Words and Interview by Charlie Taylor
Tom Peters doesn’t carry himself like someone bound by age. He has the glow of someone living in the present and the warmth of someone who makes you feel lighter just by being near him.
For all the labels attached to him—DJ, producer, promoter, fashion designer—he tells me he’s just Tom, a man who has learned to live differently in a nightlife scene that rarely slows down.
Where did you grow up?
Tom grew up in northern Germany, near the Baltic Sea, in a landscape of lakes and quiet. His hometown carried both community and constraint.
“In small places, people help each other. But it was also small-minded. I didn’t see anyone like me, maybe one or two gay people, and I didn’t relate to them. I knew I was different, but I wasn’t sure how.”
The difference wasn’t just about sexuality. Tom’s grandfather was from Cameroon, his grandmother German, and in a mostly white, provincial environment, his mixed-race identity marked him as an outsider.
“People called me names. But I had my loyal circle of friends, so I didn’t care. The people who called me names were not my people.”
Music was an opening. A friend’s brother with a record player showed him how to DJ, and he started buying vinyl, skateboarding, watching graffiti sprayers, and diving into German hip-hop. He spent weekends swimming in lakes or taking trains to nearby cities to shop for records.
“I always had older friends. I wanted to learn from people with more life experience—I was curious, I wanted more.”
Radio was vital to you. Tell me more!
At home, the radio was another portal.
“We had a channel called HR3 that broadcast live DJs every Saturday, artists like Ellen Allien, Gayle San, Pascal Feos, and Andre Galluzzi. I’d write down the tracklists from the teletext and then go hunt for the records, but they were usually sold out. It was beautiful and frustrating.”
At 13, he asked his mother to take him to a rave in a disused military base—a BPitch Control showcase with Ellen Allien, Sascha Funke, Housemeister and Paul Kalkbrenner.
She refused—he was too young. A year later, he tried again. This time, she agreed.
At 14 years old, he experienced clubbing for the first time.
I danced however I wanted because I was so free. I loved it.
That first taste of freedom never left him. It wasn’t about rebellion or excess; it was about surrender, and about being part of something bigger than himself.
“That energy, that total release, is something I sometimes miss now,” he reflects.
By 15, his vision stretched further.
“There was this documentary about Berghain and Berlin club culture, and I watched it with my parents. They thought it looked intense. But I thought, I need to go there. I need to experience it.”
Let’s talk about the London years.
As he grew older, London became another chapter. Sunday nights in Fabric at “Wet Yourself“—a party run by Cormac, Peter Pixzel and Jacob Husley—carried through until daylight.
I used to dance all night without inhibition. Now I’m more analytical: how’s the crowd moving, how’s the DJ working? I feel energies more strongly, maybe because I’m sober. Back then, I was drinking, and everything was wild and fun. These days, it’s harder to let go, but also deeper in another way. I’m more sensitive to the room’s energy.
There’s a nostalgia in the way he speaks about those early years, a reminder that the first time you experience something, it carries a kind of magic that can’t be recreated.
“There’s a beautiful naivety in being young and doing things for the first time, and sometimes I miss it. But I remind myself: it’s a choice, we can always return to that openness if we want to.”
For someone so rooted in nightlife, a world obsessed with the new, the fast, the next, Tom’s relationship to time is unusual. He sees it not as a race but as a reminder to pause.
“I’m 35, but I feel like an old soul,” he says. “I often feel like I’ve already done this before. So much of how I connect with people, music, or my work feels intuitive. For me, time is about now. We shouldn’t plan too much ahead or dwell on the past, because both bring stress and worry. Everything is in the moment, we just need to respond to what is in front of us, not what has already happened or what we imagine is coming.”
It’s a perspective that feels rare: calm but alive, unassuming yet wise.
I think depression and anxiety come from being stuck in the past or too far in the future. When we’re present, most of the time, there isn’t a problem. Nothing lasts forever, so we have to enjoy the moment, knowing both good and bad times will pass.
There was a time when plans and ambition drove his life. In New York City, especially, that constant chase for “the next step” left him questioning what it was all for.
I used to plan things a lot. That’s the American lifestyle: always the next step, the next promotion. But I saw CEOs and CFOs who didn’t seem happy. You buy the house, the car, maybe adopt a child, and then what? I realised it’s more important to be happy with little things: fresh water, a shower, healthy food. Appreciating the basics makes everything else feel less critical.
