Pretty in Pink
Jana doesn’t wear pants. Twenty-two, from Osnabrück, and she just… doesn’t. I watched her in photos wearing a Minkpink blouse, Primark jeans if the moment called for it, Ash shoes she’d talked down to fifty euros. She says her style is as changeable as the weather, and looking at the photos that checks out. She told me about picking berries in the woods and then panicking about foxworms after eating one straight off the branch, which has nothing to do with fashion but explains everything about how she exists. Not calculating. Not trying. Just there.
Van Anh’s nineteen and lives in two separate universes. One where she’s preparing to leave Berlin for London to study economics and politics. The other is a fashion blog called Chopstick Panorama where she gets to be a different person every day. Her closet reflects it—all black one moment, color chaos the next. Sweet then rough. She can’t decide, she says. She’s got maybe months left in Berlin, so that might actually be perfect timing to keep all your options open. Topshop finds, H&M basics, no-name shoes when the money ran out. Everything feels provisional.
Marcel is twenty-seven and he’s been a student in Kiel forever. Counter Strike instead of exams, parties on Thursday nights, determined not to be earnest about any of it. When I asked about his style, he made a joke about naked women on the site—which is his way of not answering. The actual answer is visible though: same black socks always, same Tom Tailor sweater, Jack & Jones jeans. He decided once years ago and apparently never reconsidered. Except when I asked him straight up if he looked better dressed or naked, and he said clothes make the man—classic deflection—then he paused. Though if we all just walked around naked…
He didn’t finish.