The Devil wears Versace

Yes, this fetish simply developed, long before I had the necessary means to maintain it. In the meanwhile I think all my fees go to fake teeth and Versace.

I got better at it. I have never been wary, but rueful afterwards and quite worried if I should have said certain things or not. Then I decided there’s no reason to squirrel away secrets. Where would this place be in my life where all these secrets are kept? What place am I saving them for? As there isn’t such a place I might just as well open it up completely. I don’t ask if something is too intimate, rather if it has some entertainment value.

I just can’t bring myself to it. If someone approaches me for an interview, there must be certain readers behind it, and I will sincerely answer everything. But it is very hard for me to just post something myself. I don’t see the relevance. I do need certainty, like people who buy a ticket to see me on stage. Then I can assume that they are interested. I know, if people are following me online I can also assume this, but still it doesn’t get in my head. I feel it’s almost like virtual trespassing when I post something on a timeline. Why should I do that? What is my right there?

Yes, but what counts for me is the definition of success. Making selfies is something else than having paparazzi following you. If people want to see pictures of someone, then this person will notice it by the fact that people are taking photos of them. No, as much as I worship vanity, that’s too much for me, and it also destroys the myths that everyone should preserve. I simply don’t have the heart for it. I cannot follow it. It’s too hip for me and not my world.

I’m surprised. I never consciously staged or performed anything. I don’t act as a character. I wonder why people want to deprive themselves from my illusion. Why do they see more value in discovering something behind? I can’t take this personally because I see them doing it to everyone else, too. On the other hand, I find it very interesting that people have no clue whatsoever when I actually flat-out lie to their face.

Yes, absolutely! That’s probably one of my main motivations for doing it! Of course, the power is in my hands when I have the word. While I’m just a language pimp on stage, which it can also escape from, in this moment it is my accomplice against those out there. That’s naturally a question of power which is incredibly exciting.

Sure, all this plays together. The audience wants to submit. It’s this masochistic pleasure, which has a sexual charge. When you give them a sexy appearance on top, then they willingly throw themselves in the dust. Or they loath it so much that they feel hate.

I don’t feel any pressure as I don’t see myself a perfectionist at all. I am an incredibly impatient person. Especially when it has to do with texts. When something doesn’t flow I find it inferior. I am not someone who fine-tunes and seeks perfection in the subtle handcraft. To a certain degree, many things arise from the moment. Also the movements on stage are nothing that I control. There is a lot of unconscious skill involved.

For me, form is generally more important than content. For a long time I wasn’t aware that I alienate people so much. And I’m still irritated by the many ascriptions typical for cabaret, which they vomit out without thinking. For example, when they talk about vicious or black humor. All humor is black. It exists to spare us from pain or affects. There is no other humor than black humor. That’s why I would never say any of it was vicious, cynical, or sarcastic. By the way, I think sarcasm is a high-caliber art form.

I don’t know. In Germany they say I’m well received because I am an Austrian; at home I hear that it is far easier as a woman. But ideally, a text is inseparable from its author. I also don’t believe that you can somehow incarnate someone else’s texts. If you do, then there is something really wrong with them.

Yes. If I can put my text into anyone’s mouth, the text has no character. I know that only I can do my texts. That’s not really a special competence, I just couldn’t write for anybody else. I cannot feel into the art of others. It would be a completely moronic thing to do.

Negative responses come exclusively from women. These are massive accusations about how I dress or what I say. In their eyes, it is like befouling one’s own nest. My outfits triggered countless complaints to me and my agency. I should better play in pornos when I want to dress like that. I think they would forgive me either for my wardrobe or for my texts, but in combination? I don’t understand why content cannot be coupled with aesthetics. For them, this is treason.

The advantage of cabaret is that the word is central. There’s also no age limit for women. Indeed, it comes across incredibly intellectual, and today’s intellectuality frowns upon aesthetics. Acting doesn’t have that because it is primarily a visual art form. You can see it with the men in the cabaret scene. They strive for fraternization with the audience, which doesn’t allow for much flamboyancy. The audience would hold it against them. But I believe it can be liberating to see a dramatization, something that consciously aims to be artificial in their eyes, because they already have enough authenticity.

I step out my house door, into the taxi, drive to the stage, and then back home again. There aren’t more chances to recognize me outside. I prefer to be in enclosed spaces. But when it happens, it is nice, of course, that can be quite cordial. It is simply a confirmation of my existence. Longing for it is so banal. When you don’t feel yourself enough, you need this affirmation from the outside world.

I think it’s the lack of contact with the outside world. It would screw me up if I had too many talks with other people because I wouldn’t have the strength to speak anymore – or my rhetoric would turn into babbling.

Yes, I read what was necessary so I would never have to come back to it. I cannot read while writing. It can’t mix it up because I react very badly to foreign works. Either I am afraid that it’ll corrupt me because it’s bad, or I am so envious that it blocks me. Every good sentence that I didn’t write myself makes me sick. In fact, I can’t read writers whom I adore a lot. I can admire them in silence but must not touch them.

Yeah, it’s not exactly the most relaxed world. Maybe I’ll get over it some day.

Yes, but I have discovered that being on tour inhibits me a bit. I have to retreat completely. I hear from colleagues that they pour out entire effusions in the train – that just doesn’t work for me. The outside world coats you with such an uncreative slime. And I am an incredibly slow person with a need for sleep like a new born. That means when there is the slightest physical effort on top, like walking to the train, I will anyway sleep for 16 hours. I wouldn’t know where or when I should be able to write something then.

I think in the moment I was able to deliver it. Megalomania is so clumsy when you don’t offer something appropriate in exchange. When a very small person makes herself big, it is just a farce. There always has to be more mega than mania. In my teenage years Falco just needed to walk on stage and open his arms, and I was a believer. There was no compromise for him. That really fascinated me and I thought, that’s what you have to do. Not just on stage but as a life principle.