Tabac Man Mäurer & Wirtz 2000 Eau de Toilette

Long before my birth, my grandma had a new partner after my grandpa passed away. Hermann is one of the best people I have ever had the pleasure of knowing, no problem he doesn't have advice for, no situation he can't handle, a friendly smile is always on his face, the next joke, often a crude remark on his lips, with a Marlboro always between his fingers...

To me, Hermann was always "Dadden." Why, no one knows. Somehow, I named him that from the very first words. Dadden always had slightly scratchy cheeks, smelled of his Marlboro, of Yves Rocher aftershave, maybe a bit of hair tonic, and in the evenings, of his after-work beer. Perhaps he smelled, when we met in the city, on birthdays, or when we went out to eat, of the scratchy lavender from Tabac Man? Possible, I couldn't have answered it that way. But I know that Dadden is grandpa to me, at least as much grandpa as a biological one can be.

From grandpa to grandpa scents. These fascinated me from the start, and in my youthful ignorance, I brought Tabac Man into my life at the age of 16-17 (the "real" Tabac followed later). The desired effect was absent; I didn't smell like the established man I already wanted to be back then, but merely had a cloud of that scratchy lavender around me. Made-up masculinity from the bottle, like an overly strong shower gel, nothing real that connects you. Disappointment, the bottle was emptied and left my life.

Dadden also left; he died in 2009, a fall down the stairs, overnight, the last "Take care, say hi to grandma" was an unconscious farewell. We were no longer granted a proper one; he would not wake up in this world again. That was 12 years ago now, memories fade, his voice slips away from my thoughts.
Two weeks ago, I reached for the last remnants of a Tabac Man deodorant, wanting to finally use it up; it had been sitting around for far too long. Sprayed on, yes, there it is again, the scratchy lavender, the sharp shower gel, a good decision to finally empty it!
But when I returned from the bathroom to the dressing room, where the cloud had now settled a bit, there was something else. A fleeting moment, a quick pass that leaves only a hint of scent behind. But enough to recognize you.

Now I know, yes, you had Tabac Man! Sparingly sprayed when we met in the city, on birthdays, or when we went out to eat. Not much, just a hint in passing, fleeting and ungraspable. But there.

That was our farewell. It took 12 years, but now you were briefly there.

And my farewell to Tabac Man? Maybe I'll buy you again... As long as you're briefly there.