That shift has become the foundation for how Tom moves through the world. Instead of chasing, he lives with a sense of trust: what is meant to unfold will unfold.
“Living in cities like London or New York is so expensive and stressful, you start asking: Can I be authentic and follow my passion, or do I need a corporate job that consumes me? For me, New York became too expensive and soul-crushing. Better to enjoy it as a place to visit, not to live.”
How did you start DJing?
Every artist has a turning point, a moment when things shift from possibility to reality. For Tom, that moment came in 2013.
“2012 changed my life. I met my best friend Marwin at Dalston Superstore, who introduced me to Kevin McHugh. We became friends and he invited me to stay in New York, where I wanted to play. We went to Resolute parties and saw Daniel Bell together.”
Kevin wasn’t just another industry contact. He had managed Danny Tenaglia, run Club Vinyl, co-founded Maxi Records. “I sent him my music, he saw potential and opened doors with no expectations.”
The gratitude runs deep. “At the time, you think, finally someone sees me. Looking back, that’s unconditional love—to give without expecting.”
Through Kevin, Tom’s career accelerated.
Kevin connected the dots for me. I played Cielo with Honey Dijon and Alan Fitzpatrick in 2013, started a residency at LeBain in 2016 for Susanne Bartsch, and opened for Nicole Moudaber in Mexico and Miami.
Kevin also brought Tom into New York’s creative underground, where nightlife mixed with fashion and art. Suddenly, Tom was part of a world he’d only seen from afar.
Then, just as suddenly, Kevin left music to focus on art, ocean conservation, and, later, his work at the Lower East Side Girls Club.
His shift still inspires Tom: “His life is so fulfilling without nightlife. At some point, nightlife is just too much.”
Berlin, London, New York: each city left its mark on Tom, but in very different ways. He laughs as he compares their rhythms.
Berlin is fucking dead during the week. Nothing is going on. In New York, it’s glam.
Can you share a special New York City memory?
He remembers one Monday night in Manhattan, playing a set at a club more accustomed to bottle service than underground music.
“I was washing my hands, looking around, and there were all these models. You never see them in the supermarket, you don’t see them on the train. One was Black, one blonde, one brunette. They were in heels, dressed up, smelling incredible. It was like an avatar.”
The contrast struck him in the simplest of ways.
A pimp once gave me a $100 tip, saying he and his girls had the best time. I really needed the money—the next day I went grocery shopping at Trader Joe’s. For him, it was nothing; for me, everything. That only happens in New York, never in Berlin.
Berlin, on the other hand, gave him something else entirely: time.
“The first time I got to play for my favourite club in the world was in Berlin, and they gave me a six-hour slot. In New York, most clubs close at 4 am, and they’re not going to hand you six hours on your first time. But in Berlin, they did. I was so grateful. To be able to really stretch, show your full range, connect with people—it was special.”
When Tom moved to Berlin at 19, one of the first people to guide him was the legendary Berghain bouncer and photographer.
Sven Marquardt photographed me for a Berlin Levi’s campaign and mentored me about finishing my education. He told me, ‘Tom, it’ll always be there, you don’t need to rush.’”
Patience wasn’t easy. “When you’re 18, you’re like, I’m ready for life, I want it now. And he said I had my whole life ahead, so relax. And now, at 35, I can look back and take that advice on. At the time, it was very difficult, because I wanted to live life now.”
It’s these contrasts, the glamour of Manhattan and the expansiveness of Berlin, that shaped Tom’s path. Each city gave him lessons that could only have happened there.
After Berlin gave him the freedom to stretch as an artist, New York felt like it offered the opposite: glamour and grind in equal measure. From the outside, Tom’s life there looked enviable: international gigs, rising name, the glow of the underground. But behind it was a reality that few people saw.
“When I lived in New York from 2016 to 2019 with my ex-partner, people were like, Wow, you’re living this life. But what people don’t know is that an artist visa doesn’t get you anywhere. I was really limited in what I could do, and that brought me to my knees, money-wise.”
Even with a friend’s airline buddy pass to help him fly back to Berlin every few weeks, the lifestyle was unsustainable.
