Exception Gainsboro 1987 Eau de Toilette

1. Act
During my school years, I had a good friend whose mother had taken a special liking to me - yes, she had practically adopted me. This woman worked at that time as a saleswoman in a Cologne perfumery, and since we celebrated our birthdays on the same date, I regularly received the finest fragrances from her as gifts. Thus, even as a young teenager, I owned a relatively expensive perfume collection - from Jean Patou's pour Homme (which I received as a ¾ full tester that never seemed to run out and accompanied me for many years, always fascinating me) to the gigantic Antaeus and Jil Sanders' still unmatched debut, Man Pure. I probably don’t need to add that I carried a certain reputation as a - at least pleasantly scented - oddball in my school with my fragrant clouds.
In 1988, my motherly friend surprised me with this squat, candy-red bottle featuring a sleek Art Deco inscription (or at least an 80s interpretation of it). Since for me, name, packaging, and scent always formed an inseparable emotional unit - how congenially did the violet-black, Kubrick-like bar fit with the astral Antaeus or the cubist smoky glass cubes with the austere Man Pure - Exception initially left me only puzzled. It smelled - quite nice. At first, somehow peppery and pleasantly powdery in the base. But it told - at least to me - no story. It evoked no associations. That same year, Fahrenheit hit the market. I could still write stories about this perfume today. Exception - exception - aha, but of what? In fact, it remained exactly that in my fragrance socialization - a fleeting acquaintance. At the end of the 80s, I moved to England with the already mentioned bottle of Patou and a brand new bottle of Fahrenheit.

2. Act
1997 - by then, I was living in Berlin - I was invited to the wedding of two friends in England. While searching for a suitable gift at KaDeWE, I eventually found myself in the perfumery department on the ground floor. On a whim, I inquired about Gainsboro and was directed to the Juvena counter. When I asked about Exception there, the saleswoman's face lit up.
“You're in luck!” she beamed. She leaned under the counter and rummaged out a small box. “This,” she said triumphantly, “is probably the last bottle you can buy in Germany.”
I don’t know if that was just a clever sales trick, but it worked. Without hesitation, I grabbed it.
I was immediately fascinated. I still remembered the scent well. It still didn’t tell a story, but - damn! - it smelled good! I couldn’t have broken it down into its components. Today I know: there’s a lot in it - rose, fir, peach - but back then, it all blended into an incomparable, warm fragrance that enchanted me so unexpectedly. (Strangely, again this peppery opening, even though there’s none in it!) Perhaps the beginning of a wonderful friendship?!
A few days later, I landed at London Heathrow with the bottle in my light luggage. I was supposed to stay with friends and drive to Somerset the next day. Shortly after I boarded the Piccadilly Line at the airport, I noticed people in the carriage turning to look at me. And then the sharp and overwhelming scent of the perfume I was emanating hit my nose. A startled glance at my soft sports bag revealed the dark, damp spot spreading there. My wonderfully rediscovered fragrance, the “probably last bottle,” had completely leaked. For some inexplicable reason, the neck of the small squat glass had broken. All 50 ml had spilled over exactly the clothes I intended to wear at the wedding the next day. Exception: as gained - so lost.

3. Act
2012: After I had repurchased both Man Pure and Helmut Lang's For Men for a lot of money on eBay, I have been searching for a new signature scent for a while. This time, the obituary published here made me think of the long-lost one again. I managed to snag a half-full mini on eBay for 15 euros, which now stands before me. Far too little to really wear the scent, but enough to indulge. Unfortunately, it will always remain an exception for me.
But at least it now has a story.