An Uncompensated Endorsement

Normally there’s a transaction involved. Tickets, cash, at minimum a pack of ladies’ razors—this journal isn’t a charity, and Berlin’s party promoters have always understood the arrangement perfectly well. I’m making an exception today, mostly because I have other plans that night anyway and magnanimity costs nothing when attendance was never on the table.

Berlin Fashion Week is back, which means Bread & Butter is back, which means the city fills up with people who dress like they’re perpetually late for a shoot they didn’t actually book. Right in the middle of all that peacocking, VICE Germany—my favorite magazine, second only to Wendy, the beloved German horse comic for eleven-year-olds—is throwing a party at the Michelberger Hotel on Warschauer Straße. Mickey Moonlight, GoldieLocks, Moustache Mamas on the lineup. The music does most of the selling itself.

One other item of business: a friend named Hannah asked me to formally relay a complaint to whoever handles editorial direction at VICE Germany. The current issue, she informs me, contains far too few breasts. I’ve been asked to convey her disappointment. Into the corner with you. Shame.