 that I began attempting a career in journalism.

Since then, with drinks and drugs demoted from daily to "recreational," I've steadily upped my dose of SSRIs as I've tried to keep the balance between sanity and earning a living. I managed nearly four years in an office but found it hard—I virtually stopped sleeping, meaning days at my desk felt as though I was on acid—so I decided to go freelance.

In this, I join many others who've decided that the relative flexibility and privacy of self-employment is the best option for managing mental health. And often, it is. The stress of deadlines and hustling new work, for me, pales in comparison to dealing with Other Human Beings when I'm anxious or depressed.

The trouble is, drumming up new work—be it pitching features or picking up fares for Uber—requires a degree of self-belief and togetherness. Drop below a certain threshold and it all falls apart. I've been there; feeling too shit to pitch anything, too mental to write. Like most people I know, I have no savings so I have to keep working to pay rent. I spent four months staying with a friend at the beginning of this year as I tried to get myself back on working track.

As of 2016, the UK has record numbers of self employed workers. An estimated 4.6 million—around 15 percent of the workforce—now work for themselves. Two-thirds of new jobs in the UK created in recent years belong to the self-employed.

But is this a brave new world of enthusiastic entrepreneurs, setting up mini empires from their kitchen tables? Not entirely. The Chartered Institute of Personnel and Development has described the new self-employed as "odd jobbers, desperate to avoid unemployment." An in-depth report by Co-operatives UK called them the "self-employed precariat."

According to the TUC, "Self-employment appears to be a key factor in the UK economy's shift towards low-paid work." Around half (49 percent) of the UK's self-employed are in low pay, compared to around a fifth of employees (22 percent).

Given that there's a growing crisis around mental health care, and knowing that poverty has a direct impact on wellness, it's inevitable that these upwards lines on the graph—self-employment, mental illness—will intersect.

Charlie, 41, says that, for her, work and mental health were "bound up in one another."

"I graduated from my PhD and found there were virtually no academic jobs in my field," she said. "I was left struggling on zero hours contracts. The effect on my finances was calamitous, and the stress of working so hard, with so little employment stability and so little income, led to anxiety and depression. This downward spiral continued over a period of three years, until I had a complete breakdown and attempted suicide."

By this time, Charlie's local authority had taken out a court order and sent bailiffs to her home to recover goods equivalent to her council tax arrears. "I began planning my own death again," Charlie says. Finally, she saw a sympathetic doctor and was referred to a crisis team. Through them, an advocacy worker from Mind helped her apply for benefits. She now receives ESA and PIP and is registered disabled.

Kate, 28, is a self-employed dog walker living in Essex, England. Her depression and anxiety has recently escalated.

"I just managed to keep working with my regular clients," Kate says. "But I had to drop out of a part-time course and I haven't managed to generate new business or do any promotion. I think my reputation has suffered as I've been scatty with getting back to people. I feel like I have so many plates to spin and have to keep on spinning them or everything is going to crash around me."

Kate is currently waiting for support from her local NHS counseling service.

Andy, 27, had set up his own business—a shop—when his mental health took a turn for the worse. "I had three months of not being able to do anything," he says. "I couldn't think or focus or do anything other than feel like my life was a pointless waste of time. I had to borrow money to pay bills and struggled continually to pay it back. I even resorted to payday lenders, which has left a long-term stain on my credit rating."

Other people I spoke to had similar stories. A therapist from the southwest was forced to live with her ex-husband again as her depression meant she was unable to work enough to cover costs. A painter and decorator from London said he has to just "push through," although "talking with clients can help."

People's outcomes vary. Andy got involved in amateur boxing and says it "helped my physical condition and that helped my mental state". Charlie says, "My mental health, although fragile, is better now than it's been in the last five years, but I have no career."

Mental health charity Mind says it's aware of the problem. "We know that money and mental health are linked," said Emma Mamo, Head of Workplace Wellbeing at Mind. "If you've just set up your own business, money is likely to be an issue while you're getting established. And if you're a freelancer, it can be difficult to get stability."

Mamo suggests basic self-care as a first step: make a conscious effort to schedule in relaxation time, take breaks, stop for lunch, get outside, try not to work stupidly long hours, work through tasks one at a time rather than flitting between things in panic. Get in touch with your doctor if you're not coping.

