by Jonas Moody Photos by Páll stefánsson
“Imagine walking down Strøget in your light blue pajamas.” So begins the song by Denmark’s beloved poet Klaus Rifbjerg. However, Copenhagen’s main shopping strip, inundated with meandering tourists and international retail chains, has become anything but a dream. Escape the Strøget snare to discover those neighborhoods where Danes can be themselves: enterprising, spirited and delirious for design.
“E
verything has its place,” decrees the stocky Danish woman upon handing me my tray at the Hotel Fox breakfast bar. “Your coffee goes here,” she drones, pointing a rigid finger at a sunken circle on my tray. “Your bread goes here,” indicating the square indention in the center. “Your cutlery lies like this,” she says loading my knife, fork, and spoon like bullets into a revolver. “And you can choose what goes here,” she finally says, pointing at another circle and giving me a cool, benevolent smile that belies at once a keen sense of egalitarianism and impeccable bone structure. “You know, like yogurt or juice or muesli. It’s up to you,” she concludes. I thank the woman for my breakfast… and the small portions of free will she doles out every morning. Indeed, everything has its place in Denmark— and well-designed organization is certainly no exception. Its holy station ranks somewhere between cleanliness and godliness in the Danish psyche. And this penchant to compartmentalize, to have everything in its own box, can be applied to most facets of life in Copenhagen, from the
sacred triad of pedestrian lane—cyclist lane— motorist lane on nearly every street to the polarizing effect of immigration, which has spurred lily-white flight and minority ghettos. Even the tourists tend to get herded into their own pasture—Strøget, the pedestrian aorta of high-street retail. With more shawarma stands than you can throw a steamed towel at and tourist schlock by the blockful, this kilometer of H&M, McDonald’s and Irish pubs couldn’t be any less Danish. And the high-minded claim of being car-free may have been true back in the ‘60s, but nowadays a walk down Strøget means contending with countless delivery trucks keeping the tourist outlets stocked with fresh tat and the shawarma stands with fresh-ish spools of mystery meat. But breaking free of the tourist holding tank is no more difficult than wading out of Strøget’s raging river of retail into the quieter pools of independently owned boutiques, restaurants, galleries and other stores specializing in anything from antiquarian bicycle parts to trash art to streetwear couture. Beyond Strøget is where
the industrious spirit of the socially-minded, aesthetic-worshiping Danes is most rife. The Fox and the Ox Despite the strict zoning laws on the breakfast trays, a meal at Hotel Fox is a veritable who’s who in design. Breakfast entails glassware and cutlery from Danish darling Eva Solo while sitting on loungers from American wünderkind Scott Wilson. And I would be remiss not to mention those draconian silicon trays specially designed for Fox by Likoo in Germany. But the lesson certainly doesn’t stop with breakfast. The hotel was originally conceived as an elaborate publicity stunt in 2005 when Volkswagen launched its less-than-stunning mini car, the Fox. VW stripped an average three-star hotel and set loose 21 promising graphic designers, urban artists and illustrators from around the world to create a refuge of vibrant, one-ofa-kind rooms. I found myself in #307, “Dryads,” where I slept on a leaf-patterned bedspread surrounded by imposing tree figures with embryonic
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Above: Scenes of Copenhagen beyond Strøget. Below: Norse Projects’ label. Opposite: Copenhagen’s newly opened Skuespilhus Theater and the reflection of the new Copenhagen Opera House across the water.
