Last week I made the case for you that Paris Fashion Week, which just wrapped up on March 10, is yet another example of elitist satanic worship — the same brand of wickedness we see festering all throughout Hollywood and among other elite circles.

Now I’m going to prove it to you.

Official descriptions boast that Inferno is ‘not just a party’ but a ‘ritual.’

In my previous article, I awarded the gold medal for the most in-your-face demonic collection to French fashion label Matières Fécales — translation: Fecal Matter. Its Canadian founders, Hannah Rose Dalton and Steven Raj Bhaskaran, paraded a sequence of grotesque looks down the runway that included models distorted by nightmarish prosthetics and grisly surgical wounds; ensembles one would expect to see in a film about ghouls and grim reapers; and overtly satanic elements, like devil horns, fake blood, and cult-like theatrics.

The nonconforming, alien-esque duo attempted to justify their freak show by slapping a satire label on it. All the nauseating pageantry and horror were nothing more than a critique of elitist power and privilege, they said.

It’s a recycled narrative we have heard countless times from stars and public figures questioned about their dark spectacles. If the staleness of their defense wasn’t cause enough to reject it as a lie, then Matières Fécales’ partnership with Lewis G. Burton — the obese, transgender, intersex “Mother” of London’s queer underworld — certainly is.

He was one of the “models” chosen to don a look from the label’s Fall 2026 “Ready-to-Wear” collection — a hooded black floor-length robe resembling that of a satanic priest.

Victor Virgile/Getty Images

A far cry from the skeletal catwalkers we’re accustomed to seeing on high-fashion runways, Burton’s large figure, which he proudly uses to fight “fatphobia” and push “fat liberation,” is a core piece of his identity.

It is his stated intention not only to normalize but to glorify obesity and objective ugliness. In a 2019 interview with i-D magazine, Burton, a trained performance artist, said, “When I was first on stage being garish and grotesque, I was shoving my ugliness in people’s faces. I was saying: I feel repulsive because you made me feel repulsive, so now you have to look at it. Now I see it differently because I think I’m f**king beautiful! It’s a new extreme now. It’s about showing that beauty to the world.”

Joe Hale/Getty Images

Beyond the body: Burton’s activism and influence

But fatness is the least interesting layer of the onion that is Burton.

As a founding member of London Trans+ Pride — which he helped grow from just 1,500 people in 2019 to over 100,000 in 2025 — he remains one of the most visible faces of London’s trans activism.

He advocates radical positions for a number of LGBTQ+ issues, including faster and fully funded gender-affirming “care” for transgenders, access to puberty blockers for children, mandatory inclusion of trans people in single-sex spaces, and a ban on all nonconsensual surgeries on intersex children.

Like the majority of left-wing activists, however, Burton’s cries of oppression echo throughout multiple grievance movements. He has steered London Trans+ Pride toward aggressive intersectionality, most notably marching in solidarity with Palestine, which predictably (and paradoxically) includes condemnation of Islamophobia.

Marches, “visibility” events, and left-wing activism are almost unremarkable, though, when compared to Burton’s prominent role in London’s underground queer scene.

His traveling queer techno rave and performance art platform “Inferno” — inspired by Dante Alighieri’s epic poem about the nine levels of hell — is described as “seven layers” of “queer heaven,” where each circle explores new depths of perversion, varying in intensity from “gentle” rituals of chosen-family bonding to the darkest, most depraved circles of sweat-soaked techno, body horror performance, and explicit queer pornography.

Devoted to its hell theme, Inferno events are notorious for their red-drenched lighting, thick smoke, dark and shocking costumes, grotesque performances, and hedonistic indulgences.

One Inferno attendee described an event like this: “A dark warehouse illuminated by a sea of red textiles and clouds of smoke. … Inferno is a space where everyone can express themselves, whether it be through extravagant, tentacle-like costumes or full body paint.”

RELATED: Satan struts at Paris Fashion Week — here are the 3 most demonic designers

Victor Virgile/Getty Images

From hedonism to ritual: The spiritual dimension

But Inferno’s unmitigated paganism doesn’t stop with carnal pleasures. It embraces the spiritual, too.