In London, Carmen D'Cruz, 30, has created a workshop on getting organized when you have depression or anxiety. Key, she says, is remembering you don't have to do everything: "Strip back those layers of fake obligations and unnecessary goals." Also, ask for support: "Friends, family; get them to help."

But the problem also needs to be tackled on the work side of the equation. Does it need to be this precarious, this poorly paid? According to Co-operatives UK, there's an urgent need for co-operatives, trade unions, and mutual organizations to "form cohesive institutions to unite the self-employed precariat."

Where the US, Denmark, the Netherlands, Germany, and Spain have growing unionization movements for the self-employed, in the UK, support is patchy. Unite, which covers industries including building, agriculture, and the service industry, told VICE it doesn't, as yet, have many self-employed members. GMB is likewise not focused on the self-employed, although it represents workers in similar positions, such as Addison Lee, Uber drivers, and people on zero-hour contracts.

Industry-specific unions may be more helpful. Tim Dawson, president of the National Union of Journalists (NUJ), said: "My anecdotal experience is that a considerable proportion of freelancers suffer some kind of mental or psychological issues All NUJ branches have a welfare officer who should be in a position to provide discreet advice and help. They can also provide access to the NUJ's charity, NUJ Extra, which helps scores of journalists with financial issues every year."

The number of freelancers is growing; there's been a permanent change in the way we work. It's time to create some new structures of support if we're going to pay our rent, meet deadlines, and avoid, if possible, completely losing our minds.

If you're self-employed and struggling with your mental health, you can get support from organizations like the National Alliance on Mental Illness or the Money and Mental Health Policy Institute.

Follow Frankie Mullin on Twitter.

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Chinese Students Are Throwing Textbooks Off Roofs to Protest Their Insanely Difficult Final Exam

Students taking the dreaded gaokao. Image via

In around a week, China's 10 million high school seniors will take the National College Entrance Exam—known as the gaokao. Every year, police set up road blocks around schools to ensure exam rooms are silent while students take six tests—covering everything they've learned over the year—over just two days.

The gaokao, which means "big test" in Mandarin, is incredibly competitive. It determines which university a student gets into and in turn, whether or not he or she can get a good job. In a country with a huge focus on academia, and while competing against millions of other students, the pressure to succeed is immense.

In response to the pressure, students have been known to tear up textbooks while waiting between exams and throwing them off school buildings in a form of cathartic protest. In fact, the practice is so common that China's Xiamen Education Bureau has recently had to ban it.

While state media CCTV brushed these "confetti parties" off as an "unconventional measure of blowing off steam," the education bureau believes schools aren't doing enough to address the stress of the gaokao. Now all high schools in Xiamen must provide students with psychological support.

A "confetti party" in a Chinese high school. Image via Facebook

David, a Chinese student studying at Melbourne's Monash University, says he never ripped up his books, but describes how stressed he was during exams. "I had no time to relax. I went to school Monday to Friday, then an educational institution on the weekends to help me study," he says. "I rarely had days off for the whole year. I don't think anyone has time for rest."

The tests are so strict, one misstep can mean a student ruins his or her chances of getting into college. "One student didn't make it to the exam because of a traffic jam in the morning," David recalls. "I heard that another miswrote their student ID and got a zero as a result."

Cheating is also a big problem. To prevent students smuggling smartphones into exam rooms, schools have installed CCTV and metal detectors. One hall in the Henan province even uses a drone with radio scanners to monitor students during the gaokao.

Students waiting to enter the exam hall.

Cici, another Monash student, also described the gaokao as a battlefield. "There are no good times in the year leading up to the exam, only bad times," she says. "It decides your future and your life. Everyone is incredibly nervous."

"I sat mine on a really hot summer's day. They closed all the windows and turned the air-con off during the dictation section, so students could hear the tape, but it was so hot—I could hardly breathe afterwards," Cici explains. "You can definitely feel the pressure in the air."

The stress of the gaokao has been criticized for encouraging a culture of cramming and pushing students to their limits. It's even been linked with clinical depression and suicide.

Exam monitors keeping a close eye on students

Gloria, who has many friends who took the gaokao back in China, explained that students will do up to 200 practice exams to study for the test. They will be reminded every day by their teachers how long they have left to study. For some, the pressure can be too much.

"Some students redo the whole year if they don't get into the uni they want. It's a lot of pressure on the family and yourself," she says. "I've heard some people have committed suicide."

