Baddies, Villaincore, Syndikidz
Some say Bonnie and Clyde were the first outlaws to attract a fan following. Others point to the sultry femme fatales of the pulp era, who had their own devoted admirers. Still others argue that the allure of danger—the thrill of defiance—has existed as long as society itself. But whatever its origin, what had once been a quiet fascination exploded into a full-blown subculture in the 1970s.
And main stream American culture called them the Baddies.
The name Baddies was originally coined in the early 1970s by authority figures—cops, politicians, moral crusaders—trying to dismiss the growing subculture as childish, noisy, and not to be taken seriously. But the insult didn’t land the way they hoped. Instead, the very movement they meant to discredit wore it like a badge of honor. “Baddies” stuck, and the name became an anthem of rebellion.
But where did the Baddies come from? Why the sudden surge of romanticizing, emulating, and outright venerating not just outlaws, but supervillains?
It began with harsh truths and a slow, toxic erosion of trust.
1970s America was a pressure cooker of turmoil and controversy, culminating in a wave of public disillusionment with the U.S. government. The cracks were visible. Faith in the system faltered. And out of that rupture came a hungry, furious countercultural wave.
The Vietnam War was the tipping point. Among the troops deployed were a new breed of American super-soldiers—infamously known as The Cold War Batch. Handpicked, rigorously conditioned, and stripped of sentiment, these weren’t the brave, idealized heroes of WWII. They were weapons—manufactured assets from the start.
The Cold War Batch didn’t come home as war heroes. They came back haunted. Hollowed out. Reports leaked. Footage surfaced. Stories spread—of chemical treatments, psychological breakdowns, black-ops atrocities, and unapproved enhancements. The American people saw the cost of militarized superhuman power, and many didn’t look away. They looked deeper. They started asking the wrong questions. Or maybe the right ones.
The cracks widened, and resentment festered. Whistleblowers came forward. Leaks poured out. And the American public began to choke on the truth: behind the polished veneer of “freedom,” the intelligence community had been conducting horrors in the name of national security and Manifest Destiny.
The land of the free was treating its own citizens like lab rats.
People learned about Project MK-Ultra, a CIA program that dosed civilians and soldiers with LSD without consent, all in a quest for mind control. They read about Operation Midnight Climax, where sex workers were used to lure unsuspecting men into surveillance apartments—dosed, violated, and observed through one-way mirrors. Then came Project Artichoke, Bluebird, and the dark truth of radiation experiments on pregnant women, cancer patients, and prisoners—all without informed consent.
There were D.A.P.R.A. field tests with chemical and biological weapons on American soil, COINTELPRO operations that targeted civil rights activists, and Operation Mockingbird, which placed journalists on the CIA payroll to control the news itself.
And that was just the tip of the iceberg.
When information began to leak about the horrors of Project Afterglow—a Cold War-era radiation augmentation initiative that used the mentally ill, prisoners, and orphans as test subjects for superhuman experimentation—it ignited a firestorm. Afterglow wasn’t just about science; it was about control. Its mastermind, Director Alexander Thorne, viewed people as raw materials in his quest for a homegrown pantheon of god-weapons. Most test subjects died in agony. The lucky ones lived to bear radiation scars, genetic instability, or strange children born with dormant powers—dubbed by the press as the Sons and Daughters of the Afterglow.
But it didn’t stop there.
Documents surfaced about Project: Shepherd, the CIA’s attempt to craft controllable minds and psionic weapons through drugs, psychological torture, and abuse of vulnerable populations. The project recruited unwilling test subjects from mental hospitals, prisons, and college campuses. Some were simply taken. Others were manipulated. Some even possessed real psychic abilities—and had them twisted, shattered, or stolen.
Then came whispers of the Ultra's—super soldiers rebuilt from broken minds. They were ghosts in human skin. Some said they were blank slates with programmable personalities. Others believed they were Specials forcibly rewritten, transformed into operatives who didn’t even know they weren’t who they claimed to be. They had no flags, no gods—only missions.
And behind them all loomed rumors of top secret genetics Project headed by the US government in an attempt to create biological horrors born in tubes, modified in the womb, or rebuilt in hidden labs. Creatures engineered loyalty, and no ability to reproduce—because the state owned every part of them. Even their future. Creatures that some said were the cause of the spike of cryptid sightings that arose across the US in the in the late 1940s onward. Though none knew the name or the exact details Project Spartoi loomed in shadows as a think tank of mad genetic engineers playing god on a government budget.
While it had yet to reach its apex, the mistreatment and cruelty of the government's Extra Schools was slowly leaking into public awareness. Whispers circulated that America was creating child soldiers out of those born superhuman the Homo Sapiens Extraordinarius aka Extras—drafting gifted children into a system that trained them not to thrive, but to obey. These whispers flowed into the storm of consequences already battering public trust, fueling the growing belief that the nation's leaders saw power not as a responsibility, but as a resource to exploit.
The Extra Schools were advertised as sanctuaries—safe environments where young natiral born Specials could learn to control their abilities. In truth, many were nothing more than state-run militarization programs and labs. Students were categorized by power type, ranked, and drilled like cadets. Behavioral infractions were punished harshly, sometimes with psychic dampeners or chemical sedation. Some were "transferred" to more secure blacksite facilities and never seen again. What began as education quickly turned into indoctrination, conditioning children for roles in covert operations, government task forces, and unethical experiments. These institutions didn’t protect Extras—they prepared them for weaponization.
And as if that weren’t enough, a new wave of horrors emerged—this time on the streets
The rise of super-drugs like Triple-Ex and PsychZero—substances capable of temporarily granting users metahuman abilities or unlocking latent powers—set off a firestorm. At first, they were dismissed as dangerous black-market concoctions, a new form of narcotic chaos. But deeper investigation revealed something far more disturbing: these drugs had ties to classified government programs and clandestine clinical trials.
Once again, American Intelligence was implicated.
Whistleblowers and leaked documents revealed that these substances were the byproduct of failed supersoldier trials, unauthorized human experiments, and psionic research run through covert shell corporations. Vulnerable populations—prisoners, the homeless, war veterans—had been used as disposable test subjects in pursuit of chemically-induced superpowers. The drugs that now ravaged inner cities and back alleys had been born in government-funded labs. The result was a toxic cocktail of fear, bitterness, and rage.
As these leaks, rumors, and redacted documents began to surface—some confirmed, others dismissed as conspiracy—the question started to form in the public consciousness:
Was America the real villain?
If the government was secretly torturing its own citizens, turning children into weapons, and unleashing monsters in the name of peace… who were the real monsters? Could the people they told us to call “heroes” be trusted? Could the protectors actually be predators?
And that’s when the cynical spark ignited what would become the Baddies movement:
“If the government acts like supervillains… at least villains don’t lie about it. At least they look good doing it.”
Each revelation was a fracture in the foundation. Each denied allegation fueled a growing fury. The intelligence community had deemed such acts “acceptable losses”—a price paid in flesh and freedom for the so-called good of America.
But for a new generation growing up on chaos, that wasn't patriotism. That was authoritarian evil, fascism wearing the face of freedom.
They say it started as a sub-genre of the growing punk movement, known in its early days as Villain Punk. It was loud, angry, and defiantly theatrical. The music borrowed the raw energy of punk but layered it with themes of rebellion, surveillance paranoia, and government betrayal. The lyrics didn’t just rage against the machine—they mocked it, dressed up in capes and warpaint, and burned its blueprints on stage.
Visually, Villain Punk was chaos given contour: leather trench coats with domino masks, studded belts paired with faux lab coats, torn-up propaganda posters sewn into jackets, and gas masks worn like crowns. Hair was dyed in neon villain palettes—acid green, crimson, ultraviolet—and band logos looked like supervillain calling cards. The aesthetic was a fusion of pulp comic madness and anarcho-punk grit.
At first, it was just fashion and fury. But then the ideology started to solidify.
