Inside Linzenbold’s Latex-Lensed Intimacy
- Filip
- Jul 15
- 6 min read
Updated: Sep 8
Latex is a kink. A costume. A mirror. A membrane. For photographer Linzenbold, it’s also a language—one that whispers in high-gloss, full-body metaphors about power, trust, and the kind of closeness that doesn’t photograph easily. Their portraits of hooded lovers and vacuum-sealed vulnerability don’t just serve fetish aesthetics; they interrogate them.
“I try to move beyond clichéd latex and BDSM imagery,” Linzenbold explains. “Stepping beyond just aesthetics and clichés to document the layers of meaning that live beneath them and how people connect with them.”
Latex compresses, conceals, reveals. How do you think it changes our relationship to the body — especially as queer or gender-nonconforming people?
There is this paradox that I like about latex. While concealing certain aspects, it simultaneously reveals others—perhaps aspects of identity, confidence, or comfort that were previously inaccessible.
For queer and gender-nonconforming people, this can be especially significant because it offers a form of bodily agency that isn't dependent on medical intervention or social validation. But maybe it's not just about hiding markers and more about creating new possibilities for how a body can be read, felt, and inhabited? Latex doesn't just obscure; it creates an entirely different surface, texture, and silhouette that can exist independently of underlying anatomy.
There's something about that contained feeling that can be both protective and empowering - like having control over your body's boundaries and presentation in a very literal, physical way. It's interesting how that external pressure can translate to internal confidence. I remember my first experience putting one on a wetsuit. It felt incredibly liberating. Growing up, I wasn’t very comfortable with my body, especially with my belly rolls. The compression felt nice, and it made me feel more confident in my body.
What lies beneath, it turns out, is a lot. Queer desire. Gender dysphoria. Touch. Compression. Childhood shame. Love. A mannequin.
“My first encounter with this kind of luminosity didn’t exactly stem from latex,” they say. “It
started with a shiny black mannequin in the corner of our studio. One evening I started
experimenting, and it patiently endured while adjusting my lights”;
"That image—the reflective, unblinking not-quite-human—planted the seed. Later, a mysterious rubberist discovered these photos and asked if I would be interested in shooting with them. At that time, I hadn't even heard of vacuum beds."
Like many of us who came of age on Tumblr and VHS tapes, Linzenbold was aesthetically seduced by latex before knowing what it was.
Perfectionism often masks something deeper. It tries to compensate for an underlying sense of inadequacy—those impossibly high standards
“There was something hypnotic about those flawless bodies and perfect forms encased in latex—the latex stockings, the gleaming gloves,” they say. “In the 90s and 00s, latex began to infiltrate the mainstream through films, fashion brands, and comic books. Looking back at my Tumblr archive, there were signs.” There's something mysterious about how we're unconsciously drawn to certain visual presentations while others repel us—our reactions reveal hidden desires and unspoken shame.”
“Perfectionism often masks something deeper. It tries to compensate for an underlying sense of inadequacy—that feeling of worthlessness without achievement, those impossibly high standards. When perfectionists fall short, they don't experience just disappointment but shame.” I still struggle to shed the perfectionism that runs through much of my work. However, discovering and understanding these underlying unconscious motivations has been an exciting journey, and I feel like I'm just getting started.
But their real shift came through love: a mysterious rubberist who appeared online, asked to shoot, and then pulled Linzenbold deeper—visually, emotionally, erotically—into the world of containment play.
"I've discovered something that goes far beyond the material itself. What began as curiosity about her interest in rubber became something much deeper. As she shared this important part of herself with me, it became clear that this world holds deep meaning for her, and I began to understand her in new ways. Someone I deeply care for" Linzenbold says;
"Her openness in being vulnerable and inviting me into something so personal created deeper layers of intimacy. Through exploring this world together, I've discovered the trust and openness that come with sharing something so personal. This experience has changed how we connect with each other and expanded my understanding of intimacy itself."
