An older article about the Berlin Guerrilla from Frame mag
http://www.framemag.com/articles/article,4410.html
Berlin Walls
Comme des Garçons, known for its architectonic fireworks, goes undercover in Berlin. Rei Kawakubo lets a student fill a shabby East German space with second-hand furniture finds.
Christiane Sauer
Berlin's fashion victims have recently become fashion guerrillas. A new addition to the city is Comme des Garçons' Guerrilla Store, which operates according to a strategy of 'search and enjoy'. Far from anything even remotely trendy, the shop is hidden away in an unexceptional part of town that does convey, however, a feeling peculiar to Berlin. At long last the clever sleuth discovers the place - fronted by scaffolding - in a building badly in need of renovation. Apart from a few posters announcing the opening, the store has not been advertised. Only insiders know how to find it; others rely on propaganda passed along by word of mouth.
The Guerrilla Store is the brainchild of Comme des Garçons' standard bearer, Rei Kawakubo, who developed the idea after visiting Berlin last summer with partner Adrian Joffe. Born of her enthusiastic reaction to the sense of change that still holds Berlin in thrall, and to innumerable spots throughout the city suspended in an indefinite stage of transition, the idea led to a literal translation of this atmosphere into a retail concept. That was in January of this year. A brief six weeks later, the shop opened. And regardless of turnover, the Guerrilla Store will close its doors after a period of precisely one year. In short order the new retail concept will be launched in another ten cities, from Barcelona, where a Guerrilla Store opened in late March, to places as diverse as Ljubljana, Brooklyn and Warsaw.
To strike at this speed, the firm needed real guerrilla design. Thus the commission for the Berlin shop went not to a top-flight architecture firm but to a local architecture student, Christian Weinecke. Comme des Garçons also chose designers for the other stores on the basis of an ability to read the city in question and to recognize the ordinary, everyday stories it has to tell.
Weinecke had carte blanche in designing the first Guerrilla Store, which was a key component of the experimental concept. For this project Kawakubo wanted shops that would enter into a dialogue with their surroundings - she was more interested in a space that would reflect the local atmosphere than in an ultra-hip design concept.
Location played a crucial role in her thinking. 'We looked for a street with absolutely no connection to a specific scene,' says Weinecke. They selected an area between Berlin's fashionable Mitte district and Wedding, a traditional working-class neighbourhood. Typical of Berlin, the chosen street boasts relics from both the old Berlin and the GDR-era city. They opted for the vacant Buchhandlung am Brecht-Haus, once an East German book shop. Across the front of the unrenovated building is a camouflage of scaffolding. The house next door, a piece of Berlin history, is the building in which Bertolt Brecht lived and worked.
Weinecke and associates simply left the space as they found it: plain granite floor, plaster ceiling, and rough, untreated walls with traces of paint that offer a sample sheet of fashion throughout recent decades. Nine impeccable pieces of pale gold-green furniture are the only newcomers to the space. A flawless coat of high-gloss paint unites these objets trouvés, all second-hand finds whose former lives include functions like sideboard, occasional table and even bieresel ('beer donkey'), the nickname of a type of Berlin café table. On its own, none of these pieces is special, but together they spin a tale about life in the city of Berlin. 'A hotchpotch of interior pieces like these is fascinating,' says Weinecke. 'I went out one afternoon and bought the lot for a grand total of 250 euros.'
Non-design gives the space a natural, unpretentious air. 'The store seems very homogeneous, and the colour of the furniture goes well with the faded tints of the walls,' comments a discerning shopper who's visiting the Guerrilla Store for the first time. 'But best of all,' she says, 'is that unlike so many glossy boutiques, this is a place you dare to walk into.'
Additional interior interventions - if that term can be applied here - are also based on the low-budget principle: cardboard boxes serve as displays, galvanized water pipes double as clothes rails, and an old lift for transporting books is now a bar. Applied to one chair is a 'fabric' recognized by every Berliner: the plastic seating material found in the local metro. Weinecke has applied several layers of the tape used for repairing this upholstery to the seat of the chair.
The only thing here that cannot be labelled 'low budget' is the clothing. Walking out of the shop with a pricey fashion statement wrapped in the same black plastic sheeting used for rubbish bags seems, in this context, almost cynical. But customers couldn't care less: they come, and they buy. After hearing about the shop from friends or finding it on the internet, they descend on the Guerrilla Store from all parts of the city, dying to get their hands on something previously unavailable in Berlin. Neighbourhood residents who discover the new fashion Nirvana while searching for the book shop, however, are less likely to become card-carrying fans of Comme des Garçons' booming enterprise.
Change and surprise are central themes. Furniture is rearranged every few days, and apparel arrives and leaves on a weekly basis - in with the new and out with a selection of unsold items. Thanks to the rotation process, the stock is fully renewed every six weeks. On sale are accessories and clothing - a mix of the new collection and models from past seasons - from all nine Comme des Garçons labels, including those formerly sold only in Japan. Getting in step with the city means testing a new scent by the Japanese fashion brand. Perfumes with names like Tar, Garage and Dryclean complete each streetwear outfit.
Extra surprises throughout the year will bear the signatures of 'guest designers'. Weinecke, who wants to see the shop 'influenced by various energies', says that each guest will make a special contribution to the space. The first was Dat Vuong, who runs a popular Vietnamese restaurant in the area. He 'installed' green plants, lotus leaves and, for good luck, a paper fish that dangles from the ceiling. 'The fish stands for change and insubstantiality - it's hard to grasp,' says Vuong. 'The fish reflects not only the retail concept but also the atmosphere in Berlin.' Another guest designer will be the 'sixes man', a genuine Berlin guerrilla (and artist), who for years has been surreptitiously painting the number 6 on walls across the city. Although his identity is unknown, his symbols have gradually become part of the cityscape.
Clearly, then, guerrilla tactics are not new to Berlin. Back in the '90s, clubs were springing up in condemned housing whose ownership, after the fall of the GDR, was in question. Granted only a short life, such clubs made use of existing structures. Not one of them was chic, designed or even out to make a profit. One wonders where the same approach will lead when used by established brands, since even the best guerrilla tactic can count on being exposed, sooner or later, as a marketing tool, at which point it becomes obsolete. Surely by that time, however, the urban warriors will be hatching another, even more brilliant idea.