The phrase “poor but sexy”  has become one of the more tiresome clichés about Berlin, even if there are stretches of Kreuzberg south of the Landwehr Canal that still live up to it. More typical of our hometown’s herky-jerky efforts to be modern and glamorous is Holmes Place, the wannabe upscale gym right off Gendarmenmarkt. Holme’s is the heart of Mitte, ostensibly a gathering spot for media and fashion people, except that here, no one recognizes each other. I’ve been a member for three years. Once people got over asking me how I could stand such a “pretentious” place (hello, people, it’s a gym), they wanted to know what famous people I’d seen there. But I couldn’t really tell – stripped of the cues of clothing, done-up hairdo (and for women, make-up), and covered in a slick of sweat, people don’t really look all that much like their public selves. I think I saw model Eva Padberg there once, and Wolfgang Joop. But mainly it’s the same crew of professionals, including people I know personally – magazine editors, freelancers, photographers. We all ignore each other studiously. I saw a book editor I know sitting on a weight machine opposite to me, which meant that our eye-lines matched exactly; he managed to look five inches to my right the whole time. He may have been embarrassed to see a professional acquaintance while covered in sweat, or maybe my T-shirt was too wrinkled. This gym is the opposite of New York’s Russian baths, where there’s a camaraderie to be found in seeing everyone you know at their least appealing.  Berlin’s rawness is a cultivated art! That studiedly scruffy look takes work. Just keep your head down and it’ll be all right. (Ralph Martin)