Top Notes 
Clary sage
Myrtle
Bergamot
Cypress
Heart Notes 
Cinnamon leaf
Coriander
Iris
Rose
Base Notes 
Patchouli
Styrax
Frankincense
Tolu balm
Amber
Leather
Vanilla
Vetiver
Dan93
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Dan93
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12
La nuit de Bastille
I stroll down Rue de la Roquette and make my way into the vibrant Parisian nightlife.
It’s 1974 and the city pulses in the humidity of this hot summer night.
Arriving at Bastille Opera, I follow the stream of people into the bustling side streets.
The smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke creates a magnetic pull on the partying crowd.
By now, I am accompanied by two young ladies who have likely had a few more drinks and found more clubs than I have tonight.
Their makeup paints colorful illusions of closely dancing people in my mind.
Océane, as one of them introduced herself to me, tells me that a gentleman accidentally spilled champagne on her dress and that they both had smoked together outside the door. For the next five minutes, I receive very detailed information about the man’s faux pas, which apparently “caused” his lucky day.
After a few minutes of walking, we reach our destination. “Le petit chat” is bathed in red neon light. The heat of the interior is palpable even outside on the street.
I invite the ladies in and we enter the club. The music is loud. French pop fills the air and a mix of sweat, leather, and sex lingers around us.
Depending on where you stand in the room, you pick up accents of powder, alcohol, and floral women’s perfumes that blend in perfect symbiosis with the scent of the house.
The sultry summer air is also distinctly felt on the dance floor.
I stand in the middle, surrounded by colorful characters. The atmosphere is, in a positive sense, heated and everyone dances with everyone.
Océane seems to have moved on from the gentleman with the champagne and throws herself around my neck.
Her gaze and the scent of her skin make me forget the time. We dance and drink all night long.
The next morning, I am awakened by the harsh sunlight in an unfamiliar setting.
I glance at Océane’s beautiful back and get out of bed.
My shirt from last night hangs over an old wooden chair. I take it from the chair and put it on.
The scent of Le petit chat, the night of dancing, and Océane has momentarily lingered in the cotton.
It’s 1974 and the city pulses in the humidity of this hot summer night.
Arriving at Bastille Opera, I follow the stream of people into the bustling side streets.
The smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke creates a magnetic pull on the partying crowd.
By now, I am accompanied by two young ladies who have likely had a few more drinks and found more clubs than I have tonight.
Their makeup paints colorful illusions of closely dancing people in my mind.
Océane, as one of them introduced herself to me, tells me that a gentleman accidentally spilled champagne on her dress and that they both had smoked together outside the door. For the next five minutes, I receive very detailed information about the man’s faux pas, which apparently “caused” his lucky day.
After a few minutes of walking, we reach our destination. “Le petit chat” is bathed in red neon light. The heat of the interior is palpable even outside on the street.
I invite the ladies in and we enter the club. The music is loud. French pop fills the air and a mix of sweat, leather, and sex lingers around us.
Depending on where you stand in the room, you pick up accents of powder, alcohol, and floral women’s perfumes that blend in perfect symbiosis with the scent of the house.
The sultry summer air is also distinctly felt on the dance floor.
I stand in the middle, surrounded by colorful characters. The atmosphere is, in a positive sense, heated and everyone dances with everyone.
Océane seems to have moved on from the gentleman with the champagne and throws herself around my neck.
Her gaze and the scent of her skin make me forget the time. We dance and drink all night long.
The next morning, I am awakened by the harsh sunlight in an unfamiliar setting.
I glance at Océane’s beautiful back and get out of bed.
My shirt from last night hangs over an old wooden chair. I take it from the chair and put it on.
The scent of Le petit chat, the night of dancing, and Océane has momentarily lingered in the cotton.
Updated on 10/25/2022
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