I Think I’m Gonna Die in This Bauhaus
★ The Biggest Investment of My Life (So Far)
Let me cut to the chase: against better judgment, we are opening a physical space in Berlin-Mitte.
I said space and I already hate myself for it. A shop. A hub. A headquarters? A Büro, perhaps. Mitte Büro. Fine, let’s stick with that.
We’re not testing the waters with no weekend pop-ups. We’re diving straight in. A three-year contract, mind you.
“The unit is leased as flexible work and commercial premises accommodating evolving formats, including office, project, event, exhibition, and retail uses, all conducted within the framework of orderly business operations.”
That’s what the paper says. I signed my name under it on the 17th floor of a perfectly sterile notary office overlooking the Spree. The ink is barely dry. The wording is fairly vague—purposefully so.
Most times, people first write up a business plan, then hunt for the real estate to match. In our case, it’s all backwards.
Mitte Daily’s guardian angel R. noticed the property on her way to Soho and sent me a pic. A stunning 1883 building, the kind Berlin keeps threatening to run out of. 75m² zu vermieten. We called up the realtor straight away.
There were five candidates in the running for it. Two dropped out because the deposit was too steep (it still is steep, and I think about it with some regularity). One chic who wanted to launch her shoe store—black eyeliner, fantastic buzz cut—had concerns about foot traffic. This other dude who planned to open a café—beige cap, enviable posture—couldn’t get his license sorted in time.
Eventually, we were the only ones left standing. It was the only listing we ever applied for, without any resemblance of a defined concept. And we got it. This is either how the best things happen, or how people end up on very instructive podcasts about failure. Possibly both?
The last four weeks of my life have been split between hardware stores and the Büro-in-the-making. I’ve skipped most of the Berlinale. I’ve learned everything there is to learn about mineral floor primers. My Soulland puffer is covered in dust and paint. I still have only the faintest idea what this whole ordeal will grow into.
“As an artist, I never know exactly what I’ll make. If I did, there’d be no reason to make it,” said photographer Dawoud Bey during the spring 2026 fellowship presentation at Berlin’s American Academy.
I have those words written down in my notebook. They provide a certain sense of relief. At times. Other times, however, the pressure of having to decide on stuff approximately every 12 minutes does take over.
How do we strike the right balance between the money-making and the fun-having? On another note, what gas provider should we sign with? And while we’re at it: is there a way to cover up that fugly radiator? Also… are neon signs, like, really, really lame? What would the buzz-cut chic do?
It’s a laborious, personal hellscape. I love inhabiting it.
I’d take this over sedated consumption any day of the week. Indulging in your own tangible micro-struggle for the sake of your own tangible micro-good (or better yet, the tangible micro-good of those within shouting distance)—I cannot recommend it enough.
After all, how much of your libido are you willing to invest in scrolling? Partaking in Wim Wenders-inspired geopolitical debates? Vetting the problematic relatives of Charli XCX’s Studio1111 party management? Contemplating nuclear war scenarios from the safety of your terrarium? Deciphering whether something’s AI or not and doing absolutely nothing with that information?
That’s the beta-tested version of existence. The infrastructure is impeccable. The experience is frictionless. It’s such a bore, though—ugh!
Outside, the world with patchy paint strokes and actual eye contact persists. It’s nothing but friction, and it’s still better than the one you’re asked to perform in. Our 75m² unit in 10115 is betting on that.
Yesterday, a reader named M. stopped by our future HQ to pick up his Mitte Kollektion order (we do pickups upon request now). On his way out, he paused at the door—the door that doesn’t have a sign yet—and asked where he should go grab a bite in area. I followed up with the obvious: what cuisine? “Doesn’t matter,” M. said. “I just want to go where good people go.”
And that… about sums it up. Whatever Mitte Büro becomes, it will be a place where good people go. Good people—the increasingly endangered kind.
We’ll do co-working hours, maybe. We’ll host tea parties. Cocktails? Events that aren’t content. We’ll display the Mitte Kollektion the way it was meant to be displayed all along: subject to touch. We’ll invite residents. Art residents. Brand residents. All kinds of residents. Good residents. Not the evil cunts who dominate the feed. We’ll figure the rest out as we go.
Mitte Büro. The biggest investment of my life so far. “A space.” A room with a door. You’ll have to show up in person to find out what’s behind it. It will be so, so worth it.
★ Shop the Fashions
If Mitte Büro is a bet on the physical world, then the Mitte Kollektion is its dress code. No scarcity theater. No print-on-demand, God forbid. Just garments for people who still believe in showing up with their actual body. 10115 pickup available. Good people already know the door.
Who in your life prefers doors to links? Send this link to them.