March 2013
As a child I frequently travelled from Kristianstad – the small town in southern Sweden where my parents chose to settle just before my birth – to Stockholm, where all my cousins, aunts, uncles and grandparents lived. I still remember that wonderful tingling feeling of approaching the raw suburbs along the E4 after seven hours of driving, often at dusk. Judged exclusively by the graffiti that adorned the flyovers and footbridges along the highway, these places seemed so vibrant and dangerous,; I especially recall the tag “ZERO ZERO” written practically everywhere.
As we drove, the city became more dense, with lights, commercial signs and tall buildings rapidly increasing in number. We flew over bridges and drove down in tunnels and BOOM! There we were, suddenly, at the very epicentre of capital glory: driving down the dark, glittering Kungsgatan towards Stureplan, while looking up on the coarsely pixelated, ever-changing billboard (that was taken down decades ago) situated right over Burger King (that closed years ago). The thrill I felt in that moment was unspeakable. This was the big city. Cold, hard and relentless.
My love and fascination with Stockholm didn’t fade as I grew older – quite the reverse. I was very annoyed that my parents had chosen to move away from Stockholm before I was even born, depriving me of growing up in the big city. I loved going there, I felt at home there, and I vigilantly followed the city’s cultural development to the best of my ability through newspapers, magazines, TV and radio.
Because Sweden was changing in the 90’s, and Stockholm was the focal point of that change. All of a sudden there were commercials on TV, special youth channels like übercool ZTV, a magazine called POP with an extremely serious take on new music and an ad agency called Paradiset who got to do the ads for Diesel (!!!). Stockholm was overflowing with creativity and smartness, and it was so obvious that even a teenager in the provinces could sense it. I couldn’t wait to go there to live.
17 years ago this year, I packed my belongings into my parents’ car and finally went home – that is what it felt like to move to Stockholm. And although I have lived in great cities like London, New York and Los Angeles since then, there has never been any question of not returning. It’s not only because I have most of my family and my best friends here, it’s also because Stockholm was the backdrop to my future for as long as I can remember, to the point where it merged together with my identity.
But moving back here from the world’s greatest metropolises has given me a much different perspective on Stockholm compared to the one I had as a child. Instead of seeming big, raw and dangerous, like I perceived it when I was eight, or the world’s focal point of cool, as I experienced it as a teenager, I now see what a cute, neat, well-kept and beautiful city it is, as if it were straight out of an Astrid Lindgren fairy-tale.
It’s easy to ridicule childhood preconceptions of things that are now part of everyday life, but I don’t. I like go back to the city that existed only as undefined, blurry images and emotions, as seen through a car window or in a magazine. Isn’t that just as valid an experience of Stockholm as my experience of living here right now? Isn’t every city the sum of all the dreams, conceptions, expectations and emotions of the people who live, have lived and will live there?
I want to keep a foot in that tingling, yearning feeling, not least because it makes my Stockholm of today a touch more magical. Plus, on days like this, the city does feel pretty cold and relentless. Very much to my liking, as you all know.