“It was beautiful for what it was, but I couldn’t see myself doing it forever. As fabulous as it looked to live in New York, now I love visiting, staying in a friend’s guest room, and that’s all I need.”
How did it feel to move back to Berlin full-time?
Moving back to Berlin in 2019 gave him stability.
“I was resistant at first, but then I thought: fuck it. This was exactly what I had manifested: a job at Beatport where I was working with my mind and my knowledge. I could still be in the music industry, but I could go to bed at a normal time. I didn’t have the stress of needing a DJ gig to pay my rent.”
“After the pandemic, my DJ career in Berlin suddenly took off. I had this full-time job and a DJ career exploding at the same time. Looking back, I don’t know how I did it; it was insane.”
On top of it all was the DESSERT party he ran.
People think, Oh my god, you run a party, how fabulous. No, it’s a business. The tax office comes, you need to pay all the bills. If not enough people come, you lose money, and if you don’t have it, it’s on you.
After eleven years, he decided to step back.
“It was a good run, with meaningful moments, but it was time to move on. People who go to clubs have no idea what’s behind it: the money, the stress. To keep up, it’s just not glamorous.”
Let’s talk about sobriety.
Sobriety, for Tom, isn’t about exclusion; it’s about presence. In a culture where excess is often treated as the price of entry, he’s found a way to stand apart and still belong.
I really love a certain aspect of nightlife, and that aspect is usually very excessive and intense. So then, being sober, it makes me an outsider. But I still love to do the soundtrack for those moments.
It captures his unique place in the scene: someone who holds the space without needing to join in. He doesn’t judge, he just observes, providing the musical backing for others to let go.
Over time, though, he’s noticed a shift in Berlin’s nightlife scene.
“I see more and more people turning sober, even DJs. On Instagram, people see I’m sober, and artists from the techno scene reach out. Some came to it through wellness, others through addiction, but either way, you connect. And often it’s on a deeper level than before.”
There’s joy in the way he talks about these bonds. Sobriety doesn’t have to be heavy, he insists; it can be light, playful, expansive.
“I’m happy to connect with people on a fitness level, or just on a feeling-good level,” he says. “It doesn’t have to be deep. Wellness can be light too.”
For Tom, what matters is balance. Meditation, Qigong, yoga, and even the ritual of drinking a perfectly brewed cup of Japanese matcha—all of it feeds his desire to be rooted, present, and sustainable in the club world.
What might make others feel like an outsider has become my strength: a way to carve out a sustainable life in nightlife, where health, music, and connection are not opposites but part of the same rhythm.
Does being sober change how you navigate nightlife?
“New York is total mayhem—drag queens, celebrities, club kids, all in one place. Nobody cares who you are; everything is colourful and fun. I love guiding that chaos as a DJ. Being sober lets me connect with the energy, soak it in, and still wake up happy. From the booth, it feels like both observing and being at the centre.”
On the dance floor, it’s a bit different. Tom remembers a Sunday morning at Panorama Bar when his friend Alexander Skancke debuted.
“We danced for hours, made new friends, and now even do brunches together. That’s the kind of joy sobriety lets me fully remember.”
But he has also seen the darker side. Berlin nightlife, especially in queer spaces, often celebrates how extreme things can get.
By 4 am, when GHB kicks in, the energy changes. Suddenly, boundaries blur, people often touch without consent, and it stops feeling safe.
I read glowing articles about these parties on Resident Advisor, but my experience doesn’t always match them. As a sober person, I can’t filter out the chaos; it’s in my face at the bar, in the bathroom, on the dance floor. Sometimes it feels less like a celebration and more like an escape.
Tom tells me that the disconnect can be frightening. He looks for spaces where the energy is joyful without tipping into something destructive. “Those are the nights that remind me why I love this scene.”
After years of DJing in clubs fuelled by excess, Tom wanted to try something different: What would it feel like to create a high-energy space without substance use?
Let’s talk about Club Sober.
Together with his friend James Lee, he created Club Sober, a sober day rave. James had been programming at Electrowerkz, and the venue was open-minded enough to give them a chance.
It was really exciting launching my party, because so many people told me they were looking for alternative spaces. Some gigs I play can be very sexual, very intense, and people said they’d love to see me in a different context.
