So yes… about meeting Cindy Lauper for the first time, in the lobby
of a rather sketchy hotel in Berlin Mitte. There are a few things
one should probably not say to an aging pop star:
“No, I don’t really recognize you…”
“Ah, now I see! You’re Bonnie Tyler!”
“Cindy Lauper? But you look so much older.”
“Are you sure you’re not Bonnie Tyler?”
“I am just a student. So funny we’re staying at the same hotel!”
“So interesting you had your biggest hit in 1983, I was not born yet.”
“Are you the supporting act for Lady Gaga?”
“Do you think the hyperbolic, all-encompassing, neoliberal,
accelerative consumerism that we call pop culture today has its
roots in the celebrity culture of the 1980s?”
Unfortunately, I said all these things to Cindy Lauper. It probably
had to do with me being generally overwhelmed by the presence of
a famous person, whilst slightly disappointed that she was in fact
a tiny, fidgety person rather than a giant. (Celebrities should
always be giants and extremely overpowering, in my opinion.)
She probably hates me. Forever.
I fear I have put in motion the German,
if not European, exodus of Cindy Lauper.
Never to return to Berlin again.
That was it.
Hasta la vista.
You Germans can go fuck yourselves. (I’m Dutch.)
I’m staying in the good ol’ US of A from now on.
Where people actually know me.
Where people actually like me.
Where people actually love me.
Please come back, Cindy. I am sorry.
I’ll be waiting.
Time after time.
Text: Hendrik Folkerts
Illustration: Elisabeth Moch,