Saturday night in Berlin, a.k.a. the Manhattan of the 2000′s a.k.a. the place to be a.k.a. hipster capital of the world (yes, it actually is worse than Williamsburg) — after a semi-satisfying day of shopping and studying I was dying to go to White Trash and have a burger with my Berliner-to-be friend Anna…unfortunately a business meeting delayed this idea and I was left zapping the channels of German Trash TV instead, Obama-Day still hours away.
Eventually Anna came home to Anna an we got dolled up to go out. My mood brightened with every bite of the anticipated cheeseburger and the following hot fudge sundae accompanied by comments on my rocket bra Tigerlily outfit…but even a couple of Baby Long Island iceteas didn’t do shit about the claustrophobia, so we left to go somewhere else: Scala.
The place is my 80′s junkie dream come true. An old apartment building, paint peeling of the walls, graffiti everywhere, loud music pulsing in the hallways, a fashionably hot crowd dancing and mingling >>>>>>>> REWIND!
Huh? Where is my fashionably hot crowd?
As we enter the very smoky, dark club my eyes need a minute to adjust to the light. A guy with a dubious haircut and a moustache passes me, looking confident – even proud. I wonder if he is aware that this do has gone out of style after a certain person of Austrian descent started WWII. I look around and recognize more strange people around me.
All of a sudden I feel very uncomfortable in my Bettie Page outfit – Alice in Wonderland gone very very wrong.
Chubby girls in short dresses, leggings and ballet flats seem to have stolen Amy Winehouses hair, while their boyfriends for the night in tie-dye T-shirts are dancing to a melody I cannot hear. They must have found the acid-caterpillar before I have.
The discomfort grows as I start sweating balls from the unbearable heat. I can now feel every single item of clothing I am wearing, the seams on my skirt and every bone in my corset. Hello claustrophobia, there you are again!
How are all these people wearing beanies? Aren’t they warm? I stand there, ready to pass out, while everyone else seems to enjoy themselves. Also I am suffering from a major case of hiccups that won’t go away, so I do what I do best.
Watch people.
Almost every male person in there seems to have a beanie, facial hair or big big glasses. Then I spot another Hitler-do, this time on a very drunk Japanese guy. I am not sure he can pull it of any more than the German dude, but it makes me laugh.
I stare and stare and find that there is a complex system of Mitte-hipness among guys, which I am just beginning to grasp. If you are underage or for some reason can’t grow a beard, you have to wear a beanie. If you’re still too cool, you wear as many layers of sweaters as you can take without fainting (this also makes your arms look a little bigger). The very hardcore even wear a scarf, despite the temperature inside. This all goes with a bohemian attitude of: I am too poor for the coatcheck but also my jacket is too designer to just toss it in the corner. (Of course nobody can EVER know about this.)
If you’re able togrow facial hair, this means you’re not underage – a man so to speak – and you mean it. You grow a beard or a moustache. If your beard is not very thick, you have to cover more of your face by putting on glasses. Big fat Buddy Holly glasses. The same kind you wear during the day as sunshades: you’d even wear them now, had you not done that during your raver phase–which you do not wish to be reminded of ever again. As for the clothes- rinse, repeat.
Bottom line: I don’t know since I am too tired right now, but I will deliver one as soon as the mad hatmaker lets me go back home.
hipsterpatrol