Zines like Manifesto: Mayhem and Cape Corruption began circulating in underground scenes. They mixed anarchist thought with leaked intelligence files. Conspiracy and rewrites of classic villain monologues. They argued that villainy was not evil—it was honesty. Heroes served the state. Villains fought it. Baddies didn't wear masks to hide—they wore them to declare war.
What started as parody became philosophy.
And for thousands of disillusioned youth—especially those from marginalized communities, or those who had grown up in Extra Schools, or lost family to government-backed Specials or to suspected "projects" of American Intelligence—the message hit home:
If the world treats you like a villain, maybe it's time to dress the part.
Baddies have spread since their chaotic birth, gaining footholds across the Americas, the UK, and beyond—especially in authoritarian states where superheroes are viewed less as saviors and more as state enforcers. In those regimes, heroes wear the flag like a muzzle, and the outlaws—villains, rogues, and blacklisted Specials—become folk legends. To those who feel silenced, brutalized, or powerless before the machinery of the state, the Baddies offer something intoxicating: not hope… but defiance.
But as the movement entered the digital age, cracks began to form.
Veteran Baddies—those who bled in protests, published black-market zines, and took real risks to challenge the system—have raised alarms. In the modern era, they say, the core ideals of the movement are being diluted—or worse, commodified. With the rise of the dark web and villain-sponsored media streams, a new wave of so-called “villain-simps” has emerged: fanboys, fangirls, and faux-rebels who wear the look but not the conviction.
To them, being a Baddie isn’t resistance—it’s cosplay with edge. Aesthetic without ethics. They obsess over supervillains not as symbols of revolt, but as objects of lust, envy, or parasocial fixation. For every underground cell trying to topple an unjust regime, there’s a dozen influencers romanticizing a high-profile villain’s abs, outfit, or murder count.
And the line between revolution and fetish is blurring.
Some Baddie circles are turning inward—splitting into cells, calling out posers, and debating whether the movement needs to evolve or purge. Others embrace the chaos, arguing that villainy itself was never about moral clarity.
After all, in a world that labels justice and terror with the same brush, who gets to define what’s real?
And the real supervillains? They encourage it all.
Some of them were Baddies once—disillusioned rebels who started by flipping off the system and ended up fully embracing supervillainy. Others see the movement for what it’s become: a recruitment pool. To villain syndicates, Baddies are low-hanging fruit—angry, alienated, and looking for meaning. Easy henchmen. Disposable foot soldiers. Willing test subjects.
And the parasocial wave? The starry-eyed fans chasing clout, obsession, and the fantasy of dark power—they're a goldmine. Merch, donations, custom content, viral stunts, simping pledges—it all feeds the machine. For some villains, stoking Baddie fandoms has become the new favorite “evil scheme”: less death rays, more brand building.
Nowhere is this more apparent than in New Libertalia, the nation of Supervillains, the rogue state built and ran by supervillains is seen as cyber-anarchist haven and black-market media empire that controls the vast majority of villain content on the dark web. Propaganda, recruitment videos, glorified villain documentaries, encrypted fan forums, even ARG-style indoctrination games—New Libertalia fuels the culture, monetizes the mythos, and ensures that the line between rebellion and sycophancy stays exactly where they want it.
Because in a world this corrupt, sometimes the easiest way to gain power…
…is to look like you’re fighting it.
And main stream American culture called them the Baddies.
The name Baddies was originally coined in the early 1970s by authority figures—cops, politicians, moral crusaders—trying to dismiss the growing subculture as childish, noisy, and not to be taken seriously. But the insult didn’t land the way they hoped. Instead, the very movement they meant to discredit wore it like a badge of honor. “Baddies” stuck, and the name became an anthem of rebellion.
But where did the Baddies come from? Why the sudden surge of romanticizing, emulating, and outright venerating not just outlaws, but supervillains?
It began with harsh truths and a slow, toxic erosion of trust.
1970s America was a pressure cooker of turmoil and controversy, culminating in a wave of public disillusionment with the U.S. government. The cracks were visible. Faith in the system faltered. And out of that rupture came a hungry, furious countercultural wave.
The Vietnam War was the tipping point. Among the troops deployed were a new breed of American super-soldiers—infamously known as The Cold War Batch. Handpicked, rigorously conditioned, and stripped of sentiment, these weren’t the brave, idealized heroes of WWII. They were weapons—manufactured assets from the start.
The Cold War Batch didn’t come home as war heroes. They came back haunted. Hollowed out. Reports leaked. Footage surfaced. Stories spread—of chemical treatments, psychological breakdowns, black-ops atrocities, and unapproved enhancements. The American people saw the cost of militarized superhuman power, and many didn’t look away. They looked deeper. They started asking the wrong questions. Or maybe the right ones.
The cracks widened, and resentment festered. Whistleblowers came forward. Leaks poured out. And the American public began to choke on the truth: behind the polished veneer of “freedom,” the intelligence community had been conducting horrors in the name of national security and Manifest Destiny.
The land of the free was treating its own citizens like lab rats.
People learned about Project MK-Ultra, a CIA program that dosed civilians and soldiers with LSD without consent, all in a quest for mind control. They read about Operation Midnight Climax, where sex workers were used to lure unsuspecting men into surveillance apartments—dosed, violated, and observed through one-way mirrors. Then came Project Artichoke, Bluebird, and the dark truth of radiation experiments on pregnant women, cancer patients, and prisoners—all without informed consent.
There were D.A.P.R.A. field tests with chemical and biological weapons on American soil, COINTELPRO operations that targeted civil rights activists, and Operation Mockingbird, which placed journalists on the CIA payroll to control the news itself.
And that was just the tip of the iceberg.
When information began to leak about the horrors of Project Afterglow—a Cold War-era radiation augmentation initiative that used the mentally ill, prisoners, and orphans as test subjects for superhuman experimentation—it ignited a firestorm. Afterglow wasn’t just about science; it was about control. Its mastermind, Director Alexander Thorne, viewed people as raw materials in his quest for a homegrown pantheon of god-weapons. Most test subjects died in agony. The lucky ones lived to bear radiation scars, genetic instability, or strange children born with dormant powers—dubbed by the press as the Sons and Daughters of the Afterglow.
But it didn’t stop there.
Documents surfaced about Project: Shepherd, the CIA’s attempt to craft controllable minds and psionic weapons through drugs, psychological torture, and abuse of vulnerable populations. The project recruited unwilling test subjects from mental hospitals, prisons, and college campuses. Some were simply taken. Others were manipulated. Some even possessed real psychic abilities—and had them twisted, shattered, or stolen.
Then came whispers of the Ultra's—super soldiers rebuilt from broken minds. They were ghosts in human skin. Some said they were blank slates with programmable personalities. Others believed they were Specials forcibly rewritten, transformed into operatives who didn’t even know they weren’t who they claimed to be. They had no flags, no gods—only missions.
And behind them all loomed rumors of top secret genetics Project headed by the US government in an attempt to create biological horrors born in tubes, modified in the womb, or rebuilt in hidden labs. Creatures engineered loyalty, and no ability to reproduce—because the state owned every part of them. Even their future. Creatures that some said were the cause of the spike of cryptid sightings that arose across the US in the in the late 1940s onward. Though none knew the name or the exact details Project Spartoi loomed in shadows as a think tank of mad genetic engineers playing god on a government budget.
While it had yet to reach its apex, the mistreatment and cruelty of the government's Extra Schools was slowly leaking into public awareness. Whispers circulated that America was creating child soldiers out of those born superhuman the Homo Sapiens Extraordinarius aka Extras—drafting gifted children into a system that trained them not to thrive, but to obey. These whispers flowed into the storm of consequences already battering public trust, fueling the growing belief that the nation's leaders saw power not as a responsibility, but as a resource to exploit.