Given how high these stakes are, it seems "gaokao fatigue" is slowly sweeping China. In Beijing, participation numbers have halved over the last decade. David says students were being put off by the amount of pressure surrounding the exam—they just can't cope while their chance of success is so small.

Students hold massive rallies before the exams to boost morale. Image via

Despite all the hours he put in, David says he wasn't even close to getting into his dream university. "No, absolutely not," he says. "It's so competitive for so many, and that makes it so difficult."

According to the Global Times, many Chinese students are opting for less prestigious courses at universities with lower intake scores or choosing to study overseas. In Australia, Flinders University, the University of Western Australia, and Monash are all taking students on their gaokao scores.

Cici says this is a good thing because it relieves some of the pressure on students. "It definitely gives us another option," she explains. "I've learned that the standards are not set as high in Australia compared to China, so it gives us another chance."

Follow Scott Renton on Twitter.

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I Took LSD, Coke, and Edibles on the Job to See How They'd Affect My Work

Did you already know that bankers love cocaine? I'm assuming you did, because it's become a well-trodden cliché: the idea of modern society's great villains doing gargantuan lines off marble cisterns while gambling away our futures, comparing the wool quality of their suits, and being extremely terrible human beings.

However exaggerated these tropes may be, there's no doubt there's a slice of truth to the coke cliché. "Cocaine just numbs you and makes you do things at super speed," said Phillipe*, a junior portfolio manager at a top tier European bank. "It's like you start realizing all the stuff you need to do and it just starts getting done."

I spent over a year working on the lowest rung of the banking structure, further from the prying eyes of the FCA but still at the table: the beloved call center. Far from the near-mythic and heavily powdered Canary Wharf super-villains, a surprising number of regular customer service schmucks like myself were using cocaine to get through the day.

Bear in mind, we weren't exactly on cocaine wages. But perhaps it's an aspirational thing: dress for the job you want and take the drugs you want to one day comfortably afford. One line manager in particular seemed to be a veteran. He was a short, bald man whose intensity was so pronounced it was hard to tell how much of it was cocaine-induced (although I'm guessing a good 30 percent). I'd also overhear the obligatory jingling of keys in cubicles and a fair bit of telltale sniffing, though some had a little more tact, using cards instead of keys and flushing toilets as they snorted.

As far as I could tell, most of my colleagues' use was a response to the demanding nature of the industry. For me, it was boredom, hatred of the job, and an interest in chemical experimentation. To that end, I tried a few other substances between the hours of nine and five, and have detailed their effects below (SPOILER: doing drugs at work is a waste of drugs. Aside from the obvious health risks, cost, and the fact that office cubicles aren't a great location for mind expansion, being caught doing something illegal at work is a very quick route to unemployment).

MODAFINIL

A packet of modafinil. Photo by Hannah Ewens

The student favorite. A relatively cheap drug than can be easily ordered online, it comes with a clear-headed stimulation and none of the nervous, wired side effects of amphetamine, or the shit-chatting qualities of cocaine. Many tout its mood-lifting effects, its ability to improve cognition, and (weirdly) the fact it supposedly makes your hearing better. It also has an incredibly dedicated fanbase, so if you're into boring conversations with strangers, it has the added benefit of introducing you to the thousands of modafinerds on Reddit who'll talk to you about doses and brand names and all the stuff you'd otherwise google.

Some claim modafinil has no side effects, but this is likely because there haven't yet been any long-term studies conducted on it. Myself and others experienced a strange cold sensation. There was also some brief, mild nausea for me—which may have been because I forgot about the concept of eating every time I took it. However, it did give me a peculiarly strong desire to get stuck into work.

PRESCRIPTION AMPHETAMINE (RITALIN)

Ritalin is essentially kiddie coke. It's somewhat safer, a little cheaper, and way more discrete, as you don't have to lock yourself in a cubicle every half hour. Side effects may include headaches, shakiness, and an uncomfortable awareness of the speed of your heart. As for work, I found myself able to blast through calls with a feverish attention to detail. However, this intensity also extended to discussing Lynne's* standing orders to her "ungrateful grandsons," or researching the match statistics for lower league football clubs I'd never even heard of before that specific day.

