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04/19/2018
Duftsucht
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Duftsucht
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Walking down memory lane..
Inspired by Ttfortwo's wonderful commentary on the Tosca perfume, my last lunchtime fragrant fish train took me straight to a certain shelf - and right away I squatted down in the corner: there they were, the fragrances of my youth: Tosca and Nonchalance. I had received them as miniatures for my set-top box (for the younger ones for explanation: set-top box = indispensable dust catcher in almost every girl's room in the 70's and maybe even early 80's, equipped with various bits and pieces of mostly underground quality. Of course there was also the other variant: Lovingly maintained and equipped and regularly dusted - just not in my room... ) Then back to the fragrance: my godmother gave me a lovingly homemade Advent calendar made from matchboxes, filled with lots of wonderful miniature things. And as highlights on Advent Sundays there were fragrances: 4711, Tosca, Nonchalance (in exactly this order) - and on Christmas Eve as a "real" gift my first real perfume. Unfortunately, the bottle was damaged and leaked in the mail - so the perfume was poured into a beautiful atomizer and I'll probably never know the name of the fragrance back then. I remember that it was an unsweet, really elegant scent. And if my memory doesn't deceive me, definitely something I could still enjoy today.
Tosca and Nonchalance landed on my arms without even sniffing the bottle or taking a strip of paper. And already in the first hundredth of a second of spraying I feel catapulted back in time. I am back in my parents' apartment, it is pre-Christmas time. My sisters and I are all sitting around the table to spread the meringue on the cinnamon stars - with small sharp knives so that the snow reaches all the way to the corners. Each of us wears an apron and has our hair neatly tied back. On another tray, butter cookies are waiting to be decorated with little sugar pearls - all in all a rather sticky affair... The Advent wreath stands with burning candles, which were always red, on a small table in the corner, because we need the whole kitchen table for our cookies.
As the youngest, I sneak away to my new treasure, which has been given a place of honour in the type case. Very carefully I unscrew the little perfume bottle, so as not to spill anything, and I smell it.
I have no memory of ever really wearing the Nonchalance and the Tosca back then. The vials were so tiny, filled with only a few precious drops - and I can well imagine that I really just smelled it from time to time. The memories of that time, when so many things were still so new and unexpected and overwhelming, make me a little nostalgic.
All this is what these scents trigger in me - and while I notice that my eyes have become moist, I decide not to break them down into head, heart and base notes and perhaps subject them to a merciless, all too adult judgement.
I want to keep them as I remember them: The magical scents of my childhood.
Tosca and Nonchalance landed on my arms without even sniffing the bottle or taking a strip of paper. And already in the first hundredth of a second of spraying I feel catapulted back in time. I am back in my parents' apartment, it is pre-Christmas time. My sisters and I are all sitting around the table to spread the meringue on the cinnamon stars - with small sharp knives so that the snow reaches all the way to the corners. Each of us wears an apron and has our hair neatly tied back. On another tray, butter cookies are waiting to be decorated with little sugar pearls - all in all a rather sticky affair... The Advent wreath stands with burning candles, which were always red, on a small table in the corner, because we need the whole kitchen table for our cookies.
As the youngest, I sneak away to my new treasure, which has been given a place of honour in the type case. Very carefully I unscrew the little perfume bottle, so as not to spill anything, and I smell it.
I have no memory of ever really wearing the Nonchalance and the Tosca back then. The vials were so tiny, filled with only a few precious drops - and I can well imagine that I really just smelled it from time to time. The memories of that time, when so many things were still so new and unexpected and overwhelming, make me a little nostalgic.
All this is what these scents trigger in me - and while I notice that my eyes have become moist, I decide not to break them down into head, heart and base notes and perhaps subject them to a merciless, all too adult judgement.
I want to keep them as I remember them: The magical scents of my childhood.
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