Berlin seems like a galaxy to me sometimes. A galaxy consisting of many little stars and planets, trying to shine the brightest– neglecting the fact that they’ve burnt out, a very, very long time ago… Fashion Week brings them all back to the visible surface, for the public to watch what is usually hidden from their eyesight. Looking in, you’ll assume that this is it, this is where the creative and colorful and leading elite of Berlin unite, this is where the magic happens, this is where ideas and art are formed, this is the circle of friends you want to have. This is drinking expensive coffee, buying underground style chique. This is being on top of it all.
Some people get drawn into this aura of superiority. Wearing the right clothes, having the right job, knowing the right people can lead you in. Some people work for years trying to be an insider. But it’s genetics: you either have it or you don’t. Once you’re inside, celebrate what you’ve achieved and then never stop doing so. Because there’s nothing else to do. There is no secret. There is no hidden agenda. It’s being blonde and worthless: looking good, with a needle halfway stuck to your arm if only it had the attribute of being a new and upcoming fashionable trend to the city. This is trying to survive on bread and butter just to afford the necessary indulgences. It’s not wealth; it’s poor decadence. And thus it becomes nothing but a mere illusion for the viewer…
I was disappointed to find out that most of the creators, those who should be on top, are those who stick to the low– successful artists, DJs, you name it– they’re buried beneath the all looks, all talk kind of people who’re worth shit but a coke nose bleed. There’s no digging through to them– they’re at home, with their families, working and making a living, not at the party for the cool kids (there are exceptions to the rule). But slowly overcoming the premier shock, I started taking the circle of elitism for what it is: nothing but a pretty face. I look at those people and I realize: they’re fuck buddies, not long term romances.
In fact, they are what I would refer to as the “poor mans socialites of the 21st hipster century” in an edgy Hollywood environment (yes, Berlin). I enjoy watching the show like I would enjoy watching afternoon soap television: it’s entertaining. It’s pretty. But it’s not real. It’s wonderful, blinding, dizzying and mesmerizing fiction, but it’s not real.
(Torstraße specifically and Berlin Mitte in general are representative of the dirt chique that’s been promoted at Fashion Week and Bread and Butter. It’s where the socialites hang out to show. It’s impressive, and it’s exciting to find new spots and locations every time I pass, especially those cute pop up and temporary stores that appeared last week. The pictures taken are from Wednesday and Thursday, some being the opening party to the Family & Friends display Wednesday evening, one being the next day in preparations for a long night…)