February weather. My first time in Berlin. Wide-eyed and electrified, I scan my surroundings. Far beyond the bars on a bridge, I see a statue of two figures embracing. I see cobblestone streets and graffiti-covered walls. And then I see leather. Leather all around.
Tall characters drape leather over their stick bug stomachs. Too-cool kids shine with it in the sun, surely roasting under the heat like grilling kebabs. Sour 20-something students and their curious caretakers wrap themselves in black, feigning familiarity as they walk in gaggles down Germany’s streets.
They cue for the clubs long after nightfall, crossing their fingers for the bouncer’s approval. The leather they wear is timeless and stylish, but is it enough to convey a sense of artistic expression? Nervous for the impending declaration, like the dead awaiting judgment at Heaven’s gates, they clutch the wrinkled material in their fists and peer their raccoon eyes up at the bouncer.
Leather couture has been in rotation for centuries, but the leather jacket first gained cultural significance in the 1950s, as actors began sporting motorcycle jackets in blockbuster films such as “Grease” and “The Wild One.”
The films and subsequent audience recognition effectively established the reputation of leather jackets as one to reckon with. Quickly, the leather jacket became a symbol of rebellion and nonconformity.
This ideology surrounding leather developed further with the rise in popularity of punk and metal music in the 1970s and 80s. Bands like the Ramones incorporated the style as part of their respective signature wardrobes, and so did their proud, rebellious fans.
Moving into the 21st century, we took leather with us. The birth of alternative rock by artists like the Strokes and the Yeah Yeah Yeahs bolstered a similar sense of freedom in expression. Paired with ripped jeans and silver accessories, fans donned leather jackets as a sort of uniform, pledging their allegiance to the alternative lifestyle.
Today, the leather jacket endures as a style enhancer. Add it to any outfit, and it is instantly elevated, ushering with it a simulated sense of “cool.”
As the leather jacket persists in the mainstream, however, I am forced to ask a difficult question: is the leather jacket losing its cool?
Marheinekeplatz, a dynamic flea market in Berlin, offers tons of techno couture / Photo by Athena Kafkas
As fast-fashion brands churn out crisp, slick versions of the basic leather jacket, the piece is blending into uniformity. It has become a safe choice for wearers to don over a simple top and jeans, serving the off-duty model look.
Leather is diminishing as a form of expression, at least the type of careless, punky expression we’ve come to love it by. When it comes to getting into exclusive techno clubs like Berghain, artistic expression is not only encouraged but required. Is leather your ticket in?
Getting into a techno club in Berlin — a notable one at least — is not only a privilege, but a right of passage. Unlike many things, the badge cannot be obtained through bribery or the mystic maneuvers of capitalism. Sure, money can get you the hottest accessories, designer bags and the best extra-leg-room airplane seats to famous destinations.
It can do all of this, but it can’t get you into Berghain.
Berghain is home to a particularly artistic population: it’s for the ones whose bodies run on music like engines run on fuel. A shining diamond in Northern Europe, the place has become a coveted tourist destination. Like moths to a flame, the club is a magnet for hungry conquerors, and visitors from around the world seek it with anticipation.
Hauptbahnhof (Berlin Central Station) located in the heart of Berlin / Photo by Athena Kafkas
Berghain has a protector: the doorman, the gatekeeper of the clubs’ exclusivity.
“Sven Marquardt, the head doorman who famously turned away Britney Spears, has said that he wants people who look like they know how to party,” author Julia Bell wrote in “The White Review.” “I have only been once where he was on the door, in gold Elvis shades, his face full of piercings and tattoos; sovereign of the queue, impassive, a contemporary Captain Kurtz.”
In front of Berghain’s doors, tourists come and go in waves. Ripples of shiny H&M leather gather only to be rejected by the scoffing bouncer waiting at Berghain’s door.
On the other hand, seasoned German technophiles glide in on pointed heels or chunky Moon Boots. They’ve got heavy eye makeup, hair in spikes or colored like the rainbow, and textured scarves and furs wrapped all around their bodies. Puffer jackets shaped like spaceships, three belts layered on top of one another, old jeans under skirts or patterned sashes, ripped pantyhose pulled over the arms to serve as a base for cheetah print tops and funky vintage sunglasses in the darkest night — that’s what Berghain fashion is.
There is no questioning the enduring appeal of the leather jacket, but the mythology of cool surrounding the piece is misleading.
In the end, leather isn’t the center of the techno scene. Respect floods into those who present authentic selfhood and alternative style choices. True style in Berlin’s techno scene isn’t stitched into leather — it’s woven from individuality, defiance and the courage to dress boldly.
