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New York spring, 2014, Macy's, a half-hour of shopping without a woman...
...I had already got hold of a scent that I didn't really like that much.
Was it the charming professionally trained salesman, my reluctance to buy my fourth pair of Ami designer jeans or to finally get hold of THE New York souvenir that could survive time and space and still remind me years later of the trip of my life in the city that never sleeps? Maybe it was just my latent jet lag fatigue, the overstimulation of Manhattan and the sticky muff of the New York Subway that I wanted to get rid of. Whatever...
I thought to myself, "You could do with a new fragrance," when my wife suggested we split up to increase our shopping efficiency given the incredible size of Macy's temple of consumption. Every shrewd horror movie fan, knows what "We'll split up here, you go that way, I'll keep looking here..." means for the rest of the plot! No good
So I strolled rather bored through the perfumery and cosmetics department and was pushed at each, every stand, as permanently as at St. Pauli or the bazaar of Marrakech. There are people who like this. Not me like this. After my first set of nerves had worn out, I was actually just looking for a quiet corner. In a niche near the escalators I then got into conversation with an Austrian woman overloaded with about 47 shopping bags and we chatted about the sense and nonsense of shopping marathons. At that time it was at least free of ideology and very amusing. But it went on, I couldn't go to the meeting point agreed with my wife empty-handed. I needed a souvenir from NY, perfume always works. We all know that
After the 00's I had finally got the Hugo and Boss botteld phase behind me and some others in duty free auctioned offshoots of this house could not convince me for a long time. The fourth or fifth bottle of Versace pH should not be for me anymore, as much as I liked it as a longtime companion through my nights. Likewise, my aging fondness for D&G had relegated me to the league of irrelevance, and the original version of Armani Pour Homme that I loved so dearly had disappeared when I was busy with more important things in the 90s. And had I ever suspected that Jil Sander Man would stop outshining the fragrance heaven, I would have bought a 1000 l IBC container full to the brim with it! I swear
Well, so I stood somewhat lost in front of a showcase with noble, beautiful and hopelessly outdated looking fountain pens from the company with the thick white star. These unique looking ink pens had an unexpectedly calming effect on me in the hustle and bustle of this crazy metropolis. And 'poof' I was in conversation with the hyper-friendly salesman (Im AMiLand, ne. die sind da so.), who praised my modest English skills to the skies and directed the conversation to this new fragrance Flanker from Montblanc. Another 10 minutes later, I had a heavy, masculine, matt metallic, very valuable bottle and a fragrance that looked suspiciously familiar to me. This fresh sweetness did not seem so new to me, I had it in my nose before. But where? A little later, when the fragrance became softer, more comfortable, and not quite as synthetically clean, I was more likely to like it. Only it did not remind me of my preferences of the past years. Why did I buy it? Too clumsy and stacking, really. No, nothing elegant about it. So deliberately styled. He pretends to be noble, but he isn't. A dazzler even?
In the evening, in the hotel bar on the 37th or 39th floor with a view of the UN building, I was annoyed at first about the dollars of our travel budget that had been rashly squandered and swore that I would never again buy any perfume rashly or thoughtlessly. (Yes, I admit, my plan worked out really well later on.) "Oh, fuck it" I thought after the 7th or 8th Bud light, "just have the scent that will remind you of New York, the kind of soulless synthetic crap you'll never get again."
A day later, we stroll down Fifth Avenue and pass this black wrapped shop where dozens of teenagers were pushed (again!) by 20 year old six-packs of Schönlingen. My wife and I of course went inside, because we wanted to have a say in the next party small talk. 2014 must have been the highlight of this Abercrombie & Fitch hipes, which I find completely incomprehensible. Every city in our homeland from Eckernförde to Füssen, from Görlitz to Castrop-Rauxel had to have such a dark, tight butt with overpriced clothes from the sweatshops of Bangladesh. "Inside, the salesmen run around completely naked and you get sprayed with perfume to increase the desire to buy." that's what I heard. Well, only the latter rumor turned out to be true. But...
...that was him. I just bought that scent yesterday. "Hey guys, can we buy pens here?" I shouted enthusiastically. No, there wasn't. It must have been that Pierce guy that got up my nose. But I had my New York souvenir scent. I don't care if it's Fierce or Legend, a spring afternoon on Fifth Avenue, this is what it smells like. Of course not, Fifth Avenue reeks of car fumes. But everything that my wife and I experienced together in unforgettable moments in this crazy, equally fascinating and repulsive city in the first warm rays of sunshine in April 2014 immediately comes to mind when I put on Montblanc Legend Intens. Although I don't think it's sooooo great, I like to smell it. I'm getting sentimental. And Montblanc Legend Intense really doesn't deserve it, the old fake who!
