Patrick Pierazzoli: I really fucking love my job
This will be a somewhat longer story, so be prepared. One month ago today. It was the Monday our March issue went to press. The print deadline is always the grand finale for us – and this deadline takes its name literally. It’s my favorite time of the month. Everything culminates in this moment, everyone is working at full speed, everything is going according to plan. FACES drives at top speed – that’s an incredibly good feeling. And then server broken. Backup server too. The super-GAU. Two new ones were needed immediately. The quickest way to do this took me to Willisau in Lucerne – a few hours later I was back with the devices, and thanks to a night shift by our server guru, everything was up and running the next day. On my drive in the snow and rain, I thought about why I of all people had to get the shitty server in the shitty weather in shitty Willisau. Of course, it was the problem that had to be solved first and foremost, but somehow I was also the most dispensable, everyone else had more important things to do.
Today. Monday, start of the final of this edition. I’ve been laid up with the flu for four days. I haven’t been this bad for 20 years. I won’t be there for the print delivery this time. And what will happen? Nothing. Like every month, you are holding the best new FACES of all time in your hands. Should that give me pause for thought? I think it speaks more for the conductor if he can put down his baton in the middle of a concert and go for a coffee and nobody notices his absence. That is my opinion. The fact is, I prefer to work with people who are better at something than I am. They interest me, I respect them, and I trust their professional judgment. This applies to the many authors, photographers, stylists and other creative people who enrich our magazine with their work. And this applies in particular to my FACES Dream Team in Zurich, Berlin and Milan. Marina, Kim, Alena, Kathrin, Simone, Meret, Yasmin, Leandra, Bruce, Yasemin, Steff, Alisa, Mirco, Marco, Linda, Julia and Flo. Thank you very much. It is a pleasure to make this magazine together with you. I’m going to lie down again and leave you to it. Peace out.
Marina Warth: Rollin’
Whether lapis lazuli or rose quartz: gemstones always have something of Walpurgis night about them. I draw energy from my chocolate bar, not from the quartz under the bed. That’s why the over-hyped Jade scooter triggers about as much enthusiasm in me as screaming children on a streetcar. However, I like honest craftsmanship, products with soul that don’t come from Chinese labor camps, but from factories in small villages, where the latest gossip stories are sold at the baker’s with the bread rolls. Bezau is such a place and Susanne Kaufmann is such a brand. The philosophy is right: Cosmetics from nature, made locally, produced sustainably in small quantities. Creams and toners are now followed by the company’s own face roller – a tool so minimalist and stylish that it even wins design awards. The silhouette comes from Susanne’s brother, the handle from the local wood turner and the stone from South Tyrol. An obsidian – black and matt – that is supposed to release blockages if you believe in it. It helps me to roll away puffy eyes when the wine has flowed too much and the night has passed too quickly. And that certainly has nothing to do with hocus-pocus. Susanne Kaufmann, “Obsidian Face Roller”, approx. 318.-
Marco Rüegg: Forget it!
“Dad, do you know who I am?” – “As if that’s so interesting!” The interviews that Arno Geiger conducts with his increasingly demented father contain comedy, love, brutality and childlike poetry. He is doing well, says the “Old King in his Exile” (Hanser Verlag). But under quotation marks, because he is not in a position to judge. The book documents how Alzheimer’s sabotages the thinking apparatus, how the family, how the patient himself deals with it, when he takes the television program for reality and offers the TV presenter cookies, drives carers mad by the dozen and at the same time becomes a creative linguistic acrobat. The future becomes ad hoc cowardly; when asked what he wants to do now, the answer is: “Nothing. That’s the beauty of it. You have to be able to do that first!” Something we should put behind our ears – while our own brains are still functioning to some extent.