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nymphs encased in their womb-like roots. Despite the artist’s ability to induce woodland slumber, from a utilitarian standpoint (and utilitarianism is no laughing matter in this country), the room did lack any sort of desk space, and getting on the bed was about as easy as maneuvering a pommel horse. Clearly there are sacrifices to be made for staying in a forest sanctuary. My photographer’s room, #308, “East Side Guero Sound System,” was an entirely different affair. Drenched in glossy fire-engine red, each wall featured boldly rendered scenes of cholos in Mexican wrestling masks and ghetto blasters—a thrilling room but hardly conducive to sleeping soundly. Overall, the connection between the launch of a mediocre hatchback and a design hotel eludes me, but that’s up to the marketing wizards at VW. Regardless, the result is probably one of the most remarkable collections of contemporary design you’ll ever be able to sleep in. For a taste of stodgier—but just as pleas-
ing—Danish design I leave The Fox and head to Peder Oxe. This restaurant, planted on the shady end of Gråbrødretorv Square, has become somewhat of an institution for straight-laced Copenhageners. In the grand tradition of Danish organization, each table sits directly under a lamp with a numbered brass fitting and a button. When I’m ready to order, I punch the light to summon my penguin-clad waitress. It’s like flying, only the stewardesses don’t make me use a seatbelt and the food isn’t served in tiny plastic trays. All items on the menu are prefaced by a single, well-chosen adjective. Accordingly, I start with the “necessary” Danish cheese plate, followed by the “fortifying” ox burger, although the lunch-rush pick is clearly the “quick” smørrebrød, all washed down with the “bracing” mocha melior of coffee. My appetite for orderliness was also sated to learn that the house wine is sold by the inch. As long as I keep my drinking under a foot I should still be able to operate the waitress landing lights. Street Smart “That’s just what it costs,” Petter Svärd, 21, tells me about the grey hoodie he just coughed up EUR 227 for at Norse Projects, one of several “street-wear couture” boutiques that pepper the streets north of Strøget. Svärd is a lanky young man who dresses in the loud colors and baggy fits of a hip-hopper but has the DNA of a high-cheekboned, androgynous male model. With an enthusiasm uncharacteristic of his mild-mannered people, Svärd proudly pulls the garment out of his bag. At first glance it could be any grey, hooded sweatshirt, just like the one Rocky wore to run up and down the
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Everything has its place in Denmark— and well-designed organization is certainly no exception.
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Denmark’s Dos and Don’ts
Dos
Don’ts
Do book early. Hotel Fox. Jarmers Plads 3, +45 33 13 30 00. hotelfox.dk
Don’t go hungry. Peder Oxe. Gråbrødretorv 11, + 45 33 11 00 77. pederoxr.dk
Do strut your own style. Norse Projects. Pilestraede 41. norseprojects.com Do your part. Fisk. Sankt Peders Straede 1, +45 33 15 28 01.
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Don’t forget to have a sense of humor. Wood Wood. Krystalgade 4 and 7. woodwood.dk Don’t skip other redesign. Kvindehuset. (Only women allowed in, seriously.) Gothersgade 37. Retro. Knabrostræde 26.
steps of the Philadelphia Art Museum. “The details matter,” says the style-conscious young man, pointing out the neon orange zipper and side panels, the small Xs embroidered onto the cuffs, the calling card of Japanese designer Original Fake’s clothing. But Norse Projects isn’t just reselling cool from America and Japan. The shop is full of their in-house brand, Norse, including fluorescent polka dot caps, more hoodies, and graphic T-shirts of pink skulls and crude line drawings of a couple 69ing. The only palpable connection between them is their label, which reads: “Created to improve life—Good for all seasons.” Clearly kids like Svärd are not buying these clothes for their benevolence, nor for their quality stitching, but rather because street culture has developed its own echelon of ego goods. While the logic of bling may seem inscrutable to the uninitiated— from jeweled dental grills to pimped-out hoodies—commodity fetishism is nothing new. Down the street from Norse Projects is Wood
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Shopping on Studiestraede, having a break at Fiolstraede, Wood Wood’s “Joy of Repetition” scarf, and Christiansborg Stolts Square.
