this weekend, no, this week, is getting blurrier and blurrier. but it is safe to say that it has treated me to... experiences.
tell me the name of a city, other than berlin, where an opening party for fashion-week takes place in a former-airport where a theme park for fashion people has been built up; where you go from frantically dancing to deichkind, to sipping sparkling drinks surrounded by moët beach balls and swarovski-crystals and not a single german voice in the air; where you buy one-euro-beer in a clothing store at night; where you get private invitations and guestlist-presence to/at private showrooms, barbecues, cocktail-parties only while you are very persistent and eager; where quoting one of the vice magazine-people "don't worry love, you're beautiful, you'll get in" is enough proof at the door to get in without a ticket; where you answer questions about chuckamuck in front of the camera and smile and say that it was amazing and so much fun even though you have no idea who chuckamuck is; where you meet creepy people who get you in to the best parties; where there is only one size tequila shots and where one size means king size; where the week's best party is thrown in the name of a designer; where you're told you down your vodka like a russian and get another one just because of it; where you're offered two guys for two euros; where you share the poolside with olivia palermo; where you're friends won't be admitted into a club because they're too overdressed and you manage to talk the doorman out of it; where a photographer named luca and his flash-carrying friend won't leave you alone all night and you wonder where what is gonna show up; where you come home in the morning, lay down in bed just to get up before falling asleep and catching a train to wannsee instead; and where everyone's name is florian.
fun? how fun!