“They understood the bar sales would be different at a sober party, and they gave us the space.”
The first event surprised people. “Dark club, but daytime. People got into it: shirts came off, people kissed, there was a real vibe,” Tom recalls.
Still, it was different to a typical night.
“Without substances, the energy doesn’t last so long. People danced, connected, then drifted off. Maybe they went home together, maybe they just left because their attention span was different. If I did it again, I’d do it somewhere with daylight, more like a New York tea dance: afternoon, social, less dark.”
Through the experiment, Tom also noticed the nuances in what “sober” means.
“There’s a difference between my perspective, choosing sobriety as part of a conscious, fitness-oriented lifestyle, and people coming from recovery. For some, clubs are triggering. So if I relaunch, it will be less about ‘sober’ and more about wellness, connection, and community.”
His vision now is less about rejecting club culture than reimagining it.
“I love spaces where you can dance but also sit, talk, and connect. London clubs aren’t built for that. I imagine a rooftop party with daylight, sober cocktails and cucumber spritzes—a place to dance and share stories. That feels more like my energy.”
Tom tells me that touring often looks glamorous from the outside: the travel, the parties, the endless nights of music. But behind it is jet lag, long absences, and the constant pressure of movement.
Let’s talk about love.
For Tom, the challenge in touring is managing the chaos and making sure his relationship keeps the love and attention it needs.
The key for Christian and me is making time for each other. When he finishes work, we cook together. It’s about day-to-day life, not always planning the next holiday. For us, it’s about being mindful and in the moment.
That mindfulness shows up in small rituals. “Grocery shopping together, bike rides, being in nature, reading a book in the evening together. Taking the time to cook and connect, to really nurture the relationship. When I play in Europe, often he joins me.”
Not every trip is close to home, though. “When I travel further, like last year when I went to Mexico and Colombia, sometimes I’m away for two or three weeks. Then we stay connected over FaceTime.”
It’s not the rhythm of a couple working 9-to-5 jobs, but for Tom, that’s the point. “It’s an alternative lifestyle, different from two people who both work in an office. But we still make the time, and I think it’s important to be conscious about making space for each other.”
His time in America sharpened that insight. “I saw a lot of people working toward the vacation, and their daily life wasn’t happy. What’s special about our relationship is that our day-to-day is really beautiful.”
Let’s talk about the shirts.
Tom’s entry into fashion came from necessity and love. He never set out to build a brand, he just wanted the t-shirts that were out of reach.
It all came together because I loved record label t-shirts, but I couldn’t afford them. My aunt said, Why don’t we just make them ourselves? She was an introvert, a painter, but she invited me over. We bought t-shirts and textile colours and painted our own versions of the BPitch Control shirts. I loved it.
What began as gifts soon grew into something bigger. “I started painting shirts for friends’ birthdays, for DJs’ birthdays. Ellen Allien, Zander VT, Spencer Parker, Margaret Dygas, Sammy Dee from Perlon, Shaun Reeves from Visionquest, they wore them. Somebody sent me a photo from DC-10 of my shirt in the DJ booth, and I hadn’t even been there yet. It was major, in an authentic way. I loved their music so much, and I wanted to give something back. For me, it was pure love, no agenda.”
The messages he painted carried the same energy: gentle affirmations across cotton.
“It was always things like, Don’t worry, everything is going to be amazing. It was loving. I was also wearing my shirts when I worked in the Berghain cloakroom in 2010, just to express myself. It wasn’t about showing off. It was naïve, but meaningful. Back then, it was pure expression, not likes on Instagram.”
Friends helped him take it further. A silk screen printer in Kreuzberg produced runs. His best friend Ulrich co-founded the brand. They launched with two slogans: I think about you all the time and Save Fashion. For the launch party, Tom dared to dream.
My hero was Ellen Allien. Back when I was 14, my DJ booth at home was covered in pictures of her. She said she’d love to play, but she had a TV interview. On the day, Sascha Funke, my second favourite, was supposed to play, but his flight was cancelled. A friend told Ellen, and she said, Whatever, I’ll make it. She brought the TV crew she was with on the day to my gig and DJ’d my launch. Coming from a tiny town, then being in Berlin, launching a label based on love, and Ellen Allien, my hero, playing vinyl with me, it was just so cool.