The Extra Schools were advertised as sanctuaries—safe environments where young natiral born Specials could learn to control their abilities. In truth, many were nothing more than state-run militarization programs and labs. Students were categorized by power type, ranked, and drilled like cadets. Behavioral infractions were punished harshly, sometimes with psychic dampeners or chemical sedation. Some were "transferred" to more secure blacksite facilities and never seen again. What began as education quickly turned into indoctrination, conditioning children for roles in covert operations, government task forces, and unethical experiments. These institutions didn’t protect Extras—they prepared them for weaponization.
And as if that weren’t enough, a new wave of horrors emerged—this time on the streets
The rise of super-drugs like Triple-Ex and PsychZero—substances capable of temporarily granting users metahuman abilities or unlocking latent powers—set off a firestorm. At first, they were dismissed as dangerous black-market concoctions, a new form of narcotic chaos. But deeper investigation revealed something far more disturbing: these drugs had ties to classified government programs and clandestine clinical trials.
Once again, American Intelligence was implicated.
Whistleblowers and leaked documents revealed that these substances were the byproduct of failed supersoldier trials, unauthorized human experiments, and psionic research run through covert shell corporations. Vulnerable populations—prisoners, the homeless, war veterans—had been used as disposable test subjects in pursuit of chemically-induced superpowers. The drugs that now ravaged inner cities and back alleys had been born in government-funded labs. The result was a toxic cocktail of fear, bitterness, and rage.
As these leaks, rumors, and redacted documents began to surface—some confirmed, others dismissed as conspiracy—the question started to form in the public consciousness:
Was America the real villain?
If the government was secretly torturing its own citizens, turning children into weapons, and unleashing monsters in the name of peace… who were the real monsters? Could the people they told us to call “heroes” be trusted? Could the protectors actually be predators?
And that’s when the cynical spark ignited what would become the Baddies movement:
“If the government acts like supervillains… at least villains don’t lie about it. At least they look good doing it.”
Each revelation was a fracture in the foundation. Each denied allegation fueled a growing fury. The intelligence community had deemed such acts “acceptable losses”—a price paid in flesh and freedom for the so-called good of America.
But for a new generation growing up on chaos, that wasn't patriotism. That was authoritarian evil, fascism wearing the face of freedom.
They say it started as a sub-genre of the growing punk movement, known in its early days as Villain Punk. It was loud, angry, and defiantly theatrical. The music borrowed the raw energy of punk but layered it with themes of rebellion, surveillance paranoia, and government betrayal. The lyrics didn’t just rage against the machine—they mocked it, dressed up in capes and warpaint, and burned its blueprints on stage.
Visually, Villain Punk was chaos given contour: leather trench coats with domino masks, studded belts paired with faux lab coats, torn-up propaganda posters sewn into jackets, and gas masks worn like crowns. Hair was dyed in neon villain palettes—acid green, crimson, ultraviolet—and band logos looked like supervillain calling cards. The aesthetic was a fusion of pulp comic madness and anarcho-punk grit.
At first, it was just fashion and fury. But then the ideology started to solidify.
Zines like Manifesto: Mayhem and Cape Corruption began circulating in underground scenes. They mixed anarchist thought with leaked intelligence files. Conspiracy and rewrites of classic villain monologues. They argued that villainy was not evil—it was honesty. Heroes served the state. Villains fought it. Baddies didn't wear masks to hide—they wore them to declare war.
What started as parody became philosophy.
And for thousands of disillusioned youth—especially those from marginalized communities, or those who had grown up in Extra Schools, or lost family to government-backed Specials or to suspected "projects" of American Intelligence—the message hit home:
If the world treats you like a villain, maybe it's time to dress the part.
Baddies have spread since their chaotic birth, gaining footholds across the Americas, the UK, and beyond—especially in authoritarian states where superheroes are viewed less as saviors and more as state enforcers. In those regimes, heroes wear the flag like a muzzle, and the outlaws—villains, rogues, and blacklisted Specials—become folk legends. To those who feel silenced, brutalized, or powerless before the machinery of the state, the Baddies offer something intoxicating: not hope… but defiance.
But as the movement entered the digital age, cracks began to form.
Veteran Baddies—those who bled in protests, published black-market zines, and took real risks to challenge the system—have raised alarms. In the modern era, they say, the core ideals of the movement are being diluted—or worse, commodified. With the rise of the dark web and villain-sponsored media streams, a new wave of so-called “villain-simps” has emerged: fanboys, fangirls, and faux-rebels who wear the look but not the conviction.
To them, being a Baddie isn’t resistance—it’s cosplay with edge. Aesthetic without ethics. They obsess over supervillains not as symbols of revolt, but as objects of lust, envy, or parasocial fixation. For every underground cell trying to topple an unjust regime, there’s a dozen influencers romanticizing a high-profile villain’s abs, outfit, or murder count.
And the line between revolution and fetish is blurring.
Some Baddie circles are turning inward—splitting into cells, calling out posers, and debating whether the movement needs to evolve or purge. Others embrace the chaos, arguing that villainy itself was never about moral clarity.
After all, in a world that labels justice and terror with the same brush, who gets to define what’s real?
And the real supervillains? They encourage it all.
Some of them were Baddies once—disillusioned rebels who started by flipping off the system and ended up fully embracing supervillainy. Others see the movement for what it’s become: a recruitment pool. To villain syndicates, Baddies are low-hanging fruit—angry, alienated, and looking for meaning. Easy henchmen. Disposable foot soldiers. Willing test subjects.
And the parasocial wave? The starry-eyed fans chasing clout, obsession, and the fantasy of dark power—they're a goldmine. Merch, donations, custom content, viral stunts, simping pledges—it all feeds the machine. For some villains, stoking Baddie fandoms has become the new favorite “evil scheme”: less death rays, more brand building.
Nowhere is this more apparent than in New Libertalia, the nation of Supervillains, the rogue state built and ran by supervillains is seen as cyber-anarchist haven and black-market media empire that controls the vast majority of villain content on the dark web. Propaganda, recruitment videos, glorified villain documentaries, encrypted fan forums, even ARG-style indoctrination games—New Libertalia fuels the culture, monetizes the mythos, and ensures that the line between rebellion and sycophancy stays exactly where they want it.
Because in a world this corrupt, sometimes the easiest way to gain power…
…is to look like you’re fighting it.
Culture
Culture and cultural heritage
Baddie culture didn’t come from nowhere. It grew out of scars—the lies of governments, the hypocrisy of hero worship, the rage of the powerless, and the mythic allure of those bold enough to break the rules. While it may be modern in expression, its heritage runs deep.
Baddies draw from a long lineage of outlaws, rebels, monsters, witches, freaks, anarchists, and radicals—people who were labeled dangerous for daring to exist outside the norm. From the femme fatales of pulp noir, to the glamorized gangsters of the Great Depression, to the punk, goth, and queer icons of the 20th century, the cultural ancestors of the Baddies are everywhere, hidden in the footnotes of history and the background of comic book panels.
Some trace their ideological roots back to figures like Prometheus—who stole fire from the gods—or Lucifer, the original rebel. Others point to real-world revolutionaries and villain-coded historical figures who challenged power, knowing the cost. Their legacy isn't one of purity or perfection—it's a heritage of resistance, chaos, and unapologetic identity.
Modern Baddie culture is a collage: art and noise, stolen symbols and rewritten myths. It’s zines made from redacted CIA files, fashion inspired by discarded villain blueprints, and graffiti scrawled across the monuments of empire. It’s both a parody and a critique of the world it grew up hating.
To be a Baddie is to choose identity over obedience, style over silence, and story over survival. Their culture isn’t just one of rebellion—it’s a living, shifting legacy of those who were never meant to win, and decided to become icons instead.
Baddies draw from a long lineage of outlaws, rebels, monsters, witches, freaks, anarchists, and radicals—people who were labeled dangerous for daring to exist outside the norm. From the femme fatales of pulp noir, to the glamorized gangsters of the Great Depression, to the punk, goth, and queer icons of the 20th century, the cultural ancestors of the Baddies are everywhere, hidden in the footnotes of history and the background of comic book panels.
