It smells like a three-storey brothel here....how often did I hear this expression and secretly ask myself what it would smell like there?
Life has many things in store, so in my early twenties I ended up in an apartment in a normal residential area as part of my training.
When I rang the doorbell, an exceptionally pretty woman opened the door to me, her natural red hair tied back in a ponytail and she showed me her beautifully white teeth with a smile. Freshly gargled with Odol, I could tell.
She showed me around the apartment, where there were several women at the time; from blonde to brunette, from slim to voluptuously proportioned.
All very nice, down to earth and extremely communicative. I learned that most of the men wanted to be with the more plump ladies and that those who appeared to be exceptional earned less money than Ottilie Normalo
It was a contradiction for me at the time.
On a tour of the apartment, I found out that they all worked here, except for one, who was responsible for hygiene and cleanliness; today they are probably called sex workers.
Past a very functionally furnished kitchen, two rooms that left room for imagination in terms of sexual preferences. A bathroom with two shower cubicles and a bathtub. That was something that really impressed me, I only had a shower and a toilet at the time.
There was an Ikea shelf on the wall, 4x4 compartments, with washitape stuck to the top edge of the individual compartments with names like Karolin, Mandy, Jenny, Lena, Cortney...so no Chantal, Angelique, Vanessa, Gloria or similar first names associated with the milieu, which certain TV programs would like you to believe.
Each compartment of this shelf contained bottles that roughly corresponded to the best list of well-known perfumeries at the time.
Juliane, probably the oldest, was the only one of the ladies wearing a fragrance I was familiar with, Privat Collection. It was fantastically beautiful on her, not wicked, but classy and elegant.
During my tour of the rooms and through the lively conversations with the ladies, other scents wafted into my nose.
Scents of freshly painted fingernails wafted through the rooms.
Freshly made-up beds, a leather cushion, various utensils that were discreet but still visible to curious onlookers. The sensationally clean toilet, the folded paper towels in the dispenser on the wall and the XXL pack of condoms were a real explosion of smells. Then there was the aroma of freshly brewed coffee on the hot plate of the coffee machine and the obligatory cigarette smoke.
The phone rang and Karolin, who was wearing slippers, whispered into the receiver that she was expecting him in half an hour. She quickly threw her slippers into the corner behind the curtain, no, no leopard print, and slipped into her high heels. Sweatpants off, stretch skirt on, plus a tight top. Three sprays of Sun by Jil Sander and I felt a little queasy.
A CD with the Boléro by Maurice Ravel was put into the player and I was instructed to wait in the kitchen with the other women, which I did.
During my countless visits there, I learned a lot from the ladies; what matters and nothing is as it seems. For the most part, I have revised my prejudices about this activity, and some have been confirmed.
Some of the ladies now have completely different jobs, have children and/or are sometimes in higher positions and nothing suggests that they earned their money working on customers in their youth, for whatever reason.
This fragrance promises something that it cannot deliver at all.
Anyone who suspects something obscene, wicked or even sexually stimulating here is completely wrong and could be disappointed. The only provocative thing is the name. If that's enough for you, you're well served. Just please don't spray it on. What comes out reminds me more of the slightly digested chyme after a night of partying.
It remains a mystery to me why this perfume is now called hooker diesel. In my job, I have met many women who work in sex work and none of them have ever smelled like this.
Maybe it's just meant to evoke associations.
In my opinion, this scent would not have been necessary.
Klaus, thank you for this olfactory experience.
I am not rating it, as the perfumer must have had something in mind when creating it, but it is not clear to me.
Plum
