One mannequin in the window was accessorized with a ball gag; another wore what appeared to be a leather diving mask of sorts, connected to a metal leash. Inside, the store was brightly lit, its walls lined with leather jackets, vests, pants, and harnesses. Shiny steel sex toys shone on a shelf. A urine bag was apparent thanks to its label. I had spent the previous few days covering Berlin Fashion Week , and had seen some impressive shows, to be sure.
But none, I would later discover, would channel the power of fashion quite like the Butcherei Lindinger. My questions for the designer momentarily dissolved. Lindinger, tall and fit at 41 years old, smiled. Before the industrial revolution made off-the-shelf clothing de rigueur, those who could afford new clothes typically visited a tailor and had them made to measure.
Today, bespoke suiting and couture dresses are reserved for the wealthiest or most notable of clients. The average fashion designer works to a punishing schedule, creating at least four collections per year, only to be knocked off by fast-fashion imitators.
By contrast, Lindinger works on a calendar dictated by his own creativity and the needs of his customers. Some of those wishes are relatively mundane: leather pants made-to-measure, or in a certain combination of colors. Others—such as animal masks, restraints and harnesses, and clothes with strategically placed zippers, flaps, and straps—are pure fantasy, and frequently sexual.
I firmly believe in this power. For the fetishist, however, that power goes far deeper. At the very least, fetish allows its wearers to tell stories they could never tell in a conventional setting: I am dominant; I am wild; I am someone—or something—entirely other than myself.
