Javanese Patchouli Ermenegildo Zegna 2012 Eau de Toilette

“What’s wrong with you? Are you not feeling well?”

The voice of the salesman was filled with that kind of concern that businesspeople feel when they fear a collapse - or worse! - right in their upscale boutique. In fact, Donato Ducatelli shuddered at the memory of an experience from his time as the head of the Munich branch of Giorgio Beinabi. An obese opera diva had collapsed in front of a stand with silk underwear and had passed away right there on the spot. The Technical Relief Organization had to come and remove the door for transport. The incident had been the talk of the town for weeks and fodder for gossip magazines.

Now, today’s customer was certainly anything but prominent. Ducatelli’s discerning eye had recognized this within seconds from the man’s unremarkable demeanor. Moreover, he kept asking, “How much does it cost?” So please - who cared about that? Still: If he were to suddenly drop dead here, that wouldn’t be good…

Indeed, Hubert Knöselmann had felt uncomfortable from the very beginning. Had his wife not insisted that he, now the new head of the accounting department at the medical supply company Offenbein & Partner, finally needed a proper suit - he would never have set foot in a Zegna atelier in his life.

While he had dutifully listened to lectures about fabrics and cuts and nodded along, his discomfort had steadily grown. The suit alone had required the dissolution of all his financial reserves. But that was not all. However, there was no turning back; the salesman had assured him with a hint of pity that such a suit simply wouldn’t do without the right accompanying accessories. Nod.

Resigned to his fate, Knöselmann had meticulously calculated the financing with practiced professionalism. The inevitable alterations to the fine piece would be covered by increasing the mortgage on their small row house. The shoes and the black leather belt were secured through a loan on the Opel Astra. Not even - it was about a tie - the prospect of camping at Struvenhütten instead of staying in a guesthouse on Föhr had thrown him off balance.

However, the fact that the cash register had automatically added an amount for the always unmentioned reserve tie, which promised the Knöselmann family pasta with ketchup until September 2019 - that had truly knocked the ground out from under him, and he had slumped into a chair.

“Hello! Are you not feeling well?” Ducatelli asked again. Without further hesitation, he grabbed a cube-shaped bottle from a shelf and sprayed it into a small glass until about a finger-width of a light amber liquid stood in it.

“Here, drink this - it will help!”

“Brrrrr… Is this a stomach bitter?”

“Not quite. This is ‘Javanese Patchouli.’ A perfume, but for the first half hour, it’s very similar to a stomach bitter or better yet, stomach drops. We’ll use it curatively for now.”

Knöselmann said nothing more and sat there with his eyes closed. At least he was breathing deeply and evenly again.

“By the way, we forgot the matching scent for your outfit. Take this! The intense stomach bitter phase will - as I said - soon pass, only fragments of it will remain. After that, you will be dealing with a practically pure patchouli scent. Bergamot provides supporting acidity upfront, but no distinct profile. Powerfully earthy-sour, yet completely un-morbid, ‘Javanese Patchouli’ guides you steadily through a long day. Occasionally, a hint of malty, thick, vanilla-caramel sweetness gently envelops the scent. Chocolatey accents from the patchouli round it off. It’s like a well-fitting suit, as you now know. It doesn’t need any frills.”

“How much does it cost?”

“220 euros.”

Ducatelli countered Knöselmann’s stifled whimper with a quick, “I’ll just throw it in for you!”