LSD

Photo by Troy Farah

Microdosing—the practice of taking sub-perceptual doses of psychedelics—is not new in the workplace. Used by various scientists in the 1960s, acid has been a contributing factor to an array of significant human advances. Francis Crick credits his Noble Prize-winning work on the structure of DNA to his experience with the drug. It was used by Hollywood's elite for therapy and a recent breakthrough using brain scans has revitalized its potential again. At a lower threshold, the drug provides a stimulating effect that's less physically harmful than traditional amphetamines. In Silicon Valley it's proven popular for improved insight and problem solving.

One day I decided to consume a slither of a tab (roughly 25 micrograms) before work in the hope it would give me this clarity of mind. By some miracle I wasn't tethered to the phone for too long before I was called into a brainstorming meeting to discuss ways the call center could be improved. I found myself articulating some solid plans to increase efficiency and reduce call waiting times. The rest of the day was spent in a reasonably good mood; I was able to concentrate and perform to a high level.

That said, I can see how this could go horribly wrong. Albert Hoffman didn't call his book LSD, My Problem Child for nothing. The response of psychedelics in different people is overwhelmingly variable. I was able to hold it together at this dose, but yearned to be outside in the sun or doing literally anything else than discussing how to increase efficiency in a call center.

VALIUM

Being the representative for a bank and all the shitty things they do can take its toll. Sedatives really smoothed out the irritation of being told to go fuck myself, and allowed me to perform tasks in a cool, collected way. However, its danger lies in its discretion: take it for more than five consecutive days and you could develop a dependency, and withdrawal from valium can give you an array of contradictory symptoms, like heightened anxiety and irritability. My experience working on it resulted in increasingly sleepy post-lunch slumps and missing my stop on the bus home a few times.

WEED (EDIBLES)

This was a fucking terrible idea. I'd taken a hash oil capsule around 45 minutes before I was due to stop for lunch so I could enjoy the high on my break. And I did. I went to the shops, stocked up on those sickly Thorntons caramel chews, and chowed down for the allotted 60 minutes before returning to work, smug, and scent-free. Then, as I stepped back into the climate-controlled environment, I realized how wildly, paranoia-inducingly high I was. As did two of my colleagues, one of whom pulled me aside and berated me for my appearance (it looked like someone had tattooed the whites of my eyes red). I was able to perform at my job, but I don't ever want to put myself through that torturous level of anxiety ever again.

COCAINE

Concentration is improved and fatigue is fought. Talking is effortless and obnoxiously enthusiastic. However, I found it much harder to hold my temper with difficult customers. The re-dose time is way too frequent if you're tied to your phone with strict time logs and persistent line managers. The signs are obvious. The price is high. The health risks are higher. It makes you take up smoking again. One day, I forgot I had a driving lesson straight after a cocaine-filled workday. I was impulsive, erratic, and just a fucking dangerous idiot on the roads. Then there's the niggling, insatiable desire in the back of your mind that you could probably just do with a little bit more right now. And now. And now.

Again, taking drugs at work is a terrible waste of drugs, and a quick way to radically dent your life expectancy. Working to live is hard enough on our bodies; don't let the weekend spill over.

*Names have been changed

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We Asked Young Farmers How They Feel About the Rest of the World Stealing Their Look

The cast of 'Peaky Blinders.' Photo: BBC

Modern fashion is weird. We don't have the generational identifiers previous decades had: we're not hippies, mods, punks, or breakdancers like people were in the olden times. Instead, we're all of those things, mixed up and amalgamated: a pair of flares here, some Stan Smiths there.

Take, for example, an item like the humble flat cap. It's classically seen as the go-to headwear for working class caricatures like Del Boy, Andy Capp, and Guy Ritchie, or worn more practically by farmers, clay pigeon shooters, and other countryside folk. But since the arrival of BBC drama Peaky Blinders, the flat cap has started to rub shoulders with wearers of snapbacks, bucket hats, and Carhartt beanies as the must-have item to cover up your terrible haircut.

That's according to Holly Clark, a men's accessories buyer at John Lewis, who said: "This year we have seen the flat cap booming in popularity, undoubtedly thanks to the return of BBC2 's Peaky Blinders. Sales have continued to rocket as the series progresses, peaking at +83 percent compared to last year, the week that the third episode aired."

But what about the people who have always worn flat caps, those country-dwellers who've always had their bonce covered in tweed, rain or shine, but mostly rain? What do they think of all these trendy city bastards stealing their look and frolicking in beer gardens and taking their trendy city drugs in their traditional hat of choice? We asked a few to find out.

