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les histoires des parfums - chapitre 5 - Lagerfeld attitude or "le manque des mots"
Carlisle. I'm glad you're around.
I first met you in the cold Paris winter of 2019. You came highly recommended to me from several directions.
At my first Parfums de Marly sample, I sheerly overlooked you. Not that your appearance was unremarkable. No, not at all. Resplendent and elegant, you stand there in your dapper black outfit, and everyone who sees you instantly knows your resounding name, too.
You smell powerful. You smell arrogant. Decadent. Straight forward. No compromise, either black or white. Yes or no. Like Karl Lagerfeld. You own the world, but you don't have to do anything for it.
You smell like 1001 Parisian nights. Intangible. Beautiful. Mysterious. Full of light, at the same time dark as the blackest night. Quickly there, taking everyone's breath away, and immediately gone. Not looking for attention. And yet you always get it.
You smell like the perfect complement to a black suit. Not a dull business suit. A high-fashion suit. Dior Homme, Comme des Garcons, Ann Demeulemeester or Les Hommes. High dad-killer collar, like Lagerfeld. One or two pieces of silver jewellery, slightly wider trousers, tattoos on the hands. Casual elegance.
You smell like someone who's quiet. Who doesn't say anything. Doesn't need to say anything. His mere appearance leaves everyone with their mouths open. Who moves slowly. No hurry, no time pressure. Time is relative to him anyway. What's the rush? The world adapts to him, not the other way around.
Impressions that try to describe you. That try to somehow capture you, make you explainable. Doomed to fail. You need to be smelled in order to be judged. Though you don't care about the judgments anyway.........
I first met you in the cold Paris winter of 2019. You came highly recommended to me from several directions.
At my first Parfums de Marly sample, I sheerly overlooked you. Not that your appearance was unremarkable. No, not at all. Resplendent and elegant, you stand there in your dapper black outfit, and everyone who sees you instantly knows your resounding name, too.
You smell powerful. You smell arrogant. Decadent. Straight forward. No compromise, either black or white. Yes or no. Like Karl Lagerfeld. You own the world, but you don't have to do anything for it.
You smell like 1001 Parisian nights. Intangible. Beautiful. Mysterious. Full of light, at the same time dark as the blackest night. Quickly there, taking everyone's breath away, and immediately gone. Not looking for attention. And yet you always get it.
You smell like the perfect complement to a black suit. Not a dull business suit. A high-fashion suit. Dior Homme, Comme des Garcons, Ann Demeulemeester or Les Hommes. High dad-killer collar, like Lagerfeld. One or two pieces of silver jewellery, slightly wider trousers, tattoos on the hands. Casual elegance.
You smell like someone who's quiet. Who doesn't say anything. Doesn't need to say anything. His mere appearance leaves everyone with their mouths open. Who moves slowly. No hurry, no time pressure. Time is relative to him anyway. What's the rush? The world adapts to him, not the other way around.
Impressions that try to describe you. That try to somehow capture you, make you explainable. Doomed to fail. You need to be smelled in order to be judged. Though you don't care about the judgments anyway.........
Smnbkr
