They made the city

An ode to the figures who, with their courage, talent or recklessness, gave Amsterdam its character. Remarkable entrepreneurs, eccentric artists, pioneers and even the occasional criminal who are no longer with us, but whose stories live on in the city's collective memory. Because the soul of a city isn't written solely […]

An ode to the figures who, with their courage, talent, or recklessness, brought color to Amsterdam. Remarkable entrepreneurs, eccentric artists, pioneers, and even the occasional criminal who are no longer with us, but whose stories live on in the city's collective memory. Because the soul of a city is written not only by its heroes, but also by its rebels.

Alfred 'Freddy' Heineken, director of Heineken (Amsterdam, 1923 – Noordwijk, 2002)

“I don't sell beer, I sell good company”
Freddy Heineken, the alchemist of barley brew, succeeds in selling a beer from the polder landscape worldwide like the champagne of pilsners. Under his visionary leadership, Heineken has become a beacon of brewing artistry, a brand that quenches the thirst of continents and generations. In the heart of Amsterdam, the Heineken Experience draws throngs of travelers seeking a taste of history and beer. Those looking for a stylish drink afterward can settle into Freddy's Bar in De L'Europe, the place where the man himself often enjoyed a beer. Here, the spirit of the remarkable entrepreneur still resonates, captured in the chic grandeur of yesteryear. Wandering through the city, you'll discover that it's not just the aroma of hops and malt that commemorates him. A bridge, not far from the former brewery, also bears his name—a silent nod to the man who knew how to immortalize a city, a brand, and a beer.

Johan Cruijff, professional footballer (Amsterdam, 1947 – Barcelona, ​​2016)

Amsterdam is a unique city; you won't find an atmosphere like this anywhere else in the world. I am and will always be Dutch, an Amsterdammer, and an Ajax fan.
Saying "Cruyffie" doesn't evoke a name, but a legend. In the early 1970s, he danced across the pitch like an artist, the ball his brush, and with three consecutive European Cup I titles (1971, 1972, 1973), he painted Ajax on the world map. Trophies flow in as if it were the most normal thing in the world, but nothing about Johan Cruyff is normal. His legacy isn't just in yellowed newspaper clippings or anecdotes at the bar. The city has enshrined him in stone and steel: the stadium bears his name, the ArenA Boulevard honors him in letters and vowels, and in front of the Johan Cruyff ArenA stands his statue, ball at his feet, looking ahead. As if he's still poised to deliver that one through ball, to rewrite the laws of the game once again.

Manfred Langer, owner iT (Vienna, 1952 – Amsterdam, 1994)

Almost everyone thought I was crazy when I enthusiastically told them what I was planning to do in that former cinema. Amsterdam was supposed to have the biggest and hottest gay disco in the Netherlands.
From 1989 until his death in 1994, a headstrong Austrian ruled Amsterdam's nightlife like a monarch in a realm of velvet and neon. His kingdom? The iT on Amstelstraat: not just any disco, but a phenomenon that grew from a gay club into a mecca of extravagance. Here, amidst smoke machines and intoxication, stars like Grace Jones, Boy George, and Julio Iglesias are spotted. They move effortlessly through a world where everything seems fluid: gender, status, time. The secret? According to Langer, it's simple: at the iT, everyone can be themselves. Freedom isn't a slogan here, but a feeling ingrained in the walls, the music, and the night itself. In the first half of the 1990s, the club grew into a bastion of LGBTQ+ emancipation, a beacon of light in an era that wasn't yet equally radiant everywhere. And though the man himself is gone, his ghost still lingers among the echoes of a beat that has never quite died.

Theo Heuft, owner of Yab Yum (Amsterdam, 1935 – Fuissé, Burgundy, 2024)

We sold champagne in three varieties: silver, gold, and diamond, for 250, 350, and 450 guilders. Someone once asked me what the difference was. I answered honestly: the price; otherwise, they were all the same. That was the compensation for the girl who offered you a haircut: if you liked her, you gave her gold. If you thought she was great, you gave her diamond.
Heuft is no ordinary entrepreneur, but an architect of desire, a maestro of the senses. His creation, Yab Yum on the Singel canal, is no ordinary nightclub, but a temple of seduction, draped in opulent velvet and discretion. Here, wealthy businessmen enter with an air of invincibility, footballers hungry for more than fame, and criminals who know that the real game often lies outside the lines. World stars like Tom Jones, Sting, and Charles Aznavour find their way to this secret refuge, where desire and power are bestowed in equal doses. Where others operate in the shadows, Heuft manages to step out of the shadows. With the flair of an illusionist, he transforms his exclusive club from a clandestine den of pleasure into a legitimate institution. Yab Yum becomes a brand name, a myth, and, for those who have ever stepped inside, a memory shrouded in soft candlelight and whispered secrets.

