Berlin Joop! 1990 Eau de Toilette

"This year I am giving all my friends their favorite fragrance, in one way or another."
I made this resolution, full of inspiration, freshly registered at Parfumo in the spring. In April, it was my older friend B.'s turn. An unobtrusive interview, questions about her scent preferences. Oh no! A Joop! I hate Joop! fragrances. My early teenage trauma must still run deep. A friend told me back then that designer Wolfgang Joop was 'such a handsome man'.
Being generally interested in handsome men, I took a look at Gala while at the dentist. The friend was right! (Hey, it was the early nineties, my estrogen levels were still so low.....) I planned to take a trip to Berlin after getting my braces off (or 'the fall' haha) and then to ride off with Wolfgang on the Quadriga, somewhere south, accompanied by my dazzling smile.
In the next session at the orthodontist, I learned from the same magazine that Joop was now gay. (The ride on the Quadriga was fulfilled much later in a different way, but that's another story and should be told another time.)
Anyway, the news burned a no-entry sign into my scent center, and my inner teenager still refuses to appreciate Joop fragrances with crossed arms.

But for friend B, the favorite fragrance had to be found. Well, I consulted eBay, found a dreadful post-yellow bottle (what's that???) a mini. Scent sn... auctioned. At home, I cautiously tested it. (B., I was allowed to do that!)
- Quelle surprise!
This is such a friendly, bright, warm scent! Wolfgang?! Is that you? The top note gently shakes hands, freshly showered, and hands over a Martini Bianco with lemon and lime. I can smell the carnations from here.
The glasses clink, people chat, no one speaks with a Berlin accent. I think I am in Hanover. Small talk flows, no one stumbles, no one falls out of character. The blonde beauty across from me sits, Wolferl and I have the same orthodontist, everyone is so nice. Now canapés.
I shed the etiquette and only fish the fruit from the snacks. Peaches, plums. This melt! It can only be canned fruit! (I check my braces in the reflection of a knife, everything is going perfectly) No one talks about politics, everyone is happy.
Before I get bored, I turn to the pretty flower bouquets. (Wolfgang said he would buy the flowers himself.) The bouquets have shoulder pads. Everything is so lush! Everything is so fresh! Heliotrope spreads in a trapezoidal yellow glass vase (what's that???) along with lily of the valley, dwarf irises, and even a few tuberoses hiding away, a little rose smiles here and there, a wild mix. The bouquets are world citizens. Wolfgang has tennis elbow. I nod understandingly. The sun is shining.

Wow, and how the sun is shining now! The host sheds his cream-colored jacket. I suppress the urge to stroke the silky satin cuffs. My gaze falls on two damp spots. Am I imagining it, or do I smell something?
Wolfgang makes a charming remark about my braces, I link arms with him. We walk over to the shade-giving trees. A waiter in white (Jorge, salsa teacher in the evenings) dances by. Even they are well-dressed here. His bicep holds the tray. Wolfgang's gaze wanders tray-downward to the south, mine does too. I take a dessert. Oh, a mousse of panna cotta! Delicious with vanilla and tonka. The sun is setting. David Hasselhoff and Rudolf Schenker toast each other. Like brothers. Someone is dancing.

(At home, I rip the outfit off, wash the scent off, and turn on Rio Reiser. 'The dream is over!'.....
But my friend doesn’t know that. She is just as nice and friendly and honest and gentle and yet sophisticated and elegant and witty, has a doctorate and at least four foreign languages, dances ballet..... The scent suits her so well! And I find it really good, just not for me.)