Legend Intense Montblanc 2013

...I had already snagged a fragrance that I actually didn't find that great.

Was it the charming, professionally trained salesperson, my reluctance to buy the fourth American designer jeans, or finally getting THAT New York souvenir that could withstand the test of time and remind me for years to come of the trip of my life in the city that never sleeps? Maybe it was just my latent jet lag fatigue, the sensory overload of Manhattan, and the sticky smell of the New York subway that I wanted to escape. Whatever it was...

"You could treat yourself to a new fragrance!" I thought to myself when my wife suggested we split up to enhance our shopping efficiency given the incredible size of the Macy's shopping temple. Any savvy horror movie fan knows what "We'll split up here, you go that way, I'll keep looking here..." means for the plot's progression! Nothing good.

So I wandered rather bored through the perfume and cosmetics department, being constantly approached at every stand, just like in St. Pauli or the bazaar in Marrakech. Some people like this. I don't. After my first few nerves were spent, I was really just looking for a quiet corner. In a nook near the escalators, I started chatting with an Austrian woman who was overloaded with about 47 shopping bags, and we talked about the sense and nonsense of shopping marathons. At that time, it was still ideologically free and quite amusing. But onward I went; I couldn't appear at the agreed meeting point with my wife empty-handed. I needed a NY souvenir, perfume is always a good choice. We all know that.

After the 2000s, I had finally moved past the Hugo and Boss bottled phase, and some other offshoots of this house that I had picked up in duty-free shops had long since failed to convince me. The fourth or fifth bottle of Versace pH was not going to be it for me anymore, no matter how much I had liked it as a long-time companion through my nights. Similarly, my long-standing preference for D&G had descended into the realm of insignificance, and the original version of Armani Pour Homme that I loved so dearly had vanished when I was busy with more important things in the 90s. And had I ever guessed that Jil Sander Man would stop overshadowing the fragrance heavens, I would have bought a 1000-liter IBC container full to the brim with it! I swear.

So there I stood, somewhat lost in front of a display case with elegant, beautiful, and hopelessly outdated-looking fountain pens from the house with the big white star. These ink pens, resembling unique pieces, had an unexpectedly calming effect on me amidst the noise of this hyperactive metropolis. And 'whoosh,' I was in conversation with the hyper-friendly salesperson (In America, yes, they are like that.), who praised my modest English skills and directed the conversation towards this new fragrance flanker from Montblanc. Another 10 minutes later, I had a heavy, masculine matte metallic bottle and a scent that seemed suspiciously familiar to me. This fresh sweetness didn't feel that new; I had smelled it before. But where? A little later, as the fragrance became softer, cozier, and less synthetically clean, I found it more appealing. Yet it reminded me not at all of my preferences from past years. Why did I buy this?? It was actually too blunt and pushy. No elegance to it at all. So consciously styled. It pretends to be classy but isn't heartfelt. A fraud even?

In the evening at the hotel bar on the 37th or 39th floor with a view of the UN building, I initially cursed the hastily spent dollars from our travel budget and vowed never, ever again to buy any perfume thoughtlessly or hastily. (Yes, I admit, my plan worked out great later on.) "Oh, screw it," I thought after the 7th or 8th Bud Light, "you've got the scent that will remind you of New York, you’ll never buy such soulless synthetic crap again."

The next day, we strolled along Fifth Avenue and passed by this black-clad store, in front of which dozens of teenagers were being pushed by 20-year-old six-pack beauties on the verge of a nervous breakdown (again!). My wife and I, of course, went in because we wanted to be able to join in the next party small talk. 2014 must have been the peak of this completely incomprehensible Abercrombie & Fitch hype for me. Every city back home, from Eckernförde to Füssen, from Görlitz to Castrop-Rauxel, absolutely had to have one of those dark, cramped places with grossly overpriced clothes from the sweatshops of Bangladesh. "Inside, the salespeople run around completely naked and you get doused with perfume to boost your buying urge," I had heard. Well, only the latter rumor turned out to be true. But...

...that was it. I had just bought that fragrance yesterday. "Hey guys, do you also sell fountain pens here?" I called out excitedly. No, they didn't. It must have been that Pierce thing that hit my nostrils. But I had my New York souvenir fragrance. I didn't care if it was Pierce, Fierce, or Legend; it smelled just like a spring afternoon on Fifth Avenue. Of course not, Fifth Avenue stinks of car exhaust. But everything my wife and I experienced together in those unforgettable moments in this crazy, equally fascinating and repulsive city during the first warm rays of sunshine in April 2014 immediately comes to mind when I wear Montblanc Legend Intense. Even though I don't find it that great, I enjoy smelling it. I'm about to get sentimental. And Montblanc Legend Intense really doesn't deserve that, the old fraud!