
2charm Keeps It on the DL
by Trevor GardemalMar 17, 2026

Noah Virgile first learned about 2charm on social media.
“Honestly, the first time I saw them was pubes out on TikTok,” the fan told me before their headlining show at Elsewhere. In this TikTok, two men were dancing to their own electro-pop single, “boyfriend.” Over yearning vocals distorted beyond recognition, the two members of the band performed a synchronized, restrained dance. They were wearing the tiniest shorts imaginable.
A few weeks later, 2charm performed at the Brooklyn venue’s smallest space, Zone One, which soon filled with about 200 gay guys in tank tops. Virgile, sporting Kim Petras merch, told me that upon seeing the pair dance on social media, he dove into their music; he’s obsessed with their recent debut album, “star scum city.”
When they opened the show, on tour in support of the album, 2charm were each dressed in jeans and a white tank top. Over the course of their set, they removed their civvies, transforming into their full-fledged personae, complete with Australian Football League shorts, vintage sunglasses, ushankas and nothing else. Their choreography was reminiscent of something two best friends would come up with at a sleepover, through the looking glass of 2026: optimized to show as much pit as possible. They did push-ups and mountain climbers, they pretended to fight, they came oh-so-close to embracing.
They never did.
The world of 2charm exists in the space between realizing desire and confronting it. They always wear sunglasses, and they’re always eyeing each other. They’re sexy and they’re sexual, but they never make a move. They describe their music as “gooner pop.” “It's post hyperpop, with EDM, trance, pop influencers. Part of the gooning metaphor is about the build-ups to the drops,” 2charm tells PAPER.
The ever-present sunglasses, and the other accessories they sometimes sport, function as masks. They’re a modern day Daft Punk, or a gayer Orville Peck, who wish to separate their music from their personal identities. These identities seem to be a bit of an open secret on the internet, perhaps revealed in cursory google searches, but the band’s two members would rather it stays on the DL.
When I spoke to 2charm a few days before their Brooklyn show, they let their guards down, at least at first. I asked them about their identities, and they requested anonymity – to be referred to as 2 and Charm. They spoke to me about why they desired the opportunity to express themselves away from their status as public figures. They asked me not to discuss any of this, and I won’t.
They were much shyer than their personas might suggest. When asked about gooning, they giggled, and carefully considered their answers. 2 spoke more than his counterpart, but when Charm did speak, he did so with intention. They had a good rapport, and described their personae not as characters, but as edited versions of their true selves, emphasizing how much fun they’re having.
In preparation for their debut single, “boyfriend,” they came up with a simplistic TikTok dance, which they posted every day for weeks on their Instagram and TikTok accounts, which boast 16,000 and 12,000 followers respectively. “One day, we did one in the footy shorts with no shirts and the engagement was like, really good,” 2 told PAPER over Zoom. “And so at that point, Charm really started pushing the shirtless agenda. After a few weeks, I was fully on board, and now you won't catch us with our shirts on.”
Also on their Instagram is the recurring feature “G00ner P0p Mag.” Over the last few months, they’ve conducted 22 casual interviews with friends and fellow artists in a fill-in-the-blank format. Recurring prompts include: “Favourite deadly sin,” “wet or dry,” and “favourite scent.” Most participants use these prompts as an opportunity to titillate. “It's so fun getting to interview people from our community. It can be really prominent musicians or it can literally be our next door neighbor. Like, if you’re part of the community or fit the gooner pop vibe, you can be anyone and you're a cover star, which I think is really beautiful,” 2 said.
All of these elements – the outfits, the dances, the social media features – build an entire world around their music. They refer to it as the “2charm-iverse.”
For the modern pop star, such world building is often as important as creating good music. This isn’t to say that the album isn’t good; it’s one of my favorites of the year, with compelling production from rising electronic star Ninajirachi. But what’s even more interesting is their visual identity. Just as PinkPantheress marketed her music by sporting Y2K styles (now tartan-ified) to reproduce a rose-tinted ideal of early aughts romps around London-town, 2charm has embraced dirty Nike socks and Australian football shorts to reproduce the romanticism of being in the closet.
As a project, 2charm seem a manifestation of the fantasies of that man. 2 and Charm, within this fictional narrative, are two men who find themselves fighting their mutual attraction; in so many of their videos and visuals, they’re being embraced by beautiful women, only to turn to each other. “Maybe I should leave my girl / I’m running out of lies to tell her anyway,” they sing in “no pressure.”
In the video for “boyfriend,” their formal introduction into the world, 2 pouts and rolls around and dances over a bed covered in dirty laundry while building up the courage to join Charm at a party. We never see them fully embrace, but they dance together, surrounded by stylish, sexy friends. Buckets of white paint drench the partygoers, until the boys are the only two left in the room. By the video’s end, they’re on the couch, side by side. Nothing happens — but something could.
2charm hasn’t quite broken through to the mainstream yet, but based on the people I spoke to at the concert, they’ve managed to build a loyal following in just a few months. Some fans find relatability in their yearning; others just think they’re hot. Everyone got excited to dance (or goon) with them.
This masculine posturing hasn’t always come easy for the men behind the music, who grew up in Queensland, with a culture they described as “toxic vibes” for a closeted young gay person. “It does feel like a funny, camp, reclaiming of something that has definitely felt oppressive in the past,” 2 said. “But now we can do this and it’s like, we're doing it our own way and it feels good and it feels hot.”
So is it scary for them to be on stage in four square inches of clothing, wrestling and working out and pretending to be people they aren’t? “Definitely not,” Charm says. 2 chimes in: “I think that there's an element of ridiculousness to it, and it's like, parts of it are very overtly horny, and I think because it is so much fun, it doesn’t feel vulnerable. It's just awesome…”
Charm finishes his sentence for him. “It feels right.”
Photography by Casey Garnsey