Witchcraft language is woven into its DNA. Official descriptions boast that Inferno is “not just a party” but a “ritual.”

Additionally, Burton, who styles himself as the “mother” of the matriarchal “Inferno family,” appears to occupy a spiritual role in which he uses his music to cast what he calls spells.

“MOTHERS MILK is more than a music video — it’s a spell,” reads the YouTube description for his most recent song, which he regularly performs live before the dark, gyrating Inferno masses.

Burton’s spiritualism, however, extends beyond the dance floor. In addition to the grotesque, hellish aesthetics that dominate his Instagram account (view at your own risk), he regularly posts new moon rituals, guiding his followers through candle ceremonies and “cosmic resets” that he frames around themes of divine femininity and personal transformation.

In doing so, he positions himself not merely as a DJ or party host, but as a spiritual guide for the community that gathers under his influence.

This fusion of radical progressivism, New Age spirituality, and unapologetic darkness that Burton embodies is not merely a new pagan religion — it’s proof that evil operates in interconnected webs.

Webs of alignment and influence

I write this not to stir up hatred for Burton. I actually deeply pity him. When I see people this spiritually lost and psychologically ill, my first thought is always to wonder about where the original break occurred — what trauma, indoctrination, or misfortune sent them down such a dark path.

I write this to illustrate that when elites and public figures shove objective evil down our throats — like Matières Fécales’ demonic Paris Fashion Week collection — they are not being ironic or critical. They are showing us what team they play for.

Choosing Burton as a model was no gesture of inclusivity. It is alignment of values. And in fact, in 2019, Matières Fécales directed the music video for Burton’s song “Hermaphrodite.” They are embedded in the same sick circle.

And that alignment of values extends upward: from the governing bodies of Paris Fashion Week, which embrace the grotesqueness of the Matières Fécales label; to high-profile celebrities who attend the shows and wear the designs — Chappell Roan and Lady Gaga among those who have prominently supported the brand — and who publicly align with the broader community Burton represents; and ultimately to the influential figures and institutions that promote radical progressivism, deliberately unraveling society through the erosion of morality and the poisoning of institutions.

Normalizing the dark: An upside-down world

This is a dark web, and at the center is a worship of evil and the intention to normalize it and sell it to the masses as something that is actually good. Fatness is fabulous. Ugliness is beauty. Perversion is uniqueness. Depravity is liberation. Hedonism is self-expression. Darkness is an aesthetic. Witchcraft is misunderstood. Truth is subjective. Opposition is violence.

Satan is symbolic.

I do believe that many of these people, likely Burton himself, genuinely think that Satan is nothing more than a way to anger the cisgender white conservative oppressors — just a red-tinged aura to throw one’s rage behind.

I wish that were true. It would make the stakes a lot lower. But the truth is that the Satan they flirt with is not a symbol, a muse, or a vibe. He’s the very real and active root that feeds every dark idea, movement, and deed. He is also the mastermind behind the careful framing and packaging that makes objective evil palatable for the masses.

But what does it say about society when something as universally revolting as Fecal Matter or “Mother” Lewis G. Burton are hoisted up as trophies of progress on an elite stage? No one who retains control over his own mind can behold these things and genuinely approve.

To me it means that the primordial plan to engulf the world in darkness is reaching later phases. It reminds me of the scene in “The Fellowship of the Ring” where the trolls and other fell creatures have begun leaving their shadowed lands and are encroaching on peaceful borders. This breach is interpreted as a sign that the Enemy is growing strong and foreshadows the great battle to come.

Our great battle is drawing nearer, too. The signs are everywhere. You don’t even have to search for them. Just look to the streets, the classrooms, the halls of power — or the runways.

My hope, however, is that we don’t make the same mistake as Matières Fécales, Burton, and other embracers of darkness and reduce Satan to a symbol by directing our fury at people who are merely pawns in this cosmic game — forgetting that this has never been, and will never be, a battle of flesh and blood.

