Holly Hirschfeld

During the day, she studies contemporary history. Delving into books she preserves her fair complexion by staying within the confines of libraries. She is in disguise. Though petite, Holly Hirschfeld is not shy, but rather careful and cautious, as if harbouring an inner light. A light that shines brightly at night, for only then will she reveal her true self: elegantly wicked, scandalously dazzling, with that sophisticated laissez-faire attitude that only women of global cities possess. Holly Hirschfeld embodies the nocturnal flair of legendary Berlin. With her peculiar, almost dangerous charm, she is like an absinthe fairy from the Great Depression. Never tangible, yet so confusingly approachable she draws her admirers. A chalice of sparkling wine on two long legs, dancing over the abyss—catastrophically euphoric, in trance-like security. Because within her dwells an older spirit, whose imperishable secret weaves through centuries. A counterpart to linear history: the eternal return.

Holly about herself.

One of my lovers once told me he felt hurt because he had seen me with another man: apparently, I could find any man attractive, as long as he desired me… maybe that’s true. I love spending my nights in Berlin’s hottest clubs. I love dressing provocatively and dancing freely at wild parties. That exquisite intoxication is the dark fountain from which I draw when things around me grow bright and quiet again. Then I immerse myself in pitch-black poetry. Secretly, I long to finally encounter my revered Nosferatu among the creatures of the night. Or perhaps I’ve already become him?