J: Er war in Japan und seine Gastfamilie da war so eine alte Samuraifamilie. Und dann hatte er eine Affäre mit einer über Dreißigjährigen. Und das ging ja gaaar nicht - oh Gott! - und dann war das das große Drama … Drama, Drama, Drama, und dann hat die Mutter ihn in das Teezimmer gebeten: Da lag sein Handy und ein Hammer. Und dann hat sie gesagt, so, “Du musst das Handy zerstören” - und er so: “Warum. Warum?” - “Da ist die Stimme der Frau drauf” - Und dann musste der da das Handy zerkloppen, weil da die Stimme der Frau drauf war. N: Ok. J: Geil! Ich muss nach Japan. Das ist so gut. Beste Filmszene. Stell dir das mal vor, du kommst einfach in so ne japanische Teestube, schiebst diesen scheiß Schieber da weg, da sitzt die Olle, so ne Hundertjährige, mit so nem Holzbrett, in ihrem scheiß hellgrauen Kimono, und sagt dir, dass du da jetzt das Telefon zerstören musst, weil da die Stimme der bösen Frau drauf ist. Perfekt.
Perfekt. Ich: Aber wieso ist die Frau böse, wieso nicht er? J: Keine Ahnung.
Style as I would define it is never elegance, it is simply an idiom, which arises spontaneously from you and everyone has an individuality. All you have to do is learn how to present it. Because, you have nothing else to give the world which no one else can give - except yourself.
So today, if you see a person who looks like your teenage fantasy walking down the street, it’s probably not your fantasy, but someone who had the same fantasy as you and decided instead of getting it or being it, to look like it, and so he went to the store and bought the look that you both like. So forget it.
Happy to announce that I finished my very first art book, called ‘27 Survival Kits’. It will be published as an actual little book and I will release pages on here and put the whole thing into a film in order to avoid keeping the important content from the virtual world - how could I! More to come within the next days. It surely has many messages and ironic twists in it and that intentionally so. The rest is pretty self-explaining. That’s all. Enjoy.
All people who come back to England, from America, the first thing they say is, ‘it’s more like the movies than you’d ever dream’. From the moment I saw New York, I wanted it. Apart from the beauty of the place - in New York there are no strangers. People warned me that I would be robbed with violence and I don’t know whether his is so or not, but I can safely say that all people who are NOT hitting you over the head are your friends. WELCOME TO AMERICA.
First of all, I unpack. And I unpack quickly, because almost all my luggage is bottles. And it’s bottles of Witch Hazel and it’s bottles of peroxide, and it’s bottles of this, that, and one is terrified, that they, most of all one is terrified that the dye with which I do my hair, in that case, everything in that suitcase will be bright purple … FOREVER.
I never comb my hair, like, I literally never do it. There was a time when I didn’t own a hairbrush for several months and after half a year or so, my friend’s MUM would buy me one, because she couldn’t stand it any longer. It doesn’t look that bad, though. I sport a very natural bed-hair look, that I spice up with a dash of salt water spray and the denial of dyeing me roots blonde more than four times a year. My natural haircolor is grey brown and it is a very ugly and boring looking brown with no interesting pigments whatsoever in it. I always dyed it. There is no point in doing otherwise. I like that pastel pink. I think it’s a keeper!
I haven’t quite figured out yet if the purpose of bleached eyebrows are to be invisible or to be fair hair. If the former was the case, you might as well shave them off completely, so it can only be the latter. So are they meant to be lighter than your skin tone or just the same? You see, the subject of bleached eyebrows are still a mystery to me.
When I bleached my eyebrows the other day it made my face look very fat and very weird. I forgot that could happen, and I remember only now that was the case, too, when I bleached them three years ago. That day in 2011 when I had my roots bleached, I had the hairdresser bleach my eyebrows too and my friend Henriette went with me to bleach her eyebrows and do nothing else. We were deep in our ‘Kinderwhore’ style era, when we also had our fake band called ‘Bleached Mermaids’, so that went hand in hand, you see. We left the hairdressers, Henriette with her tan and dark brown curls and ridiculously light eyebrows and I with white skin and zits and pink hair with yellow-blonde roots and eyebrows of the same color, I think we must have just killed it. The hairdresser’s was next to our house and it was a walk of maybe 2 minutes back home. Never in my entire life have I been more stared at. The price you pay for weirdness. So be it.
Now, nostalgia for the effects, I redid this procedure, with the only difference that I wear my hair blond now, and I look like an alien in a way. I understand that nowadays there is a special obsession with aliens in a wave of 90s renaissance. Still, I’m getting stared at here in Prenzlauer Berg even, where nobody ever cares for my appearance really. It is interesting. I do look better with black eyebrows, way better. I look weird and ridiculous now. My number one priority is certainly not to try to look standartizedly pretty, may I just say that. I guess I would never succeed anyways.
I love absurd things. They make me laugh. The more absurd something is, the more humorous it becomes to me. So you can imagine how much I enjoy myself with this look.
That’s what so many people never understood about us. They expected us to take the things we believed in seriously, which we never did - we weren’t intellectuals. Paul blamed LSD for the decline of humour in the sixties. He said the only person on LSD who had a sense of humour left was Timothy Leary.
I am over clothes. I am over it. I am over shopping, because nothing is ever appealing anymore. I’ve worn anything, stolen from every decade, dressed up like a crazy performance piece, done everything interesting. So I decided to just wear one outfit for the rest of my life. Writing a fashionblog herewith becomes irrelevant. That is why I am going to stop doing that.
I organised the skeletons in my walk-in closet and prepared one rack (fig.1) with a range of black basics including a summer outfit, a winter outfit and a leather jacket. All my other clothes are on different racks and never to be touched again. They are beautiful decoration. Everyday I can choose from a super limited number of items and the best part is that no matter how hard I try, I will never be able to combine them to more than three different outfits and even these three outfits look indeed almost the same. Every piece of clothing has its own hanger and at the end of the day I put everything back on their exact hanger. The pressure of finding and choosing your outfit ever day is therefore brutally dissolved. I save so much time and energy. Even the shoes won’t be able to make the outfit look different, because my distinct taste in leather boots make my shoe closet look like a shop display of all the same style. Some time when I feel the need to spend money on clothes again, I will invest in a very precious designer basic or another leather jacket and swap it against a similar item that’s already there, so the number of black basics on my rack stays the same.