Miles, 28

Photo courtesy of Miles.

VICE: What do you think about the sudden rise in popularity of flat caps? Are you furious?
Miles: They've been a very traditional thing to wear in the countryside for years when you're doing country pursuits. I always wear mine for shooting and when I'm out and about taking the dog for a walk, for instance. They are comfy and are surprisingly warm—plus they keep the rain off. Nowadays you see them being worn a lot more in rural areas, even on nights out.

But how do you feel about your style being appropriated like that?
I've grown up with it, to be honest, and it's always been the thing to wear in the countryside—it's the accepted form of cap. That with a Barbour, your favorite pair of matching tweed plus fours and your chateau boots. I wouldn't wear one out and about in Manchester or London, though.

Why not?
I think one may get a few funny looks and perhaps punched in a city for being seen to go shooting. However, in Lancashire and Yorkshire it's accepted.

Fair play, but the caps you wear are all the rage now because of Peaky Blinders, the show on TV. Do you watch it?
Yeah, I've seen it. They wear it with a different style, if you get me.

What do you think of people who wear it in that different style?
I'm not sure, really. I think of gangsters and stuff.

What's your favorite cap you own?
I have a Schoffel tweed cap I like in a Blenheim tweed, and another tweed Barbour one.

Oli, 32

Photo courtesy of Oli

VICE: What do you think about everyone wearing flat caps all of a sudden?
Oli: It's not the worst hat trend, I suppose. More practical than Pharrell's hat and smarter than the baseball cap. And you're more likely to be trusted by the elderly and the gentry with one on.

How do you feel about your style being stolen by all these trendy city people?
It depends what they match it with, I suppose. I wouldn't really call it my style, though—more headwear handed down from father to son. So it's actually quite nice that Shoreditch wankers are looking to be more like my dad.

Are you a fan of Peaky Blinders?
Yes, I do watch Peaky Blinders. I think it's marvelous. It's a nice look—very of the time, I suppose: smart, grubby chic. Although I wouldn't go all out on an outfit like that myself.

So why do you wear flat caps? You mentioned it being a hereditary thing?
As a kid I wore flat caps because my old man did. I must have looked a little like a Victorian chimney sweep at times. But my dad was a country dwelling type of bloke and shot things and sat in pubs with farmers. So I wanted to be like him and his mates.

Do you think they look cool in general?
Hmm. Generally, no.

Why?
I find they make good cover when it's cold. Or to hide Sunday bed hair down at the pub. My mate says I look like a fat old record collector when I wear mine, though. I think it's definitely a hat of the trip-hop generation as well. I bet people who work at Ninja Tune have a flat cap or two.

Izzy, 28

Photo courtesy of Izzy

VICE: What do you think about the sudden rise in flat cap popularity?
Izzy: I think my granddad would be pissed off—he used to have one for every day of the week. In this picture I'm wearing his Sunday best. I grew up on a farm, and I'm pleased about it—it's a good look for a boy and a girl. I like hats—all hats apart from cowboy ones. They're shit.

Do you watch Peaky Blinders?
Nope. I don't have time for TV.

What do you think about people wearing flat caps because of a TV program?
I once dyed the front of my hair blonde like Ginger Spice after seeing her on TV, so who am I to judge?

How do you feel about them being trendy now? Like fashion people in London wearing them.
I didn't realize, to be fair. But now I think about it, it's making me angry.

Why?
Do they wear cords, too? And fucking waist coats?

Yep, I'm afraid so.
Yeah, I'm not a fan. They would be shit-scared meeting some rum old Norfolk boy down a pitch black footpath at night wearing a flat cap.

Chris, 33

Photo courtesy of Chris.

VICE: Flat caps have apparently become really popular recently. How do you feel about that?
It's surprising. I doubt it's because of the practicality of them—I assume a celeb somewhere started it, or a hipster. But hey, they are comfortable and practical—that's why I wear mine.

It's actually because of the show Peaky Blinders. Do you know it?
I know it. Not got around to watching it yet, though.

How do you feel about people appropriating your farmer style like this?
If someone wears something because they like it or they feel drawn to it, great. If they are wearing it because other people are doing it and they want to be "edgy," then they need to evaluate their life choices.