​Culture, Paris fashion week, Satanism, Satan, Christianity, Trans, Lgbtq, Lgbtq agenda, Faith 

Former Columbia University President Lee C. Bollinger has produced a slender, puzzling book. It glides past the central problems facing campuses — weak leadership, weak accountability, and ideological capture — and lingers instead on nostalgia and the “community of scholars.”

It also prompts a blunt question: Why do university presidents publicly dissemble? Not in the chest-thumping manner of a cable-news partisan, but in the lubricated, bureaucratic manner that says almost everything except what matters most.

Bollinger presents a university with virtually no blemishes — blameless, well-run, noble — and then points outward, toward Trump and the federal government, as the true threat.

Bollinger was recruited by W.W. Norton editor in chief Dan Gerstle to adapt lectures delivered in spring 2025 into a book. He aims to remind readers that the American university occupies a critical place in society. In the abstract, he’s right, and parts of the argument work.

As a constitutional law scholar, he also tries to weave the First Amendment into the university’s institutional identity, suggesting the two are inseparable. That claim needs more force than this book provides. The prose reads like speech material polished for print. The ambition outruns the substance.

But the real center of gravity arrives quickly: Bollinger casts the primary threat to higher education as “outsiders,” especially the federal government and, most of all, Donald Trump. Yes, it’s another Trump-as-villain entry in the culture wars, and likely the reason this book was rushed into print. Whatever Bollinger’s hygienic tone, this is hatchet work in a gentleman’s suit.

Bollinger is no detached man of letters offering serene judgment from above the fray. He remains a prominent operator inside elite academic and political networks. His calm posture functions less as neutrality than as insulation.

The book is divided into three parts: “The University,” “The First Amendment,” and “The Fifth Branch.” If the press is the “fourth branch” of government, Bollinger argues the university deserves branch status too.

I write often about the university’s high mythology — the version parents and alumni carry around because universities actively sell it. Bollinger indulges that mythology. His university is a place of serious minds, noble purpose, and largely blameless governance, with only the occasional “organized anarchy,” the predictable messiness of complex institutions.

He offers this earnest passage:

I challenge anyone to spend a day, a week, or more in any university — sitting in on classes, attending lectures, meeting with students, visiting a laboratory, being part of a seminar — and not come away deeply impressed, indeed invigorated, about the human potential to know and to grasp something of our existence.

Many readers will want to believe it. Bollinger counts on that desire.

And here’s where the trouble begins.

RELATED: How America’s universities embraced anti-American ‘blood and soil’

Photo by Selcuk Acar/Anadolu via Getty Images

The book’s best section is its opening chapter, which promises an insider’s look at how universities actually function. Bollinger divides the institution into multiple levels of analysis — individual, university, and system — in a way that will feel familiar to anyone trained in serious political science. The intent looks analytic. The presentation sounds authoritative.

Then he leaves out the single biggest operational reality on most campuses.

Bollinger describes academic affairs — faculty, curriculum, and the traditional governance story — and effectively ignores student affairs, often rebranded as “student success.” That omission is not a minor gap. It’s the whole fight.

Modern universities are not simply faculty-driven institutions with a few administrative appendages. They are sprawling managerial systems in which student affairs bureaucracies routinely outnumber faculty and operate as an ersatz ideological faculty through what they call the co-curriculum: workshops, trainings, mandatory seminars, “wellness” programming, diversity offices, identity centers, residence-life systems, conduct regimes, orientation pipelines, and retention machinery.

This is education by parallel authority.

Student affairs is frequently staffed, trained, and ideologically shaped by external nonprofits such as ACPA, NASPA, NADOHE, and NACADA. These groups do not simply offer best practices. They often function as ideological conduits, pushing “critical pedagogy” and “critical consciousness” as an institutional mission. One of them literally advertises the goal of “boldly transforming higher education.”

That transformation is not a side story. It is the story. It’s how the modern university moved from the “shared governance” myth to a bureaucratic reality where the faculty increasingly serves as a decorative legitimacy layer.

Bollinger never deals with it. Not directly. Not honestly. Not at all.

