Not This Time, Sweetheart
May 15, 2025 Atelier ManganelYou stand there, trying not to try too hard. It’s 2:47am, cold but not freezing, and the cigarette smoke from the group ahead curls around your jacket like a slow warning. The line outside Berghain moves like time in a dream—stretching, folding, looping back on itself. Every few minutes, someone walks past on their way out, face glowing like they saw God or just survived a minor car crash.
And then it’s your turn.
You think maybe, just maybe, you’ve got the right ratio of black to indifference. Maybe your shoes are unremarkable enough. Maybe your silence reads as depth, not discomfort. Maybe you’re Berlin enough tonight.
But no.
The bouncer’s face doesn’t even twitch. Just a slight shake of the head, like he’s brushing off dust. You nod, say “alles klar” like you’ve said it before, like it doesn’t sting. Then you walk away slowly, careful not to look disappointed—like you didn’t just wait an hour to get told you’re not interesting enough for a warehouse full of strangers.
It’s funny how quickly rejection turns to reflection. You start wondering if it was the way you stood. The way your friend smiled. That nervous energy humming just beneath your “I’m chill” performance. Maybe they could smell the hope.
Or maybe it doesn’t mean anything at all.
That’s the secret of Berghain—it teaches you to lose gracefully. To be turned away and still dance anyway.
In someone’s kitchen. At a different club. On your bike ride home. Because the truth is, it’s not about getting in. It’s about wanting to. And that says more about us than the door ever will.