Max Heijmans, couturier (Arnhem, 1918 – Amsterdam, 1997)

“If all women wearing trousers could see their backs, half as many trousers would be sold.”
He is considered one of the greatest Dutch couturiers, the doyen of haute couture and a champion of freedom, both in fashion and homosexuality. His designs, refined and playful, are a nod to Chanel, "almost the same, but different." Actresses, wealthy ladies, women with a taste for elegance and a penchant for extravagance: they fall for his work as if it were an addiction. But money? It leaves his hands faster than silk slips through his fingers. What he earns is transformed into the finest fabrics and the most handsome men. Because fashion is art, love is luxury, thrift a virtue for others. Dressed in his own creations, with the grandeur of a diva and the mischievousness of a bohemian, he crisscrosses the city, from bar to bar, seeking beauty in every form. Every day you'll find him at the back of Café Hoppe on the Spui. A wealthy woman tries to lure him to America, a new life, a new audience. But he laughs and shakes his head. Leaving Hoppe? Never. His name lives on in the Max Heymans Ring, a lifetime achievement award that, like himself, shines with a brilliance that never fades.

Joop Braakhekke, owner of Le Garage (Apeldoorn, 1941 – Amsterdam, 2016)

“Love in the pan is the smile at the table”
The flamboyant chef, a maestro of taste, makes a splash on national television but is best known in Amsterdam as the charismatic host of the Dutch elite at his restaurant, Le Garage. On Monday evenings, the iconic show restaurant on Ruysdaelstraat pulses like the city's beating heart. Here, it's not just about food, but about the ritual of dining, about the art of seeing and being seen. Prince Bernhard sips his glass, Leonard Bernstein subtly taps his fork, Sylvester Stallone makes his entrance in his own way. Woody Harrelson, Bram Moszkowicz, Hans Wiegel, Barbra Streisand, Lionel Richie, Marco van Basten, Jan Cremer: Le Garage is their stage, the restaurant a backdrop in which life itself plays the leading role. A dinner here isn't a meal, it's a performance. And he, the flamboyant maestro, conducts it with the suppleness of someone who knows: in this city you can be anything, as long as you are unforgettable.

Harry Mulisch, writer (Haarlem, 1927 – Amsterdam, 2010)

“The only real move I made was from Haarlem to Amsterdam”
For Harry Mulisch, Amsterdam isn't a city, but a mother who nourishes him with stories and images, a place he's drawn to from his hometown of Haarlem like a fate waiting to unfold. Leidseplein, Café Americain, the Stadsschouwburg: they are as much a part of him as Saint-Germain-des-Prés and Montparnasse are to Sartre. Here he finds his backdrop, here his writing is forged in the turbulent melting pot of anarchism, creativity, and revolution. His most Amsterdam-like book, "Message to the Rat King," is both a love letter and a battle cry. A city in revolt, a writer who breathes it, words that follow the rhythm of the canals. Mulisch is Amsterdam – haughty and playful, intellectual and elusive, as monumental as the city itself.

Major Bosshardt, Officer of the Salvation Army (Utrecht, 1930 – Amsterdam, 2007)

“I think it always makes more sense to bring God's message than to be the director of a fireworks factory”
Between 1950 and 2000, Amsterdam was her workspace, her mission, her calling. Where others look away, Alida Bosshardt sees people—not as lost souls, but as lives that deserve another chance. Prostitutes, addicts, the homeless: those who are no longer welcome anywhere find an open door in her. If there's no other option, she takes them into her own home, without judgment, without hesitation. In the Red Light District, where the night is long and the streets rough, a bridge bears her name. It connects Molensteeg with Oudekennissteeg, just as the major himself once connected worlds: light and darkness, hope and despair, faith and reality. If you stand there, you can still hear a soft echo of her voice, which always said: You are not alone.

André Hazes, folk singer (Amsterdam, 1951 – Woerden, 2004)

“You don't learn life at school, you learn it on the street”
Straight to the point, with a laugh as big as his voice and a heart that beats to the rhythm of the city. His life is music, his words are Amsterdam. "Blood, Sweat, and Tears" isn't just a song, but a life story set to music, an anthem that becomes Ajax's unofficial club song. And even more than that: it becomes the city's beating heart, a national anthem that continues to echo among the canals. He still stands at the Albert Cuyp Market, immortalized in bronze, the folk singer. And perhaps, as you walk by, you'll catch a snatch of his voice on the wind—a melody that endures, as indestructible as Amsterdam itself.