Some trace their ideological roots back to figures like Prometheus—who stole fire from the gods—or Lucifer, the original rebel. Others point to real-world revolutionaries and villain-coded historical figures who challenged power, knowing the cost. Their legacy isn't one of purity or perfection—it's a heritage of resistance, chaos, and unapologetic identity.
Modern Baddie culture is a collage: art and noise, stolen symbols and rewritten myths. It’s zines made from redacted CIA files, fashion inspired by discarded villain blueprints, and graffiti scrawled across the monuments of empire. It’s both a parody and a critique of the world it grew up hating.
To be a Baddie is to choose identity over obedience, style over silence, and story over survival. Their culture isn’t just one of rebellion—it’s a living, shifting legacy of those who were never meant to win, and decided to become icons instead.
Shared customary codes and values
For a subculture built on rejecting polite society and defying the norms of the mainstream, customs are fluid and codes are mostly ironic. Baddie culture is about doing things your own way, on your own terms. Trying to define it too tightly? That’s hero behavior.
Every Baddie chooses how to “be bad” in their own style—whether it’s theatrical villainy, radical noncompliance, criminal rebellion, or just a deeply personal middle finger to societal expectations. And trying to tell another Baddie their way is wrong? That’s considered a serious insult, maybe even a declaration of ideological war.
The only shared value is freedom of persona. Villains do what they want, what they like, and Baddies strive to live by the same code—even if they wear a mask or adopt a cover identity to pass through mainstream society. A Baddie might pay taxes, work a nine-to-five, or blend in with normies by day. But in their heart? They’re still rewriting the rules.
Because in the end, it’s not about law or chaos.
It’s about autonomy.
And a true Baddie never asks permission to exist.
Every Baddie chooses how to “be bad” in their own style—whether it’s theatrical villainy, radical noncompliance, criminal rebellion, or just a deeply personal middle finger to societal expectations. And trying to tell another Baddie their way is wrong? That’s considered a serious insult, maybe even a declaration of ideological war.
The only shared value is freedom of persona. Villains do what they want, what they like, and Baddies strive to live by the same code—even if they wear a mask or adopt a cover identity to pass through mainstream society. A Baddie might pay taxes, work a nine-to-five, or blend in with normies by day. But in their heart? They’re still rewriting the rules.
Because in the end, it’s not about law or chaos.
It’s about autonomy.
And a true Baddie never asks permission to exist.
Common Etiquette rules
Baddie etiquette is simple:
Be bad. Have fun. Screw the system.
That’s it. There are no sacred rules, no proper forms, no moral high ground. Anyone trying to enforce etiquette or hierarchy is probably acting a little too heroic for comfort.
The closest thing to a social faux pas in Baddie circles? Telling someone else how to be a Baddie. Whether you’re a glam-coded chaos witch, a trenchcoat nihilist, or a pink-haired tech anarchist with villain stickers on your laptop, the rule is the same: you do you—loudly, shamelessly, and without asking permission.
Respect is earned through style, conviction, and cleverness, not politeness. Snark is welcome. Drama is expected. And betrayal? Sometimes that’s just the start of a love story.
Just don’t be a narc. Don’t act like you’re better than someone because your villain cosplay has a deeper moral manifesto. And never, ever, call someone a poser in public unless you’re ready to throw down—digitally or otherwise.
Be bad. Have fun. Screw the system.
That’s it. There are no sacred rules, no proper forms, no moral high ground. Anyone trying to enforce etiquette or hierarchy is probably acting a little too heroic for comfort.
The closest thing to a social faux pas in Baddie circles? Telling someone else how to be a Baddie. Whether you’re a glam-coded chaos witch, a trenchcoat nihilist, or a pink-haired tech anarchist with villain stickers on your laptop, the rule is the same: you do you—loudly, shamelessly, and without asking permission.
Respect is earned through style, conviction, and cleverness, not politeness. Snark is welcome. Drama is expected. And betrayal? Sometimes that’s just the start of a love story.
Just don’t be a narc. Don’t act like you’re better than someone because your villain cosplay has a deeper moral manifesto. And never, ever, call someone a poser in public unless you’re ready to throw down—digitally or otherwise.
Common Dress code
There is no official dress code in Baddie culture—that’s the point. Conformity is for capes. But over the years, a number of style subgenres have emerged within the movement. Some are aesthetic tribes. Others are statements of identity, history, or alignment. Most mix and match freely—but all share the same core ethos:
Look like the threat. Or the fantasy. Or both.
Here are some of the most common Baddie styles:
Villain-Punk
Ripped jackets with sigil patches, villain graffiti, combat boots, gas masks, spiked everything. Think anti-authoritarian anarcho-punk—but with molotov cocktails shaped like skulls and hair dyed in villain icon colors.
Villain-Rock
Leather, glam, chains, and eyeliner. Big hair meets bigger attitude. Outfits that scream “arena tour” or “hostage livestream.” Inspired by villainous rockstars, shock-jocks, and infamous musical outlaws.
Villain-Metal
Heavy boots, corpsepaint, military surplus, occult jewelry, villain logos reinterpreted like band patches. Armor aesthetics, apocalyptic edge. Loud. Brutal. Unapologetic.
Villain-Goth
Black velvet, lace, corsets, fangs, romantic decay. Mourning gowns with hidden blades. Long coats and dark lipstick with occult iconography. Think death cult meets dark cabaret.
Villain-Emo
Eyeliner, heartbreak, and a taste for melodrama. Trench coats over band tees. Love letters in blood. Longing for villainous OTPs. Very Torn Spandex-coded.
Biker-Baddie
Denim vests, back patches, black helmets, repurposed gang colors. Ride-or-die energy. Road warriors, drifters, and antihero aesthetes who worship villain legends like local gods.
Retro-Baddie
1940s femme fatale. 1960s super-scientist. 1970s disco dictator. Style drawn from past villain golden ages. Silk gloves, monocles, revolvers, rocket boots. Timelessly dangerous.
Fem-Fatale / Dashing Rogue Baddie
All about charisma, danger, and seductive flair. Tailored suits, stilettos, cloaks, canes, red lipstick or smirks that kill. Every entrance is a performance. Every glance a dare.
Cyber / Industrial / Post-Apocalypse / Tech Baddie
Neon implants, breathing tubes, HUD visors, radiation-washed fabrics, magnetic tattoos. Urban survival gear meets villain techwear. Often glows in the dark.
Witch / Warlock / Fantasy / Magic Baddie
Robes, runes, glamor-piercing eye makeup. Tarot belts, enchanted piercings, antlers, obsidian jewelry. Looks like they crawled out of a cursed grimoire—and liked it.
Monster-Wannabe / Mutation Baddie
Fangs, claws, fake wings, prosthetic tentacles, biotech mods. Some fake it. Some don’t. Inspired by the mutated, the inhuman, and the idea that monstrous is beautiful.
Each look has its own slang, icons, and micro-subcultures—but there’s no gatekeeping in Baddie fashion. If you’re doing it with style, guts, and spite, then whatever you're wearing is the right outfit.
Look like the threat. Or the fantasy. Or both.
Here are some of the most common Baddie styles:
Villain-Punk
Ripped jackets with sigil patches, villain graffiti, combat boots, gas masks, spiked everything. Think anti-authoritarian anarcho-punk—but with molotov cocktails shaped like skulls and hair dyed in villain icon colors.
Villain-Rock
Leather, glam, chains, and eyeliner. Big hair meets bigger attitude. Outfits that scream “arena tour” or “hostage livestream.” Inspired by villainous rockstars, shock-jocks, and infamous musical outlaws.
Villain-Metal
Heavy boots, corpsepaint, military surplus, occult jewelry, villain logos reinterpreted like band patches. Armor aesthetics, apocalyptic edge. Loud. Brutal. Unapologetic.
Villain-Goth
Black velvet, lace, corsets, fangs, romantic decay. Mourning gowns with hidden blades. Long coats and dark lipstick with occult iconography. Think death cult meets dark cabaret.