Was it the charming professionally trained salesman, my reluctance to buy my fourth pair of Ami designer jeans or to finally get hold of THE New York souvenir that could survive time and space and still remind me years later of the trip of my life in the city that never sleeps? Maybe it was just my latent jet lag fatigue, the overstimulation of Manhattan and the sticky muff of the New York Subway that I wanted to get rid of. Whatever...
I thought to myself, "You could do with a new fragrance," when my wife suggested we split up to increase our shopping efficiency given the incredible size of Macy's temple of consumption. Every shrewd horror movie fan, knows what "We'll split up here, you go that way, I'll keep looking here..." means for the rest of the plot! No good
So I strolled rather bored through the perfumery and cosmetics department and was pushed at each, every stand, as permanently as at St. Pauli or the bazaar of Marrakech. There are people who like this. Not me like this. After my first set of nerves had worn out, I was actually just looking for a quiet corner. In a niche near the escalators I then got into conversation with an Austrian woman overloaded with about 47 shopping bags and we chatted about the sense and nonsense of shopping marathons. At that time it was at least free of ideology and very amusing. But it went on, I couldn't go to the meeting point agreed with my wife empty-handed. I needed a souvenir from NY, perfume always works. We all know that
After the 00's I had finally got the Hugo and Boss botteld phase behind me and some others in duty free auctioned offshoots of this house could not convince me for a long time. The fourth or fifth bottle of Versace pH should not be for me anymore, as much as I liked it as a longtime companion through my nights. Likewise, my aging fondness for D&G had relegated me to the league of irrelevance, and the original version of Armani Pour Homme that I loved so dearly had disappeared when I was busy with more important things in the 90s. And had I ever suspected that Jil Sander Man would stop outshining the fragrance heaven, I would have bought a 1000 l IBC container full to the brim with it! I swear
Well, so I stood somewhat lost in front of a showcase with noble, beautiful and hopelessly outdated looking fountain pens from the company with the thick white star. These unique looking ink pens had an unexpectedly calming effect on me in the hustle and bustle of this crazy metropolis. And 'poof' I was in conversation with the hyper-friendly salesman (Im AMiLand, ne. die sind da so.), who praised my modest English skills to the skies and directed the conversation to this new fragrance Flanker from Montblanc. Another 10 minutes later, I had a heavy, masculine, matt metallic, very valuable bottle and a fragrance that looked suspiciously familiar to me. This fresh sweetness did not seem so new to me, I had it in my nose before. But where? A little later, when the fragrance became softer, more comfortable, and not quite as synthetically clean, I was more likely to like it. Only it did not remind me of my preferences of the past years. Why did I buy it? Too clumsy and stacking, really. No, nothing elegant about it. So deliberately styled. He pretends to be noble, but he isn't. A dazzler even?
In the evening, in the hotel bar on the 37th or 39th floor with a view of the UN building, I was annoyed at first about the dollars of our travel budget that had been rashly squandered and swore that I would never again buy any perfume rashly or thoughtlessly. (Yes, I admit, my plan worked out really well later on.) "Oh, fuck it" I thought after the 7th or 8th Bud light, "just have the scent that will remind you of New York, the kind of soulless synthetic crap you'll never get again."
A day later, we stroll down Fifth Avenue and pass this black wrapped shop where dozens of teenagers were pushed (again!) by 20 year old six-packs of Schönlingen. My wife and I of course went inside, because we wanted to have a say in the next party small talk. 2014 must have been the highlight of this Abercrombie & Fitch hipes, which I find completely incomprehensible. Every city in our homeland from Eckernförde to Füssen, from Görlitz to Castrop-Rauxel had to have such a dark, tight butt with overpriced clothes from the sweatshops of Bangladesh. "Inside, the salesmen run around completely naked and you get sprayed with perfume to increase the desire to buy." that's what I heard. Well, only the latter rumor turned out to be true. But...
...that was him. I just bought that scent yesterday. "Hey guys, can we buy pens here?" I shouted enthusiastically. No, there wasn't. It must have been that Pierce guy that got up my nose. But I had my New York souvenir scent. I don't care if it's Fierce or Legend, a spring afternoon on Fifth Avenue, this is what it smells like. Of course not, Fifth Avenue reeks of car fumes. But everything that my wife and I experienced together in unforgettable moments in this crazy, equally fascinating and repulsive city in the first warm rays of sunshine in April 2014 immediately comes to mind when I put on Montblanc Legend Intens. Although I don't think it's sooooo great, I like to smell it. I'm getting sentimental. And Montblanc Legend Intense really doesn't deserve it, the old fake who!
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Bernard
