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A Monday in Autumn and the End of a Long Silence
Beau de Jour will always hold a special place in my heart. Not that I wear it particularly often; in fact, I don’t wear it at all anymore, it’s not even in my collection. But it will forever be the fragrance that rekindled my old passion for scents.
When I was still a young whippersnapper, my sister worked in a drugstore, back when it was still a small family-run business, not a chain, with a well-stocked perfume department. It was not uncommon for her to bring home well-filled testers, and so I had a respectable collection sitting on my shelf. And yes, I often wandered through the small town at night, wearing too much fragrance and attracting a glance or two.
The 2000s rolled in, the small town became stifling, and the big city beckoned with its dark basements and thumping bass. Sweet perfumes became an unpredictable risk at the Berghain door, one that I was not willing to take. Hair cut short, clothes very masculine. Thus, fragrances eventually disappeared entirely from my life and my consciousness.
But back to Beau de Jour. It was on a Monday in early autumn. One of those days after a lovely weekend when the mind struggles to accept that once again ViKos and Excel spreadsheets demand all the attention, and one often finds oneself absentmindedly reaching for the smartphone and scrolling through relevant apps.
A young gentleman appears near me, almost out of nowhere; I had never noticed him before. Did I have plans for this evening? Okay, I’ll be there in half an hour. Wow, that was uncomplicated. A bit disheveled and naive, he enters my apartment on light feet, looks around, and eventually lands on my couch. The evening will be long, the conversations lively, and so one thing leads to another. And then there’s that moment. A pleasantly earthy, almost balsamic scent in my nose. A subtle spray on the chest, probably been on for a while, nothing herbal, no lavender, just this warm, soft, subtly spicy scent. At that moment, I thought I had never smelled anything better in my life.
As life sometimes plays out, I was smitten after that evening. The meetings initially became more frequent, the longing for more grew, and yet there comes a moment when you start to feel that perhaps it’s only me who hopes for more here.
It’s Christmas, flying home, Beau de Jour is on offer in Duty-Free. Without thinking, I grab it. A day before the holiday, one or two sprays on my chest and neck for a stroll through the city. Every now and then a glance at my phone, the replies become scarcer. With Beau de Jour in my nose, walking through the festively lit city center, everything feels so wrong. The scent still seems perfect to me, but it smells like him, who is gradually fading away. It’s the second day of Christmas. The replies completely stop, it’s New Year’s, the phone screen remains black.
Beau de Jour sits on my shelf; I no longer dare to smell it. Yet my hunger is somehow awakened. If I happen to like this one scent so much, then there must be more out there. Cold January evenings, my journey into the perfume rabbit hole begins. I watch YouTube videos, what have I missed over the past years?
In the meantime, I have smelled many fragrances. I hoped that if I liked Beau de Jour, Fougère d’Argent might be the perfect alternative, just without those painful memories, but no, that one turned out to be too herbal for me. And so I sniffed my way deeper into niche fragrances from Amouage to Xerjoff. My shelf became fuller, yet with every purchase, there remains a feeling of longing, the longing for that feeling of having smelled the perfect fragrance. The feeling I experienced on that Monday evening in autumn.
And the young gentleman? He eventually reappeared, after all, we live in the neighborhood. We are friends. My Beau de Jour now sits on his shelf, after all, it’s his signature scent. Do I still think this fragrance is perfect? No, I have scents in my collection that I prefer, but none are even remotely associated with as many memories and emotions. I realize that this one perfect scent does not exist, but the search for it somehow makes this hobby enjoyable. And who knows, maybe one day I will place Beau de Jour back on my shelf as a reminder of an emotionally exciting time.
