“Berlin is just not Dubai”
In an exclusive new hotel, the Berlin chic crowd celebrates the fashion week. Roman stylists look for young people and former mayors and entrepreneurs here. A friend of mine once told me when I was too young to have a driver’s license: if you want to drive a Mercedes, order a taxi. Nobody orders flesh-colored bodies these days, but Toyotas are either black or white. So gratifying that the best of both worlds answers the call of the app: a black Mercedes, as if it were offered to us by a former sponsor of Berlin Fashion Week.
At the bar, an acquaintance of ours just sent us a photo of the line in front of the hotel: two towers long. It’s just a fashion show after the party. “We just go ahead with the bodywork and then see if they’re all on the list,” says the person sitting next to you in the leather backseat. People in tailcoats gather, in front of the entrance, flesh-colored Mercedes. Yes, everyone is on the list. “Would you put us in if you could do it?” “Of course”, we lied. Then it’s quick: the taxi driver knows someone, and we’re in the mood.
We squeeze through the crowd, it’s hot and muggy, the locker room no longer accepts jackets. Inside and out: people in coats. Bowls of Prosecco filled with ice go cold behind the bar, bartenders fill glasses quickly, tonight they have a rubbish job: if everything is free, then there’s also no tip.
Great Disco and Mussels
On the edge of the black marble sits a man with spiky silver hair. He and his colleague next to him are waiting for something to happen to them. My companion leans between them to pick up our glasses. He told me: “They are from the south and they were shown at the exhibition.”
A tall woman in high heels in an evening gown floats toward the restaurant, important people chatting in their pink shells. A former mayor and businessman – who would like to be a media mogul – speaks out. At least the first does not have more political power than the second can corrupt.
Unlike mousetraps, things are less exclusive: the large DJ room has a large disco. The general public can pull beer from the fridges. With a cigarette, we noticed that the snake disappeared. just where? At home or at home, it’s hard to notice, it’s too crowded. Another attempt to get rid of the coat.
A Charlottenburg businessman kisses his vanity in the bathroom. Why is he leaving? “Things haven’t improved.” Is he here more than once? Yes, at the restaurant. But what Berlin offers is not enough for him. Where is it better? “In Dubai. You are still properly served there,” he says, meaning it. “But Berlin is not Dubai.”
Shirt says “Fuck You”
Stubborn suits continue to storm the dance floor, indie hipsters in jackets, and one crew must memorize the ASAP Rocky number. A slender man in clouds and a little silver dress is dancing on the stage, in front of him is a strong man in a green jacket swaying back and forth. While smoking a cigarette in the backyard, a Romanian fashionista in faux fur and a fedora explains why he’s not in Milan, but in Berlin: he’s looking for young men. He won’t find it here.
“Too much masculinity,” a friend shouted in my ear. Try your luck on the small dance floor. “I see your loins moving, what are you talking about?” sings a house singer. Please don’t think, stylist, I think without screaming. His shirt says “Fuck you”. Said he had been partying here for 25 years, there was an illegal electric shed. All is well now in the suburbs. And the rest? “Munich gay guy.” After all: not Dubai.
