This was the era of the Sonnenstudio (tanning salon). Germany became a European capital of indoor tanning. To be a Sonnenfreund was to be active, sexy, and modern. The phrase "Schönes Wetter, schöne Leute" (Good weather, good people) became a mantra. The Kinder der Sonne were simply the lucky ones living on the Mediterranean coast, blessed by latitude. Today, to call someone a Sonnenfreund carries a knowing, ironic wink. We know better now.
In this context, being a Kind der Sonne was not just about a tan. It was a racial marker. Those who could not tan (the very pale or sickly) or who refused to participate (those hiding in factories or ghettos) were deemed degenerate. The sun, once a symbol of universal health, became a tool of exclusion. After WWII, the terms shed their Nazi baggage and returned to hedonism. The 1960s and 70s saw the rise of the Sonnenfreund as a lifestyle brand. With affordable package holidays to Mallorca and the Canary Islands, the pale Northern European skin became a mark of poverty (the factory worker), while the bronze tan signaled leisure and wealth. Sonnenfreunde Kinder Der Sonne
The true Sonnenfreund is no longer the naked man on a beach in Sylt. It is the toddler in a Berlin Kita (daycare), lathered in SPF 50+, wearing a floppy hat and a long-sleeved rash guard, playing in a sandbox that is half-shaded by a UV-blocking sail. This was the era of the Sonnenstudio (tanning salon)
Yet the psychological drive remains. Vitamin D deficiency (the "winter blues") is a serious health issue in northern latitudes. We need the sun to live, but too much kills us. The phrase "Schönes Wetter, schöne Leute" (Good weather,
Germany, like Australia, has seen a steady rise in skin cancer rates. The Sonnenfreund of the 1980s is now the dermatologist’s best customer. The government has banned tanning beds for minors, and the WHO classifies UV tanning devices as Group 1 carcinogens.
In the pantheon of human cultural movements, few forces have been as simultaneously life-giving and life-threatening as the sun. From the Aztecs offering hearts to the solar deity to Victorian-era physicians prescribing “heliotherapy” for tuberculosis, our relationship with our nearest star has always been a blend of worship and science.
The love of the sun persists. But today, being a Kind der Sonne means respecting its power. We are still children of the star—but we have finally grown up enough to wear sunscreen. Sonnenfreunde and Kinder der Sonne are linguistic fossils. They trace a path from utopian nudism through fascist aesthetics to holiday hedonism and finally to medical caution. To love the sun today is to negotiate a treaty: you may have its warmth and light, but you must pay your respects with high-SPF protection and regular skin checks. The sun is no longer our friend; it is our beautiful, dangerous parent.