Contemporary scholarship has already documented how student affairs increasingly designs, delivers, and assesses structured educational experiences parallel to the faculty curriculum. The same bureaucracy often serves as a channel for activism infrastructure that has helped fuel campus chaos since 2020.

Student affairs is wholly under the control of the extremist left. Yet Bollinger presents a university with virtually no blemishes — blameless, well-run, noble — and then points outward, toward Trump and the federal government, as the true threat.

It’s hard not to conclude that the nostalgia is doing work. Bollinger affirms the version of the university that parents and alumni want to believe still exists: the citadel of learning devoted to truth, stewarded by wise leaders, occasionally messy but fundamentally righteous.

RELATED: How to muzzle the three-headed diversity monster

Photo by Bill Pugliano/Getty Images

That image now functions as cover.

It shields what many universities have become: money-making and idea-laundering operations that give lip service to the people paying the bills — parents, students, donors — while empowering internal bureaucracies that answer to their own ideological class.

Bollinger’s personal position makes this posture easier to spot. He belongs to the wealthy mandarin class that runs elite higher education. His Columbia compensation reportedly topped $5 million annually. Columbia’s assets were roughly $23.5 billion at the end of 2022.

He also guards his own record with careful selection.

While he was president of the University of Michigan, the school was involved in two affirmative action cases decided by the Supreme Court in 2003. Bollinger highlights the win (Grutter v. Bollinger) but gives scant attention to the loss (Gratz v. Bollinger). In places, his wording blurs them together in a way that can leave casual readers thinking Michigan prevailed across the board.

It didn’t. In Gratz, Michigan’s admissions policy violated the Equal Protection Clause. That case foreshadowed the eventual collapse of the broader regime in Students for Fair Admissions v. Harvard two decades later.

At Columbia, Bollinger helped lay the groundwork for the institution’s later disorder by expanding and empowering DEI bureaucracies in response to the 2020 “racial reckoning.” Many presidents issued pro forma statements they now quietly regret. Bollinger went further: He built and strengthened the permanent infrastructure.

My view is straightforward: Bollinger represents the ascent of the new mandarins — administrators who guard prerogatives, expand PR machinery, and grow their internal empires against faculty authority, all while presenting themselves as the guardians of scholarly life. He is the living, breathing antithesis of what the university and its presidents should be in the 21st century.

In “University: A Reckoning,” Bollinger wants readers to see a university that largely no longer exists. His lack of candor ensures that readers learn little about how universities actually function — and even less about why so many are failing.

​College campus, University: a reckoning, Columbia, Higher education, American universities, Lee bollinger, Radical left, Opinion & analysis, University of michigan, Diversity equity inclusion 

BlazeTV host Allie Beth Stuckey credits not only her parents but her faith-based education — from kindergarten through high school — with shaping her worldview and skill set.

“My dad always said that he would do whatever it took, however many hours he had to work, however many shifts he had to work, to make sure my brothers and I attended a Christian school,” Stuckey says.

“I went to the same Christian school from kindergarten through 12th grade. Was it perfect? No. I had some not so great teachers. The culture wasn’t always the best. The community wasn’t always the best,” she continues.

“I would not trade my education for anything. In addition to the Holy Spirit and my parents, my kindergarten through 12th grade education is responsible for instilling in me the word of God, the ability to memorize it, to defend it, to think logically, to reason, to read, to write, to argue,” she explains.

“That just goes to show how crucial it is to disciple your kids from an early age because what they learn now, they will keep with them as adults, even more than the things they learn as adults,” she adds.

Stuckey points out that after her viral Jubilee debate, she was asked by several people how she prepared herself to take on such a large number of liberals.

“Yes, it took a lot of practice and preparation and skill, experience. Yes, my parents in so many ways prepared me for that just by how they raised me. But also, 13 years of Christian education, a decade of Awana, eight years of youth group, decades of Sunday school,” she explains.

“You just can’t beat the evangelical upbringing when it comes to knowing the Bible. And I am so thankful for it. I use it every single day,” she adds.

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