Re: Berghain's architecture, what we mean by "discourse," sauna socials and social club fatigue, herb oil martinis, and the sea.
What I read, researched, realized in July.
Ciao everyone. London’s doing that thing again where it pretends to be one season in the morning and another in the afternoon. But spirits are high, and I actually love a gray, heavy start to the day. I’m also publishing this letter in a packed Jubilee train, while I’m running late, as usual, for my first practice since the holidays (I’m also back to rocking white socks and Adidas slides.)
Here’s what’s been circling my group chats, earworms, inbox, and feed this month—the things I find worth responding to.
Inside: the rise of ambient listening; sauna socials and how they reveal a deeper lack of sensory experience and bodily connection; why “discourse” is not broken and what it really means; an RA interview with Berghain’s architects on designing for the subconscious (primal human state of fear, exposure, hiding); and my new favorite martini cocktail, among other things.
JULY IN “DISCOURSE”
“The Discourse is Broken” by Charlie Warzel for The Atlantic, in which Warzel critiques the discussions around the Sweeney controversy (the American Eagle ad: “Sydney Sweeney has great jeans.”), arguing that “the internet has completely disordered political and cultural discourse.” Throughout the piece, Warzel also grapples a few times with the definition of “discourse,” and how it is often a misnomer—for instance, when it becomes “a shorthand for the way that a particular topic gets put through the internet’s meat grinder.” Toward the end, Warzel arrives at a meta reflection on discourse: “What we’re consuming isn’t discourse; it’s algorithmic grist for the mills that power the platforms we’ve uploaded our conversations onto.”
I do agree that what we’re consuming isn’t discourse, but not because of its quality or content: because what we’re consuming is never the discourse itself. For me, definition of discourse is slightly different, and more Foucauldian: that discourse is not “what is said,” but the conditions that determine what can be said—known, or even thought—within a particular society or historical period. And that effectively shapes the subjects and worlds they speak of by establishing systems of rules and exclusions. I prefer Warzel’s use of “information ecosystem” because it also points to a “system,” which, much like discourse, denotes a framework rather than an object. A cultural moment, debate, or even criticism is an object of discourse, not discourse itself. (Similar to the distinction between “criticism” and “critique.”) An example of how discourse takes effect is that today, for many, it is easier to comment on a plagiarism scandal or the Sweeney ad than the ongoing genocide in Gaza. In that sense, discourse is not broken; it is a system operating exactly as it is meant to.
Meanwhile, Gaza activist Yasemin Acar was found not guilty in German court for the nine charges relating to her political activism, mainly stating “From the River to the sea, Palestine will be free.” (The idea that this could be illegal in the first place is an example of material-discursive manifestation of power.)
Hyperallergic covered “The Berlin Biennale’s Complicit Silence,” criticizing the art event’s failure to directly address the German state’s repression of pro-Palestine voices.
JULY IN WHAT I LISTENED
Listened to this interview on RA with the architects of Berghain (Studio Karhard) about night club design. There were so many interesting things they discussed, like the role of anticipation when designing, the self-referentiality of Berghain—how the sound is influenced by the building—but what I especially loved learning was the ways in which the architects considered the subconscious state: noting that the human subconscious reverts to a primitive state of fear and needs to “see a way out,” they made sure people “always see an exit” from anywhere in the club. They also talked about how people either want complete exposure or complete hiding and how they accommodate for that.
I then started researching the work of Studio Karhard, which are all really great, and it was a lot of fun seeing a dermatologist’s office, a bar, and a pet shop next to the techno club.
