The one I’m wearing today, for example, is from Preach, a label based in Dusseldorf.
Right now it’s definitely about leather jackets. So I’d wear them everywhere, even when I went to the supermarket. For example, there was a time when I really loved bow ties-just the way they looked against my face tattoos. We still have fetish parties once or twice a year.ĭo you dress differently for work than you do at home? How I dress depends a lot more on my general mood than on where I’m going. The company that runs Berghain is still called Ostgut GmbH, in fact. There was a whorehouse in the front, and the club was in the back, called "Suicides." At some point I started working for a party called Ostgut-it was a gay fetish party-and that moved around for a while, and at a certain point moved into the power station and became Berghain. The first permanent doorman job I had was at a building called Bienenkorb. A club would be in one place, then relocate, then relocate again. What was nightlife like after the wall fell? Nothing was very permanent. Recently, we sat down with Marquardt at a coffee shop in Berlin, where, through a translator, he talked about his photography, his personal style, and, somewhat reluctantly, what it takes to get into Berghain. He may be the only bouncer in the world who has also done a menswear collaboration with Hugo Boss. Marquardt, while not working the door, is a distinguished photographer who has published three art books and a memoir, Die Nacht ist Leben. Who decides who gets in and who doesn’t? That would be this man, Sven Marquardt, 52, who has run security at the club since it first opened in 2004. Many folks wait hours and then, with no explanation, get politely asked to step aside and go elsewhere. There are no reservations, no bottle service, and no way to get on a guest list (unless you are deep in Berlin’s electronic-music scene). Inside is Berghain (pronounced Berg-HINE), an electronic-music club famous for supremely good techno, round-the-clock debauchery (the beats pulse from midnight Saturday until noon Monday), and, to the chagrin of many in line, what may be the world’s strictest, most inscrutable door policy. Every weekend, as dawn breaks over Berlin, a line of several hundred people curls back from the hulking shell of a former East German power plant.
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