What about you? Why do you wear them?
I began wearing one because I was spending an increasing amount of time around the shooting community. There is a certain dress code among the community; you're expected to perpetuate a certain image, for the sake of tradition. That's all good in my book. I'm pretty traditional at heart. I've never really been a fan of anything on my head, really, but when I started wearing my flat cap, it fitted.

Fair enough. What do you think about them now just being part of a trend? Does that bother you at all?
I'm very dismissive of fashion and trends in general. Trends will come and go, some fast, some slow. Maybe the flat cap is just a fleeting trend. Either way, I know I'll be wearing mine for the rest of my life.

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Photos from the Real Life Version of 'The Beach'

This article originally appeared on VICE Germany

Last year, photographer Rebecca Rütten spent three months in a secluded hostel on a tropical island, where a group of backpackers found their utopia. She documented the daily excesses of these scantily clad free spirits, predominantly from the western parts of the globe and privileged enough to be able to escape normal life for months at a time. Rebecca tried to keep her objective distance as a photographer, but obviously she didn't want to miss the party either. The only way to get close to her subjects was to become part of this group of hedonists who try to find the meaning of life by playing drinking games and fucking each other a lot.

She turned those months into a book called Never-Never Land, which starts out with idyllic shots of an untouched rainforest and a pig splashing in the sea. A next shot is one of two people sticking their butts in the camera, freshly tattooed with the question "¿POR QUÉ NO?" ("why not?"). Rebecca is vague about the hostel's exact location, because she wants to protect it from a flood of visitors.

I spoke to Rebecca about how the series came about.

VICE: So you ended up with a bunch of kids in this secluded paradise, cut off from the real world, getting fucked up in a possibly toxic group dynamic. Were you ever worried about what it would be like before you went to the hostel?
Rebecca Rütten: I wasn't, actually. My first time at this particular hostel was in January 2014. Everyone was dressed up, the music was good and loud, the people were exciting, and everything seemed so intense. There was a real sense of community. For Never Never Land, I went back to see if this lifestyle really is as carefree as it looks. But I should have questioned the excesses I noticed even when I was there for that short period the first time.

When reading your diary entries, it's clear that you're losing more of your objective distance every day.
The fact that it was a photo project was always in the back of my mind, but it was difficult to maintain my distance. The internet was only working intermittently, so I had very little contact with my friends and family. Many of the guests had been there for a longer time, and the rules were immediately established with newcomers. It was important to belong. Everyone participated in the drinking games and of course casual sex was encouraged too. That all added to that sort of cabin fever the group had.

How did you capture everything when you weren't ever sober yourself?
I always had my little camera in my bag. Capturing everything was hard because I also wanted to be part of it and enjoy it. I stopped enjoying it when I started seeing how repetitive it all was. And I saw more and more people who just weren't doing well and seemed to be trying to numb their feelings. Which is not very different from what's happening in your average club on a Saturday night—people sometimes just want to lose their minds.

Rebecca

The hostel seems to be deep in the rainforest, what's that like?
It's tropical—there are crazy amounts of scorpions, parrots, and monkeys. I stepped on a boa constrictor once. The scenery was incredible, but it was also definitely dangerous. People in a fucked up state would start annoying the animals. And it was so isolated and in such a part of the world that you can't just drive over to a hospital if something happens to you. Most of the guests would just take lots of pain killers and hope that whatever was wrong with them would go away.

Can you tell me a little about the handwritten diary entries we can see in the book?
I asked some interesting characters I met there some questions about their lives and asked them to write their responses in my diary. It's amazing how naively some of them considered their time there. They wrote things like "This was the best experience of my life," and then in the pictures you see people throwing up and shoving their scrotum in someone's face.

A guest entry from Rebecca's diary. It reads: "For it to be important it must have worth, for it to have worth we must gain something. What do we gain from travelling? Understanding. Knowledge. Removal of external influences that cloud our personal truths. REALIZATION."

How do feel about backpacking after this experience?
I ask myself why it's primarily white middle class kids trying to build these escapist utopias in developing countries, while not involving the local population. Why do they choose to go to these politically weak countries—just because the weather's great? Or is it because they feel no one is going to bother them?

Backpacking used to be my religion—I thought it was the only true way of life. But I'm more critical of it now. When I travel, I'm looking for exchanges with people and things that I don't understand yet—I want to get out of my bubble. The hostel is a bubble.

You can see Rebecca's other work on her website or on Instagram.

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