From Karhard’s website. I’ve been thinking about the idea of a sauna social club since a friend mentioned we should go to an “ambient listening” session. Yesterday, after my workout, I was lying in the sauna and realized that a sauna is not necessarily something I’d like to be a social event: it is designed for you to stay only until your threshold, a kind of meditative experience. Then again, meditation can be even more powerful in a collective setting. When I peeled back a few more layers into what actually was bothering me, I realized that its the cultural translation of these new spaces are the headlines like: Forget the pub, saunas are the new place to socialize. Because it reflects our desperate clinging to sensory experience and connection. There are many days in the year when I think, I don’t want to go to the pub again. This flattening of experience, to me, is a sensory problem—a lack of integration of the senses, a bodily or corporeal dimension that fails to seep into everyday life. If you look at all the new spaces or events that claim to be the next place to meet people—running clubs, saunas, sound baths, cold plunges—they are all marketed as novel, sensory-driven experiences, yet end up feeling interchangeable, as if different routes to the same kind of optimized, curated social life. I’m a fan of them, I support them, and I want more of them. But what I also want to highlight here is the recognition of a fundamental lack in “real” experience and connection—not just to others, but also, and beginning with, to ourselves and our own bodies—rather constantly chasing the next place make friends or find a date.
Why do I love this description on RA reviews more than the sound: “Manchester-based producer Kop-Z mulled over the intricacies of human life while reading A Non-Equilibrium Thermodynamic System, a dusty book he found in a charity shop for £2. The title describes human beings as disparate entities constantly battling entropy.”
I also revisited Courtesy’s eufori album—sadly, it didn’t hit the same as it did a year ago, but if you haven’t listened to it before: Boadicea and Infinity 1990 are worth a listen.
JULY IN COCKTAILS
This isn’t a real category, but I feel like I always have one signature cocktail that becomes the highlight of the month. (Also, whenever I hang out with my friend Zeynep, I end up discovering a new favorite.) Last month’s was a lemon meringue pie martini that I mixed myself , and in May it was the “Lonely Bullfighter” (mezcal, amaro, melon) at 392 Kingsland Rd. This month, it’s this “mini martini” with curry leaf vermouth and herb oil from Rambutan. (I normally go for a dry martini with olive, in case anyone’s wondering.)
JULY IN READINGS
This piece “Zohran Mamdani and Mahmoud Khalil Are in On the Joke” in the The New Yorker that I read earlier this month about the “Muslim Panic,” particularly highlighting the comedy that circles the absurdity of it: “We laugh because, if we must live through it, we feel entitled to our laughter, unified within it. The night of the Democratic primary, a group chat of Muslims rapidly populated with examples of the overwrought panic on the internet, and we laughed at how quickly that panic was followed by Muslims, also online, mocking the panic. (“Get ready to pray 5 times a day NYC,” one X user posted.) In my laughter, I could almost feel everyone in the group chat laughing in separate corners of the world. If the body is one in suffering, it must also be one in pleasure.”
I love the comparison betweeen sports fans and arts fans in this interview on Cultured Mag, wherein Wu Tsai responds to the question: “Sports fans are similar to art enthusiasts because they’re seeking some sort of transcendence.” As someone who isn’t only passionate about playing sports but also deeply fascinated by the aesthetics (sensory experience) of sports itself, I really appreciate—and want to explore further—this observation:“They want to see a spectacle; a slam dunk or a half-court buzzer-beater, a three-point shot off of one leg. After the game, they’ll go to a sports bar and talk about it. I think that the same happens when people go see art. You might see a work that shifts your perspective or makes you see something differently.
JULY IN WHAT I REALIZED
The best incentive for staying away from screens is what your eye doctor can tell you.
Getting a tan fixes many things.
I’d like to travel more to places by the sea.
Sometimes injuries are good because they tell you what you’re doing wrong, to quote my strength and conditioning coach: “if you’re not becoming a better version of yourself every season, you’re doing something wrong (=not the right strength training.”
Here are photos of the two things that was most present in my life during the holidays: city traffic and the sea.
See you later.
Take care,
Melis
Re: is a midweek recap of my research, reviews, and reactions, featuring curated short-form responses to culture, politics, art, architecture, and more. Published alongside my weekly essays on Sundays, Re: is inspired by the culture and practice of responding.