Patrick Pierazzoli: Miami Style
1984 was a good year for Don Johnson. As narcotics officer Sonny Crockett, he cruised through Miami in a Ferrari and enforced law and order with his partner Ricardo Tubbs. Miami Vice was a huge hit, and Don Johnson became not only a sex symbol but also a style icon. Wide suits made of cool wool and linen, with pleats and underarm pads, only with a T-shirt underneath. And all in the sugar-sweet colors of the Art Deco hotels on Ocean Drive. That was new and cool. And everything that used to be cool will come back as soon as the hype is over. And so this summer we are finally wearing pastels in all their variations again. The most important piece is the blazer like this one from Paul Smith (approx. 955.-). For the perfect look, google “Miami Vice” and you’ll understand everything.
Marina Warth: Junkie
Those damn viruses! They got me again, somewhere between bungee jumping from a height of 134 meters and ice climbing on a New Zealand glacier. Coughing, pain, really nasty. However, instead of the little colorful stuff from Pfizer, Novartis and the like, I rely on the spicy tuber from the Far East. Ginger tea is like spring cleaning for the throat, a whirlwind on the palate that whips through the throat like a wild coachman whipping his team. It tastes so good that I cling to ginger like a baby to its pacifier. Well, ginger tea sounds like a stay-at-home mom, like a comforter and staying at home, not at all like something worth celebrating on this site. And because spring has long been tickling my nose, giving me hope for sunshine, days outdoors, outfits without scarves and evenings on the terrace, I swap tea for beer, which I can’t resist anyway in this bottle (Le Tribute, “Ginger Beer”, approx. 3.-, at Globus). But the ginger remains.
Marco Rüegg: Powerful
Westminster lies in ruins, the Queen burns at the stake, electric guitars and combat boots maltreat the civilized zeitgeist. And in the midst of the barrage of the punk movement, Patti Smith is something of a sharpshooter with words, images and sound, who knows more subtle stylistic devices than noise orgies and rivet tapes. But at least as effective. “Jesus died for somebody’s sins but not mine” – a sentence like a mercy shot to the heart of bigoted moralizers. “Before Easter After” (Taschen Verlag) flashes back to the youth of the fragile androgynous, long-grayed pop-cultural eminence. The almost 300 glossy pages take our breath away, and not just because of the power of the photographs by Smith’s soulmate Lynn Goldsmith: the signed Collector’s Edition of this fine ham is worth a hefty 2,000. However, the hardcover is already available for 80.
