Cuir Mandarine David Jourquin 2011

I started longing for the time when I was still a child very early on. This happened already at the age of twelve to thirteen, and it occurred with a sense of melancholy, as I struggled greatly to cope with the world after the turn of the millennium during my adolescence. Today, as a rather boring office worker in my thirties, I manage to reflect on that time with a little less melancholy. I have no problem being somewhat nostalgic. Of course, the 90s were far removed from much that earlier generations knew. But even today, I enjoy correcting various prejudices in conversations: We experienced the time before the internet. The reunification was still fresh for us. We grew up with vinyl records and cassettes, just like our older siblings and parents. We used rotary phones and wrote thank-you letters (for the ten marks on our birthdays) by hand to our relatives. We cried when Mufasa died and were comforted by people close to us. We were at home.

I have only been consciously dealing with scents and the world of perfume since 2014. At that time, I was in the middle of my studies on the way to becoming a state-certified librarian. Until then (if at all), I was only familiar with the most well-known standard fragrances, so I decided to bring the world of niche fragrances closer to myself and had a number of samples made, somewhat randomly (I was primarily drawn to the beauty of the bottles). A completely new world revealed itself to me. Niche fragrances have never replaced my collection of standard fragrances but have excellently complemented it. Among the samples was also David Jourquin's "Cuir Mandarine." And even though I have since explored the world of fragrances a bit more intensively: So far, no other scent has managed to transport me back to my childhood as profoundly as "Cuir Mandarine" can. Since 2014, this perfume has been my signature scent every Christmas. Only for that time, as I couldn't afford a bottle as a student and had a sample made each year. Now, as we have entered 2020, my dream has come true. David Jourquin's "Cuir Mandarine" from the Opera Collection will finally accompany me as a bottle on my journey.

I spray a puff of "Cuir Mandarine" on my skin, take a deep breath, and close my eyes. I see myself again as a little boy on a snowy December evening, sitting at a desk with my siblings and cousins in dim light, drawing pictures with colored pencils while loved ones around me talk and laugh joyfully, giving me a sense of security. The scene is accompanied by contemplative music. In a quiet corner of the room near the fireplace, someone is smoking a pipe. My favorite aunt, sitting next to me, wears a sweet lavender scent that envelops me comfortably. Peeled mandarins lie on the table, and the old single-family house, built beyond the 1930s, embraces all its inhabitants pleasantly with soft wooden scents. The front door opens, and my uncle, who had just been shoveling snow outside, enters the room and takes off his leather coat. I put down the pencil; my picture is finished. I am at home.

I open my eyes and find myself back in the present. A brief feeling of sadness overcomes me. The charming houses of our small town are gradually being torn down and replaced by sterile new buildings. My favorite aunt is now divorced. People are annoyed by contemplative music at Christmas. The December days have become rainy and gray. But: I realize that I have found a fragrance that reminds me of my joyful childhood days and that will accompany me into the future from now on. Today, I am the one smoking a pipe and wearing a leather jacket. Today, it is my task to give others a sense of security. And who knows: Perhaps one day I will be the one who gets to spend time with my own children on a snowy December day, painting and crafting together, and being there for them. I will wear "Cuir Mandarine." And I will realize: I am at home.

If "Cuir Mandarine" were music:

"The Last Unicorn" by America
"Everyday" by Phil Collins
"I Just Can't Stop Loving You" by Siedah Garrett and Michael Jackson
"Christmas Star" by John Williams