Today he wore New York Intense.
Did it actually make sense to name a perfume after a city
after a city that smelled intense enough itself?
Actually, he might want to say something about the different
Scents of the city in his new novel.
But then again - what for?
In the end, it would distract too much from the actual
Plot. Which was hard enough to understand,
at least for normal people.
In any case, he liked the smell.
That of the perfume, not that of the city on the Hudson.
That's why he had sprayed it again before he got on the
Line 4 tram to go to Fröhlich Street to Fröhlichstraße. Conveniently, in the depths
of his Barbour jacket was a bottling of it. A friend
had given it to him, an architect and art connoisseur
from southern Germany. One of the few people
on whose judgment he gave anything.
He sat back and looked at the bit of
Lake Zurich that was visible in the light early evening haze.
He liked the self-consciously lemony, spicy aura of this
Fragrance. Its somehow powerhousy, oriental
Hints. Very much so. There was a lot happening at once -
like in his books. At the same time, almost old-fashioned
Men's freshness and complex spice with clove, pepper
and cinnamon hints, stabilized by very restrained
taken animalic associations.
And of course this quite controlled patchouli note,
at which he had to think involuntarily of Burt Bacharach.
Funnily enough, also of Lou Reed.
He almost enjoyed the tram ride. Anyway, it was
faster than a taxi at that hour. And it made him feel
good feeling, cleaner he felt.
He had just spent a whole hour talking to his editor
talked, in the bar of the Crown Hall.
A little glass of Yvorne Grand Cru he had drunk
and nibbled those inevitable little nuts.. they gave you there with everything.
In the end, he couldn't shake the feeling that this
Man was one of those people who just didn't understand everything didn't understand everything.
If he had taken care of the film rights with this guy in
Fröhlichstraße, he would go back
back to Germany. And without first
to Bern, to Kornfeld possibly
a cheap expressionist or a Bissier or a Bissier The financial situation was at the moment anyway not completely
unrelaxed. He might, after all, in two months' time
at Christie's when things were more stable.
He looked at his well registered horsehide
shoes. It annoyed him that the waxed lace-
senkel were almost gone again. Did you get hardly
somewhere in exactly this color and at Alden took
it took forever until an order came in. Almost a
Reason to wear only Monks.
At the Feldeggstraße stop, an elderly woman
got on got on and sat down opposite him at the window. She was
very simply dressed and held a basket on her lap,
from which lettuce and radishes peeped out.
Briefly he tried to imagine how they might
new novel. Would she be able to relate to anything in it? be able to relate to it? Or perhaps a few details
be able to gourmetize that his hero, who was a
Connoisseur and bon vivant of the purest water,
appreciated so much? appreciated so much? Probably not.
Perhaps, he thought all at once, perhaps one should
the film version a little more - well - affable?
The older woman now leaned slightly towards him.
"A fine scent it is..." she said, waving
a hand some air from his direction.
Astonished, he looked at her more closely. She was quite poorly
dressed, her grey-blue, polka-dotted dress looking more like
a sort of smock apron.
"If you don't mind, I'll tell you what they like about this
Perfume... As I gauge it, you like the
Vintage character it brings with it, as it were, right off the bat in New."
Now he was wide awake. Of course she was right - but how
could she have known?
"Well, it's no wonder. This perfume is quite
independent, but it is inspired by the very
Classics from the 80s that people like you. Chanel
Pour Monsieur Eau Concentrèe, Tiffany for Men, Heritage,
maybe also Bois du Portugal, the old Rive Gauche and
quite a few more. It has the power of that fragrance era and yet plays
its own tune, doesn't it?"
He just nodded. Quite gobsmacked.
"A semi-oriental fougère with some chypre genes,
that's one way to put it, I think. Classic, almost already
clichéd-masculine notes, but the creamy and delicate
powdery are countered, also by a certain
Sweetness. That's one thing..."
"You're right... very right... and the other?"
"There's a lot more. But what is remarkable is simply the
whole high quality of the various components.
Almost a bit shameful for other brands, when
one considers times, as gladly the Ifra as a reason cited
for changes in fragrance character. New York
Intense smells like Ifra never existed..."
"I never thought about that before..."
"But you can if you want to..."
"Yeah, sure... And the name - why New York?"
He spoke to her now as if to someone who might be able to answer all
Questions could answer.
"Well, names... But there are references, if you
think of the character of the city... At the same time, the
Nucleus of the United States, if you will,
so historical depth. And at the same time a very modern,
still somehow innovative-looking cosmopolitan city,
no matter what is true or just image maintenance. And, even
if this may sound worn out - a melting pot
of nations, cultures, lifestyles. Just as the
Fragrance melds disparate notes...
"Well, yes, I'm with you there..."
"But I have to get out..."
She got up and went to the door, which was just swinging open.
Only now did he notice - he had long since passed his stopping
station and was approaching the terminus
He decided to just sit tight and get off on the
Return trip this time to get off in time.
The slightly sweet, somehow indulgent and clearly
nostalgic drydown surrounded him now.
Vanilla brought something comforting into play, something
that could cushion childish nagging tones just as well as oak-moss
Possibly even arrogance, know-it-all-ness.
Anyway, she couldn't have called it Paris, that would be
rather a name for Bel Ami. Berlin also not, London
just as little, because despite lavender was here too little
No, New York - that was getting there all right.
But just who had this lady been? He realized
all at once that in his memory he already
as a lady.
Somehow she seemed to him like a character from one of his
Novels. At the same time, he couldn't shake the feeling that
quite fictional himself.
Although he was too young for it, he liked it at times,
to compare himself to Woody Allen.
Another New York reference, isn't it?
The train squealed loudly as it rounded the bend, it sounded
almost as if it were trying to shatter cherished clichés.
He caught a glimpse of the lake, the water clear
and shimmering purple-bluish, but in some places,
where the clouds seemed to sink deeper into it, it looked
strangely green-olive, like a soup that someone
had to spoon out.