Villain-Emo
Eyeliner, heartbreak, and a taste for melodrama. Trench coats over band tees. Love letters in blood. Longing for villainous OTPs. Very Torn Spandex-coded.
Biker-Baddie
Denim vests, back patches, black helmets, repurposed gang colors. Ride-or-die energy. Road warriors, drifters, and antihero aesthetes who worship villain legends like local gods.
Retro-Baddie
1940s femme fatale. 1960s super-scientist. 1970s disco dictator. Style drawn from past villain golden ages. Silk gloves, monocles, revolvers, rocket boots. Timelessly dangerous.
Fem-Fatale / Dashing Rogue Baddie
All about charisma, danger, and seductive flair. Tailored suits, stilettos, cloaks, canes, red lipstick or smirks that kill. Every entrance is a performance. Every glance a dare.
Cyber / Industrial / Post-Apocalypse / Tech Baddie
Neon implants, breathing tubes, HUD visors, radiation-washed fabrics, magnetic tattoos. Urban survival gear meets villain techwear. Often glows in the dark.
Witch / Warlock / Fantasy / Magic Baddie
Robes, runes, glamor-piercing eye makeup. Tarot belts, enchanted piercings, antlers, obsidian jewelry. Looks like they crawled out of a cursed grimoire—and liked it.
Monster-Wannabe / Mutation Baddie
Fangs, claws, fake wings, prosthetic tentacles, biotech mods. Some fake it. Some don’t. Inspired by the mutated, the inhuman, and the idea that monstrous is beautiful.
Each look has its own slang, icons, and micro-subcultures—but there’s no gatekeeping in Baddie fashion. If you’re doing it with style, guts, and spite, then whatever you're wearing is the right outfit.
Art & Architecture
Baddie culture isn’t just about rebellion—it’s about aesthetic revolution. And that includes the spaces they live in and the art they surround themselves with.
More than a few Baddies are artists, designers, and architects—many of them drawn to the same dark, dramatic, and over-the-top styles beloved by classic supervillains. If a visual style can be taken to extremes, twisted into something subversive, or made to challenge polite taste? The Baddies will claim it.
Retrofuturism, brutalist nightmares, biomechanical horror, steampunk labyrinths, cyberpunk decay, neo-deco pulp revival—all of it has a place in Baddie aesthetics. Think lairs carved into radioactive cliffs, rotating statues of masked martyrs, or spiraling towers built entirely out of reclaimed villain tech and neon bones.
From graffiti murals of infamous rogues in alley sanctuaries to massive “anti-monuments” in squatted ruins, Baddie art is part shrine, part protest, part power fantasy.
Some of it's so compelling that even the villains in power have taken notice. In New Libertalia, entire art collectives have been hired (or occasionally kidnapped) to design public installations, lair interiors, or city-scale megastructures. Baddie-sculptors, architects, and graphic designers are in high demand across the underground villain world, crafting spaces that are part sanctuary, part statement piece.
After all, heroes might wear costumes, but villains shape the skyline.
More than a few Baddies are artists, designers, and architects—many of them drawn to the same dark, dramatic, and over-the-top styles beloved by classic supervillains. If a visual style can be taken to extremes, twisted into something subversive, or made to challenge polite taste? The Baddies will claim it.
Retrofuturism, brutalist nightmares, biomechanical horror, steampunk labyrinths, cyberpunk decay, neo-deco pulp revival—all of it has a place in Baddie aesthetics. Think lairs carved into radioactive cliffs, rotating statues of masked martyrs, or spiraling towers built entirely out of reclaimed villain tech and neon bones.
From graffiti murals of infamous rogues in alley sanctuaries to massive “anti-monuments” in squatted ruins, Baddie art is part shrine, part protest, part power fantasy.
Some of it's so compelling that even the villains in power have taken notice. In New Libertalia, entire art collectives have been hired (or occasionally kidnapped) to design public installations, lair interiors, or city-scale megastructures. Baddie-sculptors, architects, and graphic designers are in high demand across the underground villain world, crafting spaces that are part sanctuary, part statement piece.
After all, heroes might wear costumes, but villains shape the skyline.
Foods & Cuisine
Food in Baddie culture isn’t just about eating—it’s about identity, irony, and spite.
One long-standing tradition is mocking the over-commercialized, state-sponsored food brands pushed by corporate heroes. Products like Ultra-Burger, Super-Stim Energy Drinks, and Justice Crunch Cereal are regular targets for ridicule. Their packaging is plastered with smiling capes and slogans about “fueling the next generation of heroes,” which to most Baddies reads like propaganda with fries.
Older Baddies in particular take a hard stance against this kind of cape-capitalism, and they’re equally dismissive of its darker mirror: villain-branded knockoffs like Sinister-Burger, Heart-of-Dark-Roast Coffee, and DOOM-POP SODA™, most of which are produced or licensed out of New Libertalia. To the old guard, these are just more corporate branding schemes—no less manipulative than their heroic counterparts, just dressed in black and marketed with edge.
Younger Baddies, however, often embrace these brands with glee. They see them as part of the aesthetic—symbols of belonging, rebellion, and ironic villainy. Dark web streams of sipping Murder Moccaccinos or unboxing Evil Meal #13 (now with commemorative mask!) are common in Baddie social spaces, even if it makes older radicals roll their eyes hard enough to dislocate something.
Despite the corporate noise, there’s also a rich underground food culture within Baddie communities—DIY cooking collectives, black market food trucks, pop-up apocalypse cafés, and secret supper clubs hidden in abandoned lairs. Here, the food reflects the culture: spicy, strange, symbolic, and sometimes literally radioactive.
Because in Baddie culture, what you eat says as much about your rebellion…
as what you refuse to swallow.
One long-standing tradition is mocking the over-commercialized, state-sponsored food brands pushed by corporate heroes. Products like Ultra-Burger, Super-Stim Energy Drinks, and Justice Crunch Cereal are regular targets for ridicule. Their packaging is plastered with smiling capes and slogans about “fueling the next generation of heroes,” which to most Baddies reads like propaganda with fries.
Older Baddies in particular take a hard stance against this kind of cape-capitalism, and they’re equally dismissive of its darker mirror: villain-branded knockoffs like Sinister-Burger, Heart-of-Dark-Roast Coffee, and DOOM-POP SODA™, most of which are produced or licensed out of New Libertalia. To the old guard, these are just more corporate branding schemes—no less manipulative than their heroic counterparts, just dressed in black and marketed with edge.
Younger Baddies, however, often embrace these brands with glee. They see them as part of the aesthetic—symbols of belonging, rebellion, and ironic villainy. Dark web streams of sipping Murder Moccaccinos or unboxing Evil Meal #13 (now with commemorative mask!) are common in Baddie social spaces, even if it makes older radicals roll their eyes hard enough to dislocate something.
Despite the corporate noise, there’s also a rich underground food culture within Baddie communities—DIY cooking collectives, black market food trucks, pop-up apocalypse cafés, and secret supper clubs hidden in abandoned lairs. Here, the food reflects the culture: spicy, strange, symbolic, and sometimes literally radioactive.
Because in Baddie culture, what you eat says as much about your rebellion…
as what you refuse to swallow.
Common Customs, traditions and rituals
There is next to nothing “common” about Baddies. Individuality is the norm, and the only real tradition is this:
Do what you want. Burn the script. Make it yours.
Baddies don’t celebrate national holidays. They mock them. They repurpose them. Some throw “Anti-Hero Day” parties on Independence Day, or host “Villaintines” with black roses, poison candy, and love letters written in invisible ink. Others mark personal milestones—first arrest, first mask, first betrayal—with solo rituals or livestreamed chaos.
But none of these are mandatory. In fact, insisting someone take part is a good way to get called a narc, a cop, or worse: a poser.
Because Baddie culture doesn’t have traditions in the traditional sense.
It has moments.
It has myths.
And it has the freedom to break them whenever it damn well pleases.
Do what you want. Burn the script. Make it yours.