Wood, a label and retailer that has met with so much success they are now housed in two storefronts just steps away from each other, along with a new location in Europe’s haven of hip, Berlin’s Mitte. Wood Wood is based on a streetwear aesthetic with rackfuls of allover-print hoodies and heaps of sneaks, but their in-house brand has a good sense of humor as well. Emblematic of their collection is a Merino wool scarf covered in 80s-style video game characters and the words “The Joy of Repetition”. Despite catering to a younger crowd, items carry designer price tags. But as one shop assistant notes, “Young people here are just more interested in fashion. There is no way I would have paid DKK 1,000 (USD 210, EUR 135) for a sweatshirt when I was kid.” Even though young people like Svärd might be more “Hanson Brothers” than “Spike Lee,” there is something about streetwear couture that speaks to this sect of young Danes. Perhaps it’s a distaste for the ubiquitous H&M culture or an eye genetically inclined towards original
design. In any case, from the streets of Compton to the streets of Krystalgade, luxury is not so much in the material or time-honored labels as it is dressing on the cutting, bleeding edge of exclusive fashion. Stylin’ for Jesus Does design die? Are there elephant graveyards of Eames chairs and Eva Zeisel dishes somewhere? Will a Noguchi lamp eventually curl up and expire? Or is design everlasting in its disciples’ eyes? Fisk, on the corner of Sankt Peders Straede and Nørregade, subscribes to neither of these dogmas. Although it’s a retail space run by DanChurchAid, the humanitarian aid arm of the Danish National Evangelical Lutheran Church, it takes a far more eastern approach to its design: reincarnation. Gone are the days of church bake sales (although Fisk’s coffee shop whips up a mean muffin) to raise money for charity activities. Fisk runs on the concept of redesign to support its aid operations like AIDS education in Zambia,
clearing away landmines in Albania and opening schools in India. Apart from some of the most socially responsible products you can find (fair-trade, organic, sustainably-farmed, vegan marmalade, anyone?), Fisk taps into the creative muscle of its community through redesign— where secondhand gets reborn under the hands of local designers before going on the rack at prices slightly above thrift, but well below boutique design. Shop volunteer and sociologist Mila Vlasova, 34, often leaves her post at the coffee shop to show off some of her favorite pieces in the shop’s underground space. From old, polyester button-downs bearing new silk-screened graphics (“All is fair in love and trade” some read), to outdated, modular office furniture resurrected with 1970s psychedelic fabrics and decoupage. Despite the time that goes into creating Fisk’s one-of-a-kind pieces, prices are relatively low, as are the prices on most of the fair trade goods. But even with its volunteer staff and prime location, Fisk has to keep its head above water fisatlantica
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From the streets of Compton to the streets of Krystalgade, luxury is not so much in the material or time-honored labels as it is dressing on the cutting, bleeding edge of exclusive fashion.
The trumpeters in Rådhuspladsen are said to blow their horns only when a virgin passes by...
cally. “We have to sustain ourselves first before we can sustain the world,” Vlasova tells me. “It’s not easy to make money off fair-trade and redesign,” she concludes. A native Russian, Vlasova has lived in Copenhagen over 13 years and continues to be attracted to the “big-hearted streak” in Danes. To supplement Fisk’s revenue Vlasova helps 40
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organize events like short film festivals bringing in students from the Danish Film Institute a couple blocks away, or debate nights on immigrant issues with law students from the University of Copenhagen across the street. Ladies’ Auxiliary in the church basement this is not. Attracting a strong constituency of young, progressive people is something new
for religious organizations. But the grassroots spirit of Fisk coupled with its fashion-forward collection of unique, affordable design make it a natural meeting place not only for those with good intentions for this world, but for those with good taste as well. From the dutiful shopkeepers painting over graffiti to the skateboarding teenager who prob-
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The grassroots spirit of Fisk coupled with its fashion-forward collection of unique, affordable design make it a natural meeting place not only for those with good intentions for this world, but for those with good taste as well.
Gammel Strand with its photography museum.
ably spray-painted the wall in the first place, Copenhageners all have a keen sense of what they deem aesthetically pleasing. But these enclaves of personalized style and design are hardly limited to the dense area immediately surrounding Strøget. There’s Vesturbro with its red-light appeal. Nørrebro is filled with immigrants, students and artists, and the café culture they invoke. And of course, Freetown Christiania churns with cannabis, bohemians and no cars (for real), but trash everywhere. Although these worlds are fairly segregated within the larger metropolis of Copenhagen, like the square compartments of Fox’s breakfast tray, in the end the choice is yours. a
Icelandair flies to Copenhagen 30 times a week.
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TONGUE UNTIED Although most Danes probably speak better English than us native speakers, it never hurts to impress the locals. Here are some choice phrases… Rødgrød med fløde. This is the benchmark phrase to prove you’re a Dane. It means “red compote with cream,” but said properly it sounds more like you’re hacking up a bone than ordering dessert. Tread carefully! Botch this one and your cover is blown. Tusind tak! Literally, “a thousand thanks.” Go ahead and throw around your gratitude. It goes far in Copenhagen.
En stor øl, tak. “One large beer, please.” And by beer I mean Carlsberg and by Carlsberg I mean the only libation on tap that touches Danish lips. Værsgo. Danes can’t blink without saying this. Listen for it. It sounds like “vess goo.” From what I gather, this is all-season verbiage. Use it when you hand someone something, pay, open the door, belch, stumble, pick a fight or pass gas.