Parfum de Peau

Montana

Montana 1986 Parfum

Do you remember how it was back then, my friends, before we had our performance? At night,…in the clubs? The air was stuffy and humid-sultry from the sweat of the guests who poured it out by the liter while dancing. Who needed fog machines back then,…it was smoky! Before every performance, the same sensual ritual. Like an impenetrable incantation. We dusted our fans and bodies with Montana. And then each of us took our positions in the club and the music started. Today, I believe they call that GoGo? Ninety percent skin, and we waved our fans to the beat of the music. Montana was the signature scent of the group. Each of us loved Montana, and so we all wore it. Six beautiful men. Tanned skin, polished, smooth-shimmering, and pumped full of masses of youthful testosterone. One more beautiful than the other. We danced once like royal peacocks in the garden of the Sun King. We swung the abanicos (fans) like the wings of a peacock or like the wings of an angel in its painfully beautiful flight of birth. In just a few seconds, the clubs were flooded with Montana. The perfume permeated every fiber and crack of the club. When you can almost taste a perfume,…then it’s this one! It goes through the olfactory system directly to the brain and from there directly into desire and admiration. There are perfumes that demand more than just skin as a foundation. Some perfumes require pride, a very high self-confidence, and a well-measured portion of arrogance as their breeding ground. Or simply backbone! Montana had all of that…!

Explanation
How can one get to know a perfume at all? Here’s a little chapter from my life! Once, a long time ago, I danced with a group of Ibizan fan dancers through the clubs. It was 1986, and months were born into the world at the same time. One of the guys suddenly wore Montana and brought it along. And we all were inevitably in love immediately and wore it too. Thus, Montana became our signature scent. The style of the GoGos back then was to dance with oversized fans (abanicos). Very sensual and quite unique. They were swung like flags or gliding sails, and they swung like ellipses almost weightlessly through the air. The dance appeared as if a torero was fighting a bull. Or similarly, like a peacock courting when he struts around his mate. Erotic when danced well? No question…!? Some may remember? Yes, I was young and I brewed the money. Here, it was definitely the case! Just to buy myself a new bottle of Montana again. And God knows,…I had the money and infinitely many bottles of Montana. And so I danced for it. And indeed,…it was always worth it. Even when the party was over…! *Beep*

Conclusion
How does Montana smell…?
One thing must be said,…unique!
What is it made of? Unfathomable! Definitely daffodils. Bound in the juiciest orange blossoms and herb-wild marigolds. Marigolds are hardly found in perfumes anymore. Too exclusive,…who knows? Touched by berry-like roses and profoundly warm-humid patchouli. Encased in a warm-sultry hint of worshipful and most sensual incense, creamy-soft and narcotic musk. What remains after endlessly sensual hours is an armada of sensuality. A hint of the softest leather that comes closer to human skin than anything else and a warm-inviting kiss of resinous-expensive amber. Montana is a revelation, a wet dream, a symbol of sensuality. It is the tornado among floral-spicy, leathery chypres. Back then as today, it slaps everything down with a resounding slap in the environment and in the face of their incompetence. And this with roaring applause! There is nothing, absolutely nothing that has ever come close to Montana. And this still holds true today! To attempt to replicate it would be arrogant and in today’s time, suicidal. Yes, there is wearable arrogance and boundless self-confidence among perfumes. Here, today and forever, we have the absolute elite. A monument of untouchability….!

What would Montana as a perfume say to itself today?
I AM NOT UNIQUE. IT JUST LOOKS THAT WAY FROM UP HERE!
Everlasting arrogance has always surrounded Montana…!

There’s still a story afterward…!
About eight years later, I met Claude Montana personally in a very well-known club in Berlin. I hadn’t danced for money in a long time. He was sitting on a huge leather couch surrounded by his “entourage.” When he saw me in the crowd of guests, he stood up and came towards me. It wasn’t easy for him as he was quite drunk. But he approached me with pride and grandeur. A petite, small man with the figure of a youth. He barely reached my chest when he stood in front of me. He wore his mustache, which almost looked fake. But it was real! What he said to me in broken English when he stood before me…? “Hello! My name is Claude. Would you like to come to my private party at the hotel? It would be my pleasure...!” And he politely extended his hand to me. And even in that desolate state, he had style. He was polite and extremely charming in his question. What did he smell like that evening? You can guess three times. Montana, of course! Did I go with him? No,…I did not! In terms of his height, Claude Montana may have been small. In terms of his fashion, his art, and his perfumes, however, he was a titan. Or as I like to say,…The poison,…is always in the small bottles!
And it still resonates today…!

I really hope you are well and happy, Claude? You genius…!
In deepest, deepest admiration…!
Can

And so you still lead me today into the promised land of your art!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oI1zWp-rtvQ

Everlasting, always, and infinitely,…MONTANA!