Baddies don’t celebrate national holidays. They mock them. They repurpose them. Some throw “Anti-Hero Day” parties on Independence Day, or host “Villaintines” with black roses, poison candy, and love letters written in invisible ink. Others mark personal milestones—first arrest, first mask, first betrayal—with solo rituals or livestreamed chaos.
But none of these are mandatory. In fact, insisting someone take part is a good way to get called a narc, a cop, or worse: a poser.
Because Baddie culture doesn’t have traditions in the traditional sense.
It has moments.
It has myths.
And it has the freedom to break them whenever it damn well pleases.
Coming of Age Rites
Choosing to become a Baddie is, in many ways, a coming-of-age rite all its own.
For a growing number of teens—especially those raised under surveillance, state pressure, or the lingering shadow of hero worship—adopting the Baddie identity isn’t just rebellion. It’s a declaration. A line in the sand between who the world told them to be… and who they choose to become.
Most Baddies join the culture in their mid to late teens, often sparked by some moment of personal betrayal, public injustice, or exposure to forbidden history. A redacted document. A banned zine. A villain monologue that hit too hard to ignore. That moment—whether quiet or explosive—becomes the seed.
Older Baddies sometimes act as mentors, smugglers of truth, or mischief midwives—but most just watch from the shadows, waiting to see who burns bright enough to survive the fire.
Because once you walk the Baddie path, there’s no going back to the quiet life.
And no one worth the name would want to.
For a growing number of teens—especially those raised under surveillance, state pressure, or the lingering shadow of hero worship—adopting the Baddie identity isn’t just rebellion. It’s a declaration. A line in the sand between who the world told them to be… and who they choose to become.
Most Baddies join the culture in their mid to late teens, often sparked by some moment of personal betrayal, public injustice, or exposure to forbidden history. A redacted document. A banned zine. A villain monologue that hit too hard to ignore. That moment—whether quiet or explosive—becomes the seed.
Older Baddies sometimes act as mentors, smugglers of truth, or mischief midwives—but most just watch from the shadows, waiting to see who burns bright enough to survive the fire.
Because once you walk the Baddie path, there’s no going back to the quiet life.
And no one worth the name would want to.
Funerary and Memorial customs
Baddie culture doesn’t spend much time on death. Most assume they’ll go out in a blaze, vanish into myth, or fake their own demise a few times before it sticks. But when a Baddie does die—and it actually takes—the community remembers them in their own strange, stubborn ways.
There are no standardized funerals. No solemn hymns or flag-draped caskets. But there are quirky last requests, impromptu street memorials, and the occasional villain-wide moment of silence that somehow still includes pyrotechnics.
One of the earliest known Baddie funerals belonged to Alex Atrocity, a legendary Villain-Punk frontman who allegedly choked on a flaming microphone mid-performance. His final request? That his custom guitar be enshrined above his grave—“So I don’t have to go far to find it when I crawl my way out of hell.”[br] Since then, a few informal customs have emerged:
Grave Graffiti. It’s common to tag the tombstones or mausoleums of fallen Baddies with their symbol, moniker, or signature quote.
Last Tracks. Musician Baddies often request their unreleased songs be played at full volume—sometimes blasted across hacked frequencies.
Body Artifacts. Some leave behind parts of their costume, weapon, or tech as a tribute—often displayed in hidden shrines or Baddie venues.
Revenant Insurance. A few Baddies include resurrection clauses in their wills—just in case. Others record “post-death messages” to be aired at heroic funerals, protests, or award ceremonies.
In classic Baddie fashion, some even treat death as a performance piece, staging their own funerals in advance or holding "practice wakes" where they eulogize themselves while still alive.
Because for Baddies, death isn't sacred—legacy is.
And the goal isn't to rest in peace.
It's to leave a mark no one can scrub out.
There are no standardized funerals. No solemn hymns or flag-draped caskets. But there are quirky last requests, impromptu street memorials, and the occasional villain-wide moment of silence that somehow still includes pyrotechnics.
One of the earliest known Baddie funerals belonged to Alex Atrocity, a legendary Villain-Punk frontman who allegedly choked on a flaming microphone mid-performance. His final request? That his custom guitar be enshrined above his grave—“So I don’t have to go far to find it when I crawl my way out of hell.”[br] Since then, a few informal customs have emerged:
Grave Graffiti. It’s common to tag the tombstones or mausoleums of fallen Baddies with their symbol, moniker, or signature quote.
Last Tracks. Musician Baddies often request their unreleased songs be played at full volume—sometimes blasted across hacked frequencies.
Body Artifacts. Some leave behind parts of their costume, weapon, or tech as a tribute—often displayed in hidden shrines or Baddie venues.
Revenant Insurance. A few Baddies include resurrection clauses in their wills—just in case. Others record “post-death messages” to be aired at heroic funerals, protests, or award ceremonies.
In classic Baddie fashion, some even treat death as a performance piece, staging their own funerals in advance or holding "practice wakes" where they eulogize themselves while still alive.
Because for Baddies, death isn't sacred—legacy is.
And the goal isn't to rest in peace.
It's to leave a mark no one can scrub out.
Common Taboos
There’s only one real taboo in Baddie culture:
Don’t have any. Unless you feel like it.
Baddies don’t do purity tests. There are no sacred cows. No “off-limits” topics unless someone personally draws that line—and even then, crossing it might just be foreplay or performance art. What’s considered offensive in polite society is often a punchline, protest, or design inspiration here.
The only thing that might get you side-eyed is trying to enforce rules that smell too much like heroic codes. Respectability, censorship, shame? That’s the real blasphemy.
Your morals are your own. Your monsters, too.
Don’t have any. Unless you feel like it.
Baddies don’t do purity tests. There are no sacred cows. No “off-limits” topics unless someone personally draws that line—and even then, crossing it might just be foreplay or performance art. What’s considered offensive in polite society is often a punchline, protest, or design inspiration here.
The only thing that might get you side-eyed is trying to enforce rules that smell too much like heroic codes. Respectability, censorship, shame? That’s the real blasphemy.
Your morals are your own. Your monsters, too.
Common Myths and Legends
Baddie culture thrives on myth. Half-truths, tall tales, unverified rumors—it’s all part of the aesthetic. When your identity is part performance and part protest, the story often matters more than the facts.
One of the most enduring legends is Alex Atrocity, frontman of the Villain-Punk band Burnt Capes. According to myth, he died in the middle of a set—screaming into a mic that caught fire mid-verse, refusing to stop until the last chord melted his throat. Fans say it was the ultimate Baddie death: loud, defiant, and unforgettable.
The truth? Far grimmer. Alex died of a Triple-Ex overdose in a New Libertalia hotel room, alone and surrounded by demo tapes no one’s ever released. But most Baddies prefer the flaming mic version. It feels right. It feels earned.
Baddie legends often walk this line—where reality bends under the weight of what should have been. Some of the most famous Baddies are said to have:
Faked their death seven times before it “finally stuck.”
Romanced a hero into turning rogue, just to break their heart on live TV.
Turned their own funeral into a viral anti-authority media stunt.
Whether or not any of it happened doesn’t really matter. What matters is that people believe. Or want to. Or need to.
Because in Baddie culture, myth isn’t a lie.
It’s a weapon.
And legends never die—they just get louder.
But the most enduring myth?
It’s the whispered belief that some Baddies don’t just dress the part. They don’t just write fanfic, tag heroic organizations, or wear spiked jackets to protests. Some of them—quietly, slowly, or all at once—cross the line.
They become real.
Real henchmen. Real villains. Real names on Most Wanted lists. Some say it happens when a Baddie finally catches the attention of a true supervillain—gets recruited, seduced, tested, or broken in. Others claim it’s a conscious choice, a final statement: I’m done pretending to be the monster. It’s time I became it.
Whether it’s true or just paranoia depends on who you ask.
But it’s enough to keep the rumors alive:
“She disappeared after her ‘Break the World’ tattoo. Two months later, she shows up in a police report standing behind Obsidian Edge.”