Simon Vinkenoog, writer and poet (Amsterdam 2028 – Amsterdam 2009)

“Take a breath in/Take a breath out/Adam Eve in/Adam Eve out”
Simon Vinkenoog isn't a poet, he is poetry—a fountain of words, a whirlpool of ideas, a storm in a glass of lukewarm gin. The oldest hippie in the Netherlands, a shaman of language, a preacher of consciousness expansion. At Café Reijnders or Lucky Star, you'll find him among the square dwellers, whose hard core consists of intellectuals, artists, and writers who, with fiery words and unconventional thoughts, turn against stifling bourgeois morality. They listen to jazz, argue until dawn, and pick their girls the way they pick their ideals: passionately and without compromise. Vinkenoog bellows the free primal cries of the 1950s and carries the ideals of the 1960s on his tongue like an ever-burning cigarette. He is Amsterdam at its most rebellious, passionate, and visionary. A chronicler of an era that still reverberates in every paving stone a poet once danced on.

Black Joop, Godfather of the Amsterdam underworld (Utrecht, 1935 – Vinkeveen, 1986)

In the turbulent 1970s, when Amsterdam was bustling and bustling, the Red Light District grew into a labyrinth of neon lights, red windows, and sinful promises. Not by chance, but deliberately orchestrated by one man: Maurits de Vries, better known as Zwarte Joop (a nickname he owes to his Mediterranean appearance). With his business acumen, he forged the red-light district into a gambling and sex hotspot that would become famous and infamous far beyond the country's borders. The empire of the "uncrowned king of the Red Light District" was built on lust and risk and financed by the American mafia. Casa Rosso, his sex palace, was a temple of entertainment where taboos evaporated and sensation reigned supreme. The gambling clubs Cabala and Club 26 attracted a different kind of crowd: thrill-seekers with deep pockets and sharp eyes. But those who soar fell hard. In 1983, disaster struck: a former employee started a fire, and his businesses went up in flames. What remains is rubble and ash—a charred dream. Black Joop, so the whisper goes, is a fallen man. His power evaporates, his Red Light District becomes a shadow of its former self. In 1986, he succumbs to the weight of a lost kingdom.

Aunt Leen, folk singer (Amsterdam, 1912 – Amsterdam, 1992)

“Oh Johnny, sing a song just for me/ Oh Johnny, because to me you're number one/ Sing a song with a smile and a tear/ The whole Jordaan sounds in your voice”
In the smoky warmth of a Jordaan café, where the gin flows like water and the accordion is never far away, Helena Kok-Polder works—or, as everyone knows her, Tante Leen. She pours beer with one hand and soothes with the other, her voice floating between the tables like a melody from the past. Her regulars sign her up for a talent show. The goal: to find the Voice of the Jordaan. She comes in second, just behind Johnny Jordaan. Since then, she's affectionately known as "the nightingale of Willemsstraat." She doesn't sing to become famous, but to remain who she already is: a woman who sings about her neighborhood like a mother sings about her child. With the hit "Oh, Johnny," a love song to her buddy, she strikes a chord that will never be silenced. Since 1960, she's had her own place: Café Royal on Nieuwendijk. A stage of tile and draft beer, where she sings day in and day out as if her very life depends on it. In 1994, she received a bust at the beginning of the Elandsgracht canal, next to Johnny Jordaan's. The square is named after him, but her voice still echoes through the paving stones. In 2022, Street Art installed a plaque for Aunt Leen, an Ajax fan during the De Meer Stadium era, at a tram stop on Middenweg, right where the crowds waited: "I'm crazy about Ajax, that club from De Meer/ I'm crazy about Ajax, I can't stay away from there."

Aletta Jacobs, physician, feminist, pacificist (Sappemeer, 1854 – Baarn, 1929)

“The demand for justice demands a sense of duty”
Born in the misty peatlands of Groningen, her gaze is always fixed on the horizon. Aletta Jacobs is a woman of many firsts. The first Dutch woman to graduate from university. The first female doctor, who refuses to be dismissed by the profession of pharmacist – “Why shouldn't a woman be allowed to be a doctor?” And when the canals of Amsterdam freeze over in winter, she is the first woman to glide across the ice. But Aletta's path is anything but smooth. In her general practice in the capital, she helps women not only with their health, but also with their freedom – by providing access to contraceptives, at a time when such a subject was barely whispered about. She founded the Association for Women's Suffrage and remained at the helm until 1919, when women's right to vote was finally enshrined in law. Her life became a beacon for the first wave of feminism in the Netherlands – and her name is one of the few female names to enter our national history canon.