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Damage...
is the title of a drama by Louis Malle from 1992.
The wonderful Juliette Binoche and the grandiose Jeremy Irons play the lead roles in this piece of film history of a special kind.
Dr. Fleming is a politician. Great house, great job, great wife, two great kids.
Then he meets Anna and suddenly it’s all over, with the previously so secure, decent life he believed in.
The two begin an affair that knows no bounds, it consumes them, it devours them.
The fatal thing is, Anna is his son's girlfriend.
An affair like this never ends well, you know it, and yet you want to be sucked into the whirlpool that pulls you down with all its might.
That’s how Black Orchid is for me.
Like the desire to absolutely have and feel something, regardless of all consequences.
Simply live, simply give in, leave fear behind, give space to lust, to greed..
It’s about passion, pain, possession, all the unspoken, the secretly missed, about physicality, closeness and distance.
Quick sex in a Parisian backyard, maybe with your face pressed against a cold wall is better than anything you could imagine at that moment.
Anna wants to be possessed and Dr. Fleming wants to possess her.
Not just a little bit.
But completely.
Now, not later, not in a clean, fragrant bed, no, here! In a musty driveway, at 7 in the morning.
Not just to feel, but to absorb the other’s elixir, to possess their soul.
Dr. Fleming cannot resist, does not want to resist.
The drama takes a dark turn and at the end his wife simply says to him, "Why didn’t you just kill yourself?"
Yes, why didn’t he?
Because we are human. Evil and good, cold and soft, old and young, beautiful and ugly.
And because sometimes we have to lose control to live life again.
Black Orchid almost repulses me a bit at first sniff.
What? Is this supposed to be the great Tom Ford?
I smell old church, mustiness, a cellar with withered flowers and involuntarily flinch back a bit.
I’m already considering activating the emergency shower, but then...yes then I suddenly sense something else.
It’s still powerful, but also delicate and cozy, as if it wants to protect me and at the same time bring me into a foreign, dark world.
At some point, I feel almost intoxicated, powerless.
This is really not your kind of scent, I think.
And maybe that’s exactly why I’m so drawn to it.
It brings the dark, the hidden to the surface. I carry it within me.
Do I want to follow the whirlpool that inevitably pulls you down? To forgive my soul? To be powerless?
I don’t know,
I still haven’t brought Black Orchid into my home. But you can never know....
The wonderful Juliette Binoche and the grandiose Jeremy Irons play the lead roles in this piece of film history of a special kind.
Dr. Fleming is a politician. Great house, great job, great wife, two great kids.
Then he meets Anna and suddenly it’s all over, with the previously so secure, decent life he believed in.
The two begin an affair that knows no bounds, it consumes them, it devours them.
The fatal thing is, Anna is his son's girlfriend.
An affair like this never ends well, you know it, and yet you want to be sucked into the whirlpool that pulls you down with all its might.
That’s how Black Orchid is for me.
Like the desire to absolutely have and feel something, regardless of all consequences.
Simply live, simply give in, leave fear behind, give space to lust, to greed..
It’s about passion, pain, possession, all the unspoken, the secretly missed, about physicality, closeness and distance.
Quick sex in a Parisian backyard, maybe with your face pressed against a cold wall is better than anything you could imagine at that moment.
Anna wants to be possessed and Dr. Fleming wants to possess her.
Not just a little bit.
But completely.
Now, not later, not in a clean, fragrant bed, no, here! In a musty driveway, at 7 in the morning.
Not just to feel, but to absorb the other’s elixir, to possess their soul.
Dr. Fleming cannot resist, does not want to resist.
The drama takes a dark turn and at the end his wife simply says to him, "Why didn’t you just kill yourself?"
Yes, why didn’t he?
Because we are human. Evil and good, cold and soft, old and young, beautiful and ugly.
And because sometimes we have to lose control to live life again.
Black Orchid almost repulses me a bit at first sniff.
What? Is this supposed to be the great Tom Ford?
I smell old church, mustiness, a cellar with withered flowers and involuntarily flinch back a bit.
I’m already considering activating the emergency shower, but then...yes then I suddenly sense something else.