Her openness in being vulnerable and inviting me into something so personal created deeper layers of intimacy
This love didn’t just inform their photography; it transformed it. Latex became a tool of closeness. The vacuum bed—a material and mental pressure cooker—turned from something strange to something sacred.
“The first time I saw images of a vacuum bed, I'll admit it scared me a little—from the outside, it seemed quite frightening, but at the same time, I was very curious and wanted to understand it better. Despite my claustrophobic tendencies, I decided to try it myself after the photoshoot, and I loved it. It was a very unique experience. The sensory deprivation and reduced stimuli created this deeply relaxing effect on the brain. When you're immobilized like that, there's nothing you can do except calm down and enjoy the experience. Losing control and letting things go can be liberating. I ended up doing three rounds right away”
That sense of intensity—of sensory withdrawal turned into emotional release—is part of what makes Linzenbold’s work feel different. It’s never just about sex. It’s about why we need it. What we cover to feel exposed. How we build trust before surrender.
"I've been drawn to exploring themes of togetherness and trust in kink. BDSM and trust are deeply intertwined. Perhaps we're drawn to these intense experiences because they offer something our everyday interactions often lack—complete presence, absolute honesty, the rare gift of being fully seen and accepted."
Perhaps we're drawn to these intense experiences as it offers something we often lack—presence, honesty, being fully seen and accepted
These aren’t your latex stock photos. Linzenbold’s subjects are rubberists, lovers, queer bodies, heavy rainwear fetishists in domestic scenes. Some are in full catsuits, others curled inside vacuum cocoons with their partners, pressed so close they appear fused.
"In my vacuum bed series, I explore a photographed Anjha & Manné’s unique connection. What draws me to this work is capturing the profound acceptance that emerges when two people share such an intimate, transformative experience—how they hold space for each other in these moments of complete surrender. The way they share not just physical space, but emotional territory that can only be accessed through complete mutual trust."
Trust isn’t just assumed; it’s built through consistent respect, clear communication, and proving that their well-being always comes first
Which is also why Linzenbold takes deep care with who they photograph and how: “We discuss limits, and I make sure the environment feels safe and private, and I'm transparent about exactly what we're doing and why. Whether they're posing for a portrait or in more vulnerable positions, such as kneeling on a pedestal, naked for an hour, and I clarify that they can say stop at any moment, no questions asked. Communication is everything—both verbal and non-verbal. Trust isn’t just assumed; it’s built through consistent respect, clear communication, and proving that their well-being always comes first.”
In a culture where latex is either a high fashion gimmick or a porn category, Linzenbold is building a third space—an archive of visual intimacy that reclaims fetish from flatness. Their work doesn’t just document desire; it dares to believe in its complexity.
The shine and pressure of latex reflect something deeper—our hidden desires and unspoken shame
Some of your most impactful images hold tension — between pleasure and pressure, softness and restraint. Do you consider your work erotic, or does it sit in a different kind of intimacy?
"The shine and pressure of latex reflect something deeper—our hidden desires and unspoken shame. Of course, there are erotic elements while focusing on deeper themes that drive my current work,” they say. “The connection I’m after centers on trust, vulnerability, and authentic self-expression."
"I prefer to plan things and do my research instead of just creating content on the fly. The rubber fetishist scene is a broad spectrum. Being influenced by my biggest latex muse and their niche style. For a while, I’ve wanted to shoot with some heavy rubber guys. I already have my eye on some people I would love to collaborate. There's something about these guys, dressed up in heavy waders and thick rubber, mostly sitting in their living rooms! It might not be your favorite kind, but it’s something unique."
Has photographing kink materials changed your own relationship to desire — or to your body? And what’s next?
"In my youth, when I began taking photos and immersed myself in fashion and nude photography, I mainly photographed girls who could be described as conventionally beautiful. The male gaze permeated everything and affected the way I saw women and their bodies. I can't say it was too healthy… As the years passed, my world opened up, and as I was exposed to different ideas. I changed a lot. And there is still a long way to go, and to unlearn many things."
Interview by: Amanda Sandström Beijer