Götz Offergeld about Collapse and Creative Reorientation
Interview
Götz Offergeld is a man who has gone through what few people can probably even imagine. From working at one of the most well-known PR agencies in the ’90s to a breakdown and the subsequent hospital stay that lasted nearly half a year. We talked about how he felt when he came back to reality, why he founded a magazine instead of returning to PR, and what drives him to do what he does today.
In 2020, Götz also founded OOR Studio in addition to his publishing house. Through this studio, he and his team design, organize, and produce photo spreads, covers, and the visual design of various magazines, while the publishing house focuses on editorial work and content.
The first issue Götz produced for Numero Berlin magazine.
In this “publishing” bubble, you’re probably one of the most successful. Your magazines are well-known both in Germany and around the world. In the public eye—if you look at your online presence—you keep a very low profile and stay very much in the background. From your current perspective: Who is Götz Offergeld?
That’s a difficult question to answer, since it’s not something that can be clearly defined—it’s constantly changing, and new experiences and lessons are always being added. The most consistent thing is that I try, without compromise, to stand up for the things I believe in. It’s important to me to have a sense of conviction. I want to continually challenge myself to be authentic and true to myself. But that also makes it difficult, especially in my professional life, because that often requires adapting.
Totem Fashion Paris was founded in 1992 by Kuki de Salvertes and Patrick Girault. In the early 2000s, Götz founded and headed Totem's Berlin office. The biggest project was probably the music video for Madonna's album at the time, “Ray of Light.”
In the ’90s, you had huge success with Totem, which ultimately played a big part in it all becoming too much for you and leading to you spending almost half a year in a psychiatric hospital. What were your experiences during that time, and how did you feel after your stay? You’re really cut off from the outside world in a facility like that, and I imagine it must be very difficult to be out of society for five months—especially when you’re suddenly thrown back into everyday life afterward.
For me, success wasn't something I planned, and it was never my main focus. The act of creating itself was important to me, but when you’re a young person confronted with success and the responsibilities and demands that come with it, you can quickly feel overwhelmed. For me, it was especially hard to deal with the expectations others placed on me. I lost myself and suffered for a long time because of my success, but as long as you’re successful, you constantly have opportunities to distract yourself and avoid having to deal with who you really are.
That’s why I had a breakdown, and the clinic was the only solution. I had my back against the wall and had to ask myself who I really am. When I checked in, I only planned to stay for two weeks. I was hoping for a quick fix because I was afraid of change. I thought that my fears and doubts were also the source of my creativity and my driving force. Thinking that I wasn’t good enough and had to prove myself also felt like a source of motivation. But in the clinic, I learned that true creativity always springs from love, and that I was never unhappy during the moments of creation—only in between them.
That was a major turning point. For the first time, I found peace with myself and learned that creating and sharing are what truly drive me—and that I don’t have to care what others think about it. I have no control over that, and anyway, it shouldn’t be my goal for everyone to think I’m great.
Still, the transition back to facing the mess I’d left behind after leaving the clinic was a tough test—not falling back into old patterns just because not everyone was thrilled that I was back, and having to face the consequences of my mistakes.
PHOTOGRAPHY Jacqueline Landvik, TALENTS Inti Wang & Stefano Pilati
From the zine for Numero Berlin featuring Stefano Pilati. Creative direction by OOR Studio and Bureau Borsche.
I'll round it up a bit… It's been almost 30 years since then, and you're successful again—probably even more successful than you were back then. Do you still sometimes find yourself falling into similar patterns as you did back then when it comes to your work?
Yes, I do—in the sense that, in the creative process, the things that are truly important to me matter more than money and superficialities. I can’t do anything I don’t believe in; otherwise, it leads to an existential crisis that makes me question everything.
You then founded your first magazine while you were in the clinic. You said you wanted to build filters and only do things you really liked. So why exactly did it end up becoming a magazine? What fascinated you about it? And wouldn’t it have been easier to do something like Totem again?
I didn't want to be dependent on others anymore, and I needed some distance because the end of Totem was painful for me.
I’ve always found the German tendency to always look for the negative very difficult to deal with. And especially with my newfound awareness after my stay at the clinic, I wanted to show that there’s another way—and that good journalism isn’t defined by always being critical and looking for the fly in the ointment. Instead, my first magazine, “Liebling,” was meant to be a medium that curates content and shows people something beautiful. The name was meant to convey that: This is my favorite book, my favorite music… I wanted to structure the magazine like a newspaper to playfully flirt with the German notion of seriousness. And I also wanted to explore interpersonal relationships, for example in the column “One Second of,” where we had people talk about that one second that sticks in their memory and can change an entire life.
Götz and, above all, Ann-Kathrin Riedl (editor-in-chief of Fräulein Magazine) have shared many of their covers with me. And I think I love this one the most.
You were then faced with the difficult decision of whether to get back on track or give up. During that time, you had someone by your side who supported you. Personally, I had a really hard time asking for help at first. How did that support help you through the process, and what did it look like in practice?
The desire to get back on my feet was perhaps a mindset I carried over from my past in tennis—that “now more than ever!” attitude.
Fortunately, I had support on my side. Through my work on the magazine, people started approaching me positively again. My girlfriend at the time placed a lot of trust in me and supported me as I reintegrated into society. Creative friends helped me out with Liebling. That’s how someone eventually came into my life who’d had similar experiences and who, like a fatherly friend with no ulterior motives, took me by the hand—no matter how upset I was—and made me realize that I had a choice about where to go from there. All of this happened through taking action, not by waiting for a miracle. So I didn’t actually ask for help, but through the process of taking action, help always comes your way sooner or later. If you do nothing, on the other hand, no one will be able to offer help because you’re not accessible.
Now, in your early 50s—a life with highs, but also lows that most people probably can’t even imagine. I’m assuming you won’t find yourself in a situation like that again. But purely hypothetically: how would you handle it now? Would it be easier because you’ve already managed to climb out of a hole like that once before?
I don’t know if I’ll ever find myself in a situation like that again. Do I act in a way that makes it unlikely? Probably not. But do I want to find myself in a situation like that again? Definitely not! Sometimes the thought even scares me.
Would it be easier today? Certainly not, because the strength and a certain naivety that you have as a young person start to fade. Having to struggle for another ten years now just to get back on my feet would be harder than it was in my early 20s—in that sense, it’s actually a good thing that I experienced both success and failure so early in life.
And last but not least, the question: Why are you still doing what you do today? And what advice can you offer to people who might be in a similar situation to the one you were in back then?
I do what I do because it’s who I am. It’s what defines me. I do what I do out of conviction, enjoyment, and love—even if it sometimes causes me pain. Just as others have supported me, I now find it wonderful to work with young people whom I can help fulfill their dreams. For me and for them, there’s no guarantee that anything will be successful. But there’s definitely a guarantee that nothing will ever come true if we do nothing.