This Website Proves That Getting into Berghain Really Is Virtually Impossible


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This Website Proves That Getting into Berghain Really Is Virtually Impossible

We didn't get in. And we've been there!

Anyone's who been to Berghain will tell you: they didn't get in. The club is famous for its door policy above everything else, operating as a sort of members-only club for a non-descript elite. The club's lead bouncer Sven Marquardt has made no secret of how difficult and non-specific the credentials are, stating that anyone from a suited-up lawyer to "guys in masks" could be right, but equally the most ostensibly down the line, all in black techno-head could be turned away for seemingly no reason. The indefinable type of person, who will only know if they are good enough once they're inside, are evaluated on the door with a few simple questions, and then let in or—most likely—told to turn around and head home.


Read more about Berghain

It makes sense then, given how hard it is to get past this hurdle, that a bit of practice would be appreciated. Which is probably why a new website called "Berghain Trainer" is proving such a welcome dummy run for anyone hoping to get into the real thing. The site uses your camera and microphone to analyze your body language and voice, before putting you up against the door staff and who ask you three questions. The interrogation, that can be about anything from your age to who is DJing, is then used to assess whether or not you're allowed in.

You can try it for yourself by clicking above. We asked everyone around our desk to have a go and they are still trying and failing over and over again in an infinite cycle. Here are their attempts…

Josh Baines, THUMP UK Editor

I've been to Berghain before. Just once, mind, and even that was on a press trip, so I got to saunter past Sven and the lads and straight into the garden to bang pints of prosecco with other braying journalists and a really tired looking Bernard Sumner from New Order. It was a fun night, but it wasn't an authentic experience by any stretch of the imagination.

Which is probably why I felt panicked and nervous when it came to sauntering up to the digitized doorman who was glowering at me through my browser. Normally when I'm asked my age I'm pretty certain that I'll have said "26" within a good half-second of the question hanging in the air. This time around, for reasons only my future analyst will know, I fluffed it. Seconds passed. Silence hung heavily. "Twen..twenty..six?" No reaction from the bouncer. Then he asked me who I was there to see. Again, panic took hold. "Ben…Klock" I squawked. He's still passive. The final bullet of his Powerpoint interrogation was a blunt, "Where are you coming from?" "Errr…London."


I didn't make it in.

My avatar traipsed back down the muddy path behind the club.

I'd failed.


Emma Garland, Assistant Editor Noisey

I think he rejected me because I said I was sober. It must have been that. Not when I said he should let me in because I am cool.


Ryan Bassil, Associate Editor Noisey

I've never been to Berghain, so approaching the techno monastery felt daunting. There would be no walk of shame as this version of the Berlin nightclub sat behind the dull glare of my laptop screen, yet if the well-rounded shape of my face and the monotone nature of my voice can't appease even the most artificial security guards, then what chance do I have in real life? As I crawled toward a suspiciously empty looking night at the shrine of bacchanalian dance music, it was that fear that I could feel ruminating in the nether regions of my dampened trousers legs. Would I get in and spend the afternoon dancing the untz-untz with guys called Sven? Or should I accept that I am a dickhead? Turns out it was the latter. I was cast aside, turned away, and left rejected. I guess hiding behind a computer screen cannot change who you are inside, huh?


Joe Zadeh, Editor Noisey

I told him I was from Iran to spice things up, and he flat out denied me. I guess he's racist


Mitchell Stevens, Social Editor

As someone who didn't really get too much sleep on what was a pretty heavy Bank Holiday weekend, this was way more stress than I was prepared for on a fake Monday morning. I've never been to Berghain, but I figured getting in would be a lot like a first date; tell them exactly what they want to hear and let them regret believing you later.


After asking if it was my first time there, my instant reaction was to say no – I didn't want to look like a newbie loser in front of all my new potential virtual German pals. When asked if I knew who was playing, again my mind went into reflex mode and I went for the first name I thought of when it came to Berghain – Ben Klock. This is despite the fact I have never been to Berghain or seen Ben Klock. Thirdly, he asked where I'd came from; fairly straightforward. Everyone loves London right?

Wrong. I was escorted out the queue with nothing but my weird sense of humiliation and the hollow sound of Ben Klock (maybe) rumbling the club's outer walls. Oh well, at least I'd left a half empty bottle of beer to pick up on the way back


Angus Harrison, Staff Writer

Right this is bollocks right, because I've gotten into Berghain before in real life. Yes it might have happened four years ago, and yes it might have been because the guy I was with spoke German, and yes it might have also been because he told the doorman that I was James Blake, but the point is I got in. Which is why when this prick tells me I can't get it I can confidently declare the entire exercise a waste of time. I know I'm Berghain material. Alright? You bunch of pixels? Who even are you? You're not Sven. You're not even everyone's favourite Berghain bouncer. Who even are you? This is bullshit.

Brb trying again.


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