“He always joked about being a sleeper cell. Now his laptop’s wiped and there’s a smoking crater where his landlord used to live.”
Some Baddies swear the line between play and purpose is still sacred.
Others? They’re just waiting for the right villain to call their name.
Because the cape-chasers might fade.
The posers might grow out of it.
But the real ones?
They never took the mask off to begin with.
One of the most enduring legends is Alex Atrocity, frontman of the Villain-Punk band Burnt Capes. According to myth, he died in the middle of a set—screaming into a mic that caught fire mid-verse, refusing to stop until the last chord melted his throat. Fans say it was the ultimate Baddie death: loud, defiant, and unforgettable.
The truth? Far grimmer. Alex died of a Triple-Ex overdose in a New Libertalia hotel room, alone and surrounded by demo tapes no one’s ever released. But most Baddies prefer the flaming mic version. It feels right. It feels earned.
Baddie legends often walk this line—where reality bends under the weight of what should have been. Some of the most famous Baddies are said to have:
Faked their death seven times before it “finally stuck.”
Romanced a hero into turning rogue, just to break their heart on live TV.
Turned their own funeral into a viral anti-authority media stunt.
Whether or not any of it happened doesn’t really matter. What matters is that people believe. Or want to. Or need to.
Because in Baddie culture, myth isn’t a lie.
It’s a weapon.
And legends never die—they just get louder.
But the most enduring myth?
It’s the whispered belief that some Baddies don’t just dress the part. They don’t just write fanfic, tag heroic organizations, or wear spiked jackets to protests. Some of them—quietly, slowly, or all at once—cross the line.
They become real.
Real henchmen. Real villains. Real names on Most Wanted lists. Some say it happens when a Baddie finally catches the attention of a true supervillain—gets recruited, seduced, tested, or broken in. Others claim it’s a conscious choice, a final statement: I’m done pretending to be the monster. It’s time I became it.
Whether it’s true or just paranoia depends on who you ask.
But it’s enough to keep the rumors alive:
“She disappeared after her ‘Break the World’ tattoo. Two months later, she shows up in a police report standing behind Obsidian Edge.”
“He always joked about being a sleeper cell. Now his laptop’s wiped and there’s a smoking crater where his landlord used to live.”
Some Baddies swear the line between play and purpose is still sacred.
Others? They’re just waiting for the right villain to call their name.
Because the cape-chasers might fade.
The posers might grow out of it.
But the real ones?
They never took the mask off to begin with.
Historical figures
Every culture has its legends. The Baddies? They have icons—outlaws, provocateurs, punks, poets, arsonists, and rogue Specials who shaped the movement with fire, fashion, or both. Some were true believers. Others were just too dangerous, stylish, or loud to be ignored.
Here are a few of the most enduring names in Baddie history:
Alex Atrocity
Frontman. Firebrand. Folk Demon.
The poster child for Villain-Punk, Alex Atrocity led Burnt Capes, the band that gave Baddie culture its original soundtrack. Known for incendiary lyrics and theatrical stage antics, he’s remembered less for how he died (Triple-Ex overdose) and more for how he lived—with a mic on fire and middle fingers raised to the sky. His enshrined guitar is a pilgrimage site.
Lady Velvet Vice
First Femme Fatale Baddie Icon.
Was a baddie who styled herself after pulp-era anti-heroines and turned real-life villainess, Lady Velvet Vice was an early inspiration for Baddie femme fatales. Known for seducing heroes, blackmailing senators, and allegedly founding three villain zine networks, she blended style, sabotage, and sensuality into a persona so potent it’s still copied to this day.
The Patchwork Prince
Bodymod Icon. Monster or Messiah.
A walking art piece of art, a blend of tattoos, peircings and later as he embraced full on villainy; cybernetics, biotech grafts, and surgical symbolism, the Patchwork Prince was less a person and more a manifesto in flesh. His “My Body Is My Rebellion” movement popularized extreme self-modification among Monster-Wannabes and Mutation Baddies. Vanished in 1999 after saying he was “done being carbon.”
Black Gallowglass Propagandist. Arsonist. Visionary.
A digital terrorist and dark web philosopher, Black Gallowglass helped weaponize the Baddie identity with the release of the Villain Manifesto. They were behind the infamous Signal Jam protests of 1998 and created the first encrypted zine archive. The government claims they were killed in a drone strike. Their fans say otherwise. To this day no one knows their true name, gender or if they were even human some speculate they were a rogue AI.
Sister Hex Witch, Riot Med, Folk Villain Queen.
Blending urban magic, mutual aid, and hexcraft with street activism, Sister Hex was the founder of the first Baddie "apothecary" network. She offered spells, first aid, and psionic shielding at protests and actively promoted drug counter culture—while hexing precincts with sigils carved into abandoned statues. She’s still considered a saint among some Witch Baddies.
Killer-Kade
Influencer-Turned-Terror Darling.
Once a glam villain fashion vlogger, Kade was radicalized live on-stream during the Ashlight Incident. Known for flamboyant crimes, personalized manifestos, and designer bomb jackets, Kade blurred the line between celebrity and insurgent. Younger Baddies treat him like a pop star. Older ones? Like a cautionary tale.
"Dollface" Darleen
The Smile Behind Half a Dozen Coups.
Charismatic, plastic-smooth, and rumored to have been the result of a super solider project gone rogue, "Dollface" Darleen is credited with both glamorizing and militarizing Baddie aesthetics in authoritarian nations. She disappeared into New Libertalia in the early 1990s. Where she runs Dollface Designs New Libertalias premier villain costume designer .
These are just a few names etched in the movement’s mythology—part fact, part fanfic, and entirely unforgettable. Whether they lived, died, or transcended the page, their legacy shapes the masks Baddies wear today.
Here are a few of the most enduring names in Baddie history:
Alex Atrocity
Frontman. Firebrand. Folk Demon.
The poster child for Villain-Punk, Alex Atrocity led Burnt Capes, the band that gave Baddie culture its original soundtrack. Known for incendiary lyrics and theatrical stage antics, he’s remembered less for how he died (Triple-Ex overdose) and more for how he lived—with a mic on fire and middle fingers raised to the sky. His enshrined guitar is a pilgrimage site.
Lady Velvet Vice
First Femme Fatale Baddie Icon.
Was a baddie who styled herself after pulp-era anti-heroines and turned real-life villainess, Lady Velvet Vice was an early inspiration for Baddie femme fatales. Known for seducing heroes, blackmailing senators, and allegedly founding three villain zine networks, she blended style, sabotage, and sensuality into a persona so potent it’s still copied to this day.
The Patchwork Prince
Bodymod Icon. Monster or Messiah.
A walking art piece of art, a blend of tattoos, peircings and later as he embraced full on villainy; cybernetics, biotech grafts, and surgical symbolism, the Patchwork Prince was less a person and more a manifesto in flesh. His “My Body Is My Rebellion” movement popularized extreme self-modification among Monster-Wannabes and Mutation Baddies. Vanished in 1999 after saying he was “done being carbon.”
Black Gallowglass Propagandist. Arsonist. Visionary.
A digital terrorist and dark web philosopher, Black Gallowglass helped weaponize the Baddie identity with the release of the Villain Manifesto. They were behind the infamous Signal Jam protests of 1998 and created the first encrypted zine archive. The government claims they were killed in a drone strike. Their fans say otherwise. To this day no one knows their true name, gender or if they were even human some speculate they were a rogue AI.
Sister Hex Witch, Riot Med, Folk Villain Queen.
Blending urban magic, mutual aid, and hexcraft with street activism, Sister Hex was the founder of the first Baddie "apothecary" network. She offered spells, first aid, and psionic shielding at protests and actively promoted drug counter culture—while hexing precincts with sigils carved into abandoned statues. She’s still considered a saint among some Witch Baddies.
Killer-Kade
Influencer-Turned-Terror Darling.
