Running a grassroots arts collective is basically one long game of dress-up. Except instead of fun costumes, itās metaphorical hatsĀ - and we seem to collect new ones every week.
We started Flos because we wanted to make space for women, trans and gender-diverse artists who donāt often get the spotlight. What we didnāt realise at the beginning is that weād also accidentally sign up to about 25 different job descriptions.
Hereās a sample of the
hat collection so far:
Producer HatĀ - writing timetables, booking artists, remembering to publish the tickets so people can actually buy them!
Fundraiser HatĀ - submitting 15-page applications for grants, pouring our souls into them and then waiting six months for a no (sometimes they only make us wait three!)
Graphic Designer HatĀ - discovering Canva is our new best friend, but also our worst enemy at 2am.
Tech Support HatĀ - untangling a mountain of cables and pretending we know why the projector wonāt connect (we don't).
Social Media HatĀ - frantically uploading Instagram stories in between soundcheck and running to Lidl for riders.
Finance HatĀ - aka āSpreadsheet Fear,ā where every cell somehow adds up to a different number.
Therapist HatĀ - supporting each other (and sometimes our artists) through burnout spirals, imposter syndrome and post-event crashes.
Cleaner HatĀ - because yes, we will be the last people in the building, sweeping the floor at 1am while everyone else is at the afters.
DIY HatĀ - climbing ladders, rigging lights, blu-tacking things to walls, and learning the fine art of āmaking it workā with no budget.
And thatās just the event side. Add in being friends, flatmates, partners, employees at our actualĀ day jobs, and sometimes even trying to be artists ourselves, and⦠yeah. There are a lot of hats.
The reality behind the joke
Itās easy to laugh about it (and honestly, if we didnāt, weād cry), but thereās also something bigger here. Grassroots organisers donāt just āmake events happen.ā Weāre carrying the labour of entire institutions - programming, producing, comms, finance, HR, marketing, cleaning - without the resources those institutions have.
And weāre doing it because we care. Because we know what it feels like to be excluded from the mainstream. Because we want to build the kind of spaces we wish had existed for us when we started out.
Why we keep the hats on
Itās not sustainable forever - we know that. Burnout is real, and weāre learning how to pace ourselves. But thereās also a joy in the chaos. In being scrappy. In the backstage laughter, the shared snacks, the relief when a plan (finally) comes together.
And honestly, sometimes the best part of wearing all the hats is realising we donāt wear them alone. We swap them around, share the load and hold each other up when it gets too much.

A little solidarity
So if you see us at SPLINTR Festival running around looking a bit frazzled, just know weāve probably changed hats five times that day already. And if youāre a grassroots organiser too: solidarity. We see you and your ever-growing hat collection.
Being a grassroots organiser isnāt about having the perfect hat. Itās about juggling them all with care, humour and a stubborn belief that what weāre building matters.
And maybe - one day - weāll even get paid enough to buy a real one. š





