Hugo Dark Blue Hugo Boss 1999 Eau de Toilette

It's 2002, I'm in my mid-20s and in love. Her name is Marthe, she's dramatic, mysterious, exciting, has a boyfriend, Paule, but: it's complicated. Sometimes yes, sometimes no, lots of maybe and uncertainty. She cries a lot, needs a strong shoulder - my shoulder, of course.

I wear my scent when I see her, after all, I want to impress. It's my only fragrance, my parents gave it to me because I'm a student and can't afford any other perfume. It's Hugo Dark Blue, it smells like night, adventure, seawater and patchouli incense. Kind of dangerous. Women love that kind of thing, don't they?

We get closer and it's over with Paule. I tell her how I feel, she laughs and kisses me like I've never been kissed. In the rain at the bus stop, like in a fucking romcom. See you tomorrow, she says, gets on the bus. I stay a while, then drive home in the other direction. Hugo Dark Blue smells like palpitations, the future and ecstasy, like Martha's lips and the rain.

Tomorrow, she says, Paule will be back. Do I have a chance, I ask. In another life, she says, and I'm sorry but I hate your perfume. I sit on the Elbe beach and watch her and the boats on the river. It starts to rain, like in a fucking romcom. Hugo Dark Blue smells like broken hearts, tears and depression, like Elbe water and the rain. The next morning, I tip it down the toilet and swear never to wear perfume again.

It's 2025, Marthe now lives in another city and writes books. She and Paule are married, have a house and two children. It was fate, I never had a chance. I broke my vow and can now afford my own fragrances. Before every new purchase, I ask my wife if she likes it. Everything smells good on you, she laughs. And kisses me like I've never been kissed before.