It’s still powerful, but also delicate and cozy, as if it wants to protect me and at the same time bring me into a foreign, dark world.
At some point, I feel almost intoxicated, powerless.
This is really not your kind of scent, I think.
And maybe that’s exactly why I’m so drawn to it.
It brings the dark, the hidden to the surface. I carry it within me.
Do I want to follow the whirlpool that inevitably pulls you down? To forgive my soul? To be powerless?
I don’t know,
I still haven’t brought Black Orchid into my home. But you can never know....
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Translated · Show original
Different from all the others...
A hint of black lace flashes beneath the shoulder-padded blazer. She wears a pantsuit, has tamed her bob with gel, and applied red lipstick.
During the day, she holds the strings in her hands. Women can be anything. Chief physician, CEO of a corporation, artist. Men no longer stand above the matters and the women.
It’s the early eighties.
She decides what she wears, who she is, what she can do, and with whom she sleeps.
She dresses casually yet elegantly and stylishly. The cashmere turtleneck she wears at work is quickly swapped for the shoulder-padded blazer in the evening. A pair of ear clips completes the look. Gold, simple, elegant.
She strides out, heels clicking as she heads for the taxi.
Upon arriving at the café, she orders a wine and lights a cigarette. She seems a bit aloof, beautiful yet cool.
So completely different. Yes, entirely different from many women today.
She doesn’t think about breast augmentation or eyebrow tattoos.
She is just as she is, and that makes her irresistible.
Her date arrives and is once again completely perplexed. This woman drives him crazy. She smiles, a bit timid yet simultaneously challenging.
She wears the pantsuit, a hint of black lace, and Rive Gauche, and nothing else.
The evening can begin. Where it ends, she will also decide....
This is how I imagine her. The one who wore Rive Gauche back then.
And secretly, I wish I could have experienced that time (consciously). If there were a time machine, I would take a little trip to that enticing era.
And what should a woman have worn back then, if not Rive Gauche?
A classic that I still find very wearable today. Metallic at the beginning and wonderfully powdery at the end, without being sticky. And yet completely soft and protective. Timeless. Wonderful.
The bottle? It couldn’t have been done better for this scent.
So completely different from all the others.
You will probably have to move in with me. Maybe even a blazer with shoulder pads... :D
Right now, I somehow have a great desire to resurrect the woman of that time and swap her for uniformity, beauty madness, and influencers. It’s about time again...
During the day, she holds the strings in her hands. Women can be anything. Chief physician, CEO of a corporation, artist. Men no longer stand above the matters and the women.
It’s the early eighties.
She decides what she wears, who she is, what she can do, and with whom she sleeps.
She dresses casually yet elegantly and stylishly. The cashmere turtleneck she wears at work is quickly swapped for the shoulder-padded blazer in the evening. A pair of ear clips completes the look. Gold, simple, elegant.
She strides out, heels clicking as she heads for the taxi.
Upon arriving at the café, she orders a wine and lights a cigarette. She seems a bit aloof, beautiful yet cool.
So completely different. Yes, entirely different from many women today.
She doesn’t think about breast augmentation or eyebrow tattoos.
She is just as she is, and that makes her irresistible.
Her date arrives and is once again completely perplexed. This woman drives him crazy. She smiles, a bit timid yet simultaneously challenging.
She wears the pantsuit, a hint of black lace, and Rive Gauche, and nothing else.
The evening can begin. Where it ends, she will also decide....
This is how I imagine her. The one who wore Rive Gauche back then.
And secretly, I wish I could have experienced that time (consciously). If there were a time machine, I would take a little trip to that enticing era.
And what should a woman have worn back then, if not Rive Gauche?
A classic that I still find very wearable today. Metallic at the beginning and wonderfully powdery at the end, without being sticky. And yet completely soft and protective. Timeless. Wonderful.
The bottle? It couldn’t have been done better for this scent.
So completely different from all the others.
You will probably have to move in with me. Maybe even a blazer with shoulder pads... :D
Right now, I somehow have a great desire to resurrect the woman of that time and swap her for uniformity, beauty madness, and influencers. It’s about time again...
16 Comments