Once a glam villain fashion vlogger, Kade was radicalized live on-stream during the Ashlight Incident. Known for flamboyant crimes, personalized manifestos, and designer bomb jackets, Kade blurred the line between celebrity and insurgent. Younger Baddies treat him like a pop star. Older ones? Like a cautionary tale.
"Dollface" Darleen
The Smile Behind Half a Dozen Coups.
Charismatic, plastic-smooth, and rumored to have been the result of a super solider project gone rogue, "Dollface" Darleen is credited with both glamorizing and militarizing Baddie aesthetics in authoritarian nations. She disappeared into New Libertalia in the early 1990s. Where she runs Dollface Designs New Libertalias premier villain costume designer .
These are just a few names etched in the movement’s mythology—part fact, part fanfic, and entirely unforgettable. Whether they lived, died, or transcended the page, their legacy shapes the masks Baddies wear today.
Ideals
Beauty Ideals
Beauty ideals among Baddies vary wildly, but almost all lean into alt aesthetics—pulling from metal, punk, goth, and fetish fashion—then blending it with the flair of supervillain style. It’s less about meeting a specific standard and more about curating a vibe. A statement. A look that says: “I’m the problem, not the victim.”
Some Baddies go full retro—leather jackets, big hair, and pulp-era femme fatale eyeliner. Others push toward shock and horror: body mods, fake (or real) scars, chromed-out teeth, and blood-splatter patterns that toe the line between costume and crime scene. Then there are those who lean into seduction and spectacle—corsets, latex, glamrock influence, and villain-coded haute couture.
What matters isn’t what you wear.
What matters is that you look like a bad guy.
Whether you're channeling an anarchist alchemist, a cybernetic domme, a radioactive street preacher, or just a warehouse fire in heels—if it turns heads, raises eyebrows, or makes someone cross the street, it’s Baddie enough.
After all, in a world obsessed with heroes, nothing’s hotter than looking like the threat.
Some Baddies go full retro—leather jackets, big hair, and pulp-era femme fatale eyeliner. Others push toward shock and horror: body mods, fake (or real) scars, chromed-out teeth, and blood-splatter patterns that toe the line between costume and crime scene. Then there are those who lean into seduction and spectacle—corsets, latex, glamrock influence, and villain-coded haute couture.
What matters isn’t what you wear.
What matters is that you look like a bad guy.
Whether you're channeling an anarchist alchemist, a cybernetic domme, a radioactive street preacher, or just a warehouse fire in heels—if it turns heads, raises eyebrows, or makes someone cross the street, it’s Baddie enough.
After all, in a world obsessed with heroes, nothing’s hotter than looking like the threat.
Gender Ideals
One of the major draws of Baddie culture is the near-total absence of gender ideals. In a world obsessed with labels and expectations, Baddies take a page from their idols: supervillains—many of whom were early queer-coded or openly LGBTQ+ icons long before mainstream acceptance.
Villains never played by society’s rules. Why would they start now?
Some Baddies reject gender entirely. Others bend it, remix it, or blow it up on livestream. And some embrace traditional masculinity or femininity to the extreme—weaponizing beauty standards like armor. No one blinks. No one judges. The only rule is that you do what you want.
In Baddie culture, you can be femme and dangerous, masc and delicate, shapeshifting, genderfluid, binary, nonbinary, or unapologetically undefined. No one’s keeping score.
Because villains don’t ask for permission.
They just are.
Villains never played by society’s rules. Why would they start now?
Some Baddies reject gender entirely. Others bend it, remix it, or blow it up on livestream. And some embrace traditional masculinity or femininity to the extreme—weaponizing beauty standards like armor. No one blinks. No one judges. The only rule is that you do what you want.
In Baddie culture, you can be femme and dangerous, masc and delicate, shapeshifting, genderfluid, binary, nonbinary, or unapologetically undefined. No one’s keeping score.
Because villains don’t ask for permission.
They just are.
Courtship Ideals
Courtship in Baddie culture is as varied—and intense—as the villains they idolize.
For some, love begins with violence, grit, and heat—a clash of wills, a rooftop brawl that ends in heavy breathing and deeper eye contact, or a jailbreak assist that turns into a first date. For others, it’s a sinister slow burn, full of blood-red roses, encrypted letters, and whispered promises of shared wickedness beneath the moonlight.
The ideal Baddie romance isn’t sweet—it’s seductive, dramatic, and just a little bit dangerous.
Some lovers bond over a shared arch-nemesis. Others fall in love planning faux heists, staging viral stunts, or trading villain poetry about how your darkness swallows the light of justice and exposes the hollow hypocrisy beneath all that heroic righteousness.
There’s no “correct” way to woo someone in Baddie culture—only that it must be memorable.
Whether it’s a bouquet of razorblades, a mutual blackmail pact, or a rooftop violin serenade during a citywide blackout—what matters is the message:
“I see the monster in you, and I think it’s beautiful.”
For some, love begins with violence, grit, and heat—a clash of wills, a rooftop brawl that ends in heavy breathing and deeper eye contact, or a jailbreak assist that turns into a first date. For others, it’s a sinister slow burn, full of blood-red roses, encrypted letters, and whispered promises of shared wickedness beneath the moonlight.
The ideal Baddie romance isn’t sweet—it’s seductive, dramatic, and just a little bit dangerous.
Some lovers bond over a shared arch-nemesis. Others fall in love planning faux heists, staging viral stunts, or trading villain poetry about how your darkness swallows the light of justice and exposes the hollow hypocrisy beneath all that heroic righteousness.
There’s no “correct” way to woo someone in Baddie culture—only that it must be memorable.
Whether it’s a bouquet of razorblades, a mutual blackmail pact, or a rooftop violin serenade during a citywide blackout—what matters is the message:
“I see the monster in you, and I think it’s beautiful.”
Relationship Ideals
In Baddie culture, love isn’t soft—it’s scorched-earth.
Many of the most iconic villains had partners in crime—not just sidekicks or lovers, but full-on ride-or-die devour-the-world-for-you type bonds. That’s the fantasy Baddies idolize: a partner who will torch cities, betray empires, or go down in flames just to keep you safe. Or better—someone who’ll burn the world besides, laughing in the afterglow with you.
This obsession fuels a whole genre of art, zines, fanfics, and underground romance novels collectively known as the Villain Love Subgenre of Torn Spandex novels—the name for gritty, villain-coded love stories full of passion, betrayal, blood, and redemption (or glorious failure). These stories aren’t about stability. They’re about intensity. They’re about obsession. They're about a connection so deep it becomes dangerous.
Monogamy, polyamory, power dynamics, dom/sub, mind-control romance, betrayal-as-foreplay—anything goes, so long as it’s dramatic. What matters in a Baddie relationship isn’t respectability—it’s loyalty, chemistry, danger, and a shared “us-against-the-world” mindset.
The healthiest couples? Might be a madcap costumed duo of rogues.
The messiest ones? Absolutely iconic.
Many of the most iconic villains had partners in crime—not just sidekicks or lovers, but full-on ride-or-die devour-the-world-for-you type bonds. That’s the fantasy Baddies idolize: a partner who will torch cities, betray empires, or go down in flames just to keep you safe. Or better—someone who’ll burn the world besides, laughing in the afterglow with you.
This obsession fuels a whole genre of art, zines, fanfics, and underground romance novels collectively known as the Villain Love Subgenre of Torn Spandex novels—the name for gritty, villain-coded love stories full of passion, betrayal, blood, and redemption (or glorious failure). These stories aren’t about stability. They’re about intensity. They’re about obsession. They're about a connection so deep it becomes dangerous.
Monogamy, polyamory, power dynamics, dom/sub, mind-control romance, betrayal-as-foreplay—anything goes, so long as it’s dramatic. What matters in a Baddie relationship isn’t respectability—it’s loyalty, chemistry, danger, and a shared “us-against-the-world” mindset.
The healthiest couples? Might be a madcap costumed duo of rogues.
The messiest ones? Absolutely iconic.
Comments