From there, the shirts travelled. Extra Fein in Berlin stocked them, then Rotation Records. DJs like Heidi picked them up, and Tom still remembers seeing her onstage at DEMF in Detroit, blonde hair flying, wearing his design.
In New York, his t-shirts even led him into the orbit of Patricia Field, the legendary costume designer behind Sex and the City, a woman who helped define the city’s style vocabulary.
When I moved there, Kevin introduced me to his best friend, Patricia. She had this store all about club kids, and she sold my t-shirts. They weren’t really her style; hers was more colourful, crazier, but she still made space. She even took them to Miami, to Art Basel, and sold them there. At the time, I didn’t even know who she was, and then I googled her, and I was like, Oh my god. I was connected to this whole universe that shaped culture.
For Tom, fashion and music were never separate, they were two ways of expressing the same thing: identity.
“Back in the day, it wasn’t about branding, it was about expression. We weren’t trying to sell it, we weren’t trying to make money. It was just laughing, creating, sharing.” That rawness is what first drew him in. “Now, everything feels so calculated. People have their brands, their managers, their strategies. And that’s fine, it’s part of the industry now. But for me, I still want to wear something at a gig that’s mine. That’s how I create.”
Eventually, Tom stepped away. “I stopped in 2019 I thought, I need to focus on music. But in 2023, I wanted to wear something of mine again. To express myself, to be silly. We made this t-shirt called Deep Throat and Anal Crew, just as a joke. Then Berlinciagay came, and now we’re selling at Keller Kreuzberg, a queer shop with only queer designers. Now it feels authentic again. It’s all coming together in a really good way.”
If fashion was a way of expressing outwardly, day-to-day life became about looking inward.
Away from the clubs, Tom’s life looks very different now.
Part of that shift has been learning to protect his energy. “I’ve reduced my social calendar to 20%, sometimes even 10%. It used to be 100: dinners, lunches, brunches. I was always the one inviting, bringing people together. I cherish it, but now it’s different. Now I’m protecting my energy. Maybe it’s also getting older.”
Instead of endless socialising, he leans into quiet routines that ground him. “Like this week, I had two dinner invitations and a lunch. They really wanted to see me, but I said no. I wanted to work on my taxes, organise my travel receipts, order records on Discogs, do my Qigong and yoga, drink my Japanese green tea, make smoothies, read my new book, go on a bike ride with my boyfriend. I just wanted zen.”
He laughs at how different it feels compared to his younger years. “Sometimes it’s too much information from people. When you’re an empath, people unload and unload. That can be beautiful, but I’m at the point now where I just want to look at the sky and do normal things. Maybe I was like that ten years ago, unloading on my friends. But now I want a more balanced approach.”
For Tom, the future isn’t something to chase, it’s something to meet with presence.
“I think the most exciting thing right now is to live the simple life, to not have expectations, not plan too much.”
That doesn’t mean standing still. “I’m planning my next release on my label, ‘…is serving’, number 011: two tracks from me with a remix from Steffi from Ostgut Ton / Berghain and Ketch from Syxt. We’re going to press it on vinyl. That’s the most exciting thing I’m working on right now.”
Beyond the music, he’s learning to let go. “I’m focusing on meaningful work, deeper connections, and creating more from ease than hustle. If it works, it works. If it doesn’t, it’s also fine. I’m not going to be running after people anymore. If a door closes, another will open.”
Much of that perspective comes back to surrender. “There’s a book, Letting Go: The Pathway of Surrender. It really changed my life because it brings the mind back to not judging yourself, to letting go of attachments to what should or shouldn’t be.”
Meditation grounds him in the same way. “I try to do it every two days, sometimes daily. It’s like brushing your teeth, mental hygiene. In the West, we don’t talk about this enough, but it’s just as important as washing the body.”
Even as a child, he was reminded of this. “My grandmother used to say to me, ‘Tom, can you just breathe for ten?’ Back then I didn’t understand, but now it’s what I always come back to. At airports, when flights are cancelled, or when I’m sick before a gig, it’s just this moment right now, just breathing.”
He smiles. “That is so freeing. The clouds always pass. For me it’s about coming back to the here and now. That’s what excites me the most.”
What advice would you give young Tom Peters?
If Tom could give his younger self, or anyone just starting out in nightlife, one piece of advice, it would be simple: breathe.
Just breathe, and let life unfold. Try not to control it. Nothing good comes out of control. Sure, somebody might become the CEO of a company that way, but are they really happy? What is their day-to-day life?
He knows this lesson firsthand. “I was always like, I want to play this club, I want to reach that label. And nothing came from that. It was toxic. You set expectations, if I get this label, then I’ll get that result, and if it doesn’t happen, suddenly you feel you’re not enough. And nobody else cares if you feel that way. You just create misery for yourself.”
His advice is clear: “No control, no expectations. Don’t criticise yourself, and don’t criticise others. Of course we should expect respect, that’s basic. But everything else, let it go. What will be, will be.”
It’s wisdom he once would have dismissed. “Ten years ago, when I read things like this, I thought it all sounded too spiritual, too silly. But now I see: a simple life really is the way forward. If we always want too much, we only make life harder.”
New York sharpened that insight. “I met people with crazy penthouses, these gorgeous lives on the outside. But everything was so stressful, so external, the way they present themselves, their fitness, their holidays. They don’t breathe, they don’t connect with themselves. And that, in the long run, is not fulfilling.”
What are your most unforgettable club moments?
There are too many to count, he says, but two at Panorama Bar stand out.
“I think there’s two things… both at Panorama. I’ve spent so much of my time there.”
The first was an epic night that turned into day. “One time there was an 18-hour set. From Âme and Dixon. Dixon left after the first four hours, because he was tired and had so many gigs, and Âme continued for the last 14. At 5am it was still dark, and it was just magic. They were building and building, and I don’t think anybody DJs like that anymore, with these really long builds, and then all of a sudden this euphoric release. From 5 or 6, maybe 7am, it just went boom, on a certain level, and he kept that energy. The whole room was with him. By 9am it was so bright I had to leave, because it was just too much. I needed to sleep. But what a special moment to witness a set like that.”
Panorama was always unpredictable then. “Back in the day Panorama Bar was always open-end, so you didn’t know if it would finish at 2pm, or 9am. That night was definitely a moment.”
Another memory comes from New Year’s Day 2011.
“I had already worked a shift in the cloakroom, and Margaret Dygas was playing a vinyl set. She dropped this track, Matt John’s The Tapedecker on Perlon. It must have been 6 or 7 am. The whole room, the people, the energy, the light, everything was so mental. I thought, Oh my god, this is crazy, I’m in a different space. And I loved the moment of that track, even though I knew, shit, I have to work again at 1 pm.”
He let himself get carried away. “I just let myself get lost in it. It’s a long track, and it was so cool. Afterwards, I left, got three hours of sleep, and went back to work. Sometimes certain tracks come and sweep you up, and it’s worth being tired for those moments. I’ll remember that forever. And you can’t recreate them. I tried to play that track once and it just didn’t work. Certain DJs just know what to play.”
And back then, the magic wasn’t filtered through screens. “It was before social media. No phones, nobody recording. Very free. And that made the moment even more memorable.”
For all his wisdom, discipline, and reflective calm, Tom lights up most when he talks about laughter. With Christian, joy is woven into the everyday.
I think my boyfriend, Christian, and I just laugh so much. And I think that’s the key to a great relationship: to be silly together. Just let it go, have a good time, don’t take life so seriously. That’s the magic, when you can be silly with someone and really be yourself, and laugh. Not always planning the next holiday or the next achievement, but just enjoying the day, the moment.
It feels like the perfect note to end on. Beneath everything—music, fashion, parties, philosophy—what Tom values most is simple: presence, connection, and play. The kind of laughter that anchors you, and the kind of love that makes the rest of life brighter.
Tom Peters lives in Berlin, Germany.
You can find him on Instagram and SoundCloud. His latest releases and upcoming gigs are here and you can read more about him over on the SEVEN website.
His latest single Te Quiero has a remix by Zombies in Miami and is available on Apple Music, Spotify, all major streaming services and Bandcamp.
Words: Charlie Taylor
Images provided by Tom Peters
Charlie writes for Hinterhaus and lives in London. She’s endlessly curious about people—their contradictions, desires, and what slips through the cracks. Also into loud music and low lighting. She writes her own beautiful blog on Substack: Fold in the Cheese.
