Kalimari

Today I remember my father, who would have celebrated his 78th birthday today. It's the first time I've set up a small altar for him: a framed picture of him surrounded by his favorite flowers and a candle flickering gently. He was a man with a keen sense for beauty, especially for fine fragrances. For this occasion, I wanted to wear a fragrance worthy of him.

While his favorite fragrance was Habit Rouge by Guerlain, I deliberately chose Mon Guerlain, a more modern, softer fragrance from the same house. There is something gentle and comforting about this fragrance that suits him perfectly. The calming effect of lavender reminds me of its way of always bringing calm to any situation. The fresh, clear bergamot brings back memories of his carefree, lively conversations that always brightened up my day.

The iris, with its powdery elegance, captures his calm, deliberate nature, while the vanilla - warm and sweet - reminds me of his warm, always loving embrace.

Wearing Mon Guerlain makes me feel close to him again. It's as if his calming presence is felt in every breath - a quiet but deep comfort that lets me spend the day in silent connection.

Sometimes you venture into strange fragrance worlds to discover something new - and then you wish you had left it alone. That's what happened to me with Alien by Mugler, a perfume that catapulted me into an olfactory parallel world. But from the beginning.

I was once again looking for a fresh, floral fragrance for everyday wear. Something that is light yet elegant without being too overpowering. So off I went to the perfumery. A saleswoman - young, fashionable, a little too much eye shadow for my taste - comes up to me: "Can I help you?"
"Gladly", I say, "I'm looking for something floral, fresh, maybe with jasmine or a little citrus." She nods and without another word, she presses a bottle into my hand. "Alien," she just says, as if that's the answer to all my fragrance questions.

Zack, two sprays directly onto the skin, no test strips, no hesitation. And then it hits me like a bolt of lightning. This fragrance is... an assault on my senses!

What the...? My nose desperately tries to find a clue. Jasmine? Not even remotely! It smells like a mixture of overripe, synthetic chemicals and something that would have been best left in the lab. Not a trace of freshness, and certainly not of flowers. What spreads across my skin is a mixture of sweet, sticky alien sweat and an indefinable plastic aroma.

I stand there, overwhelmed and a little dazed. "What do you think?" asks the sales clerk with a broad grin. I just manage to get out an "Um, not really mine..." before politely backing away. Now let's hurry home to rid myself of this fragrance fiasco!

When I get home, I start by scrubbing - but Alien stubbornly persists. Even after several washes, this unnatural aroma sticks with me. Like a stalker that just won't go away. Hours later, I am still haunted by this cloud of scent that has burned itself deep into my nose and my soul.

In the end, I just wonder who the hell can wear this scent without fainting? Maybe someone who likes dramatic performances? Or someone who wants to bring their enemies to their knees with an olfactory knock-out? No matter who it is - I'm not one of them.

Perhaps it would have made sense to save this commentary on Black Orchid until foggy November, when the fog lies heavy on the streets and the gloomy thoughts become almost tangible. But for some reason, it's just now, on this surprisingly dreary Wednesday afternoon in October, when the rain is pattering against the window and the sky remains a monotonous gray. Maybe it's just too good to wait. Because let's be honest: Black Orchid demands to be shrouded in silence and shadow, a fragrance that acts as an elegant invitation to the darkness, to what lies hidden behind the veils of everyday life.

So before you plunge too deep into melancholy, get out your darkest playlist. Bauhaus? Maybe too mellow. The Cure? Too charming. No, we need something deeper, heavier, perhaps Wagner or something even more dramatic. Because what comes next is not easy to grasp - be prepared, it's about the scent of the inevitable, about what we are all facing: death.

Yes, I know, not exactly the topic of conversation for Sunday brunch. But that's the point. We avoid this topic so much, have almost masterfully banished it, as if we could conquer it with sterile hospital rooms and tidy cemeteries. Everything should be so orderly that you could almost forget that death will catch up with us at some point. A faint smile crosses my face when I think of the well-kept dreariness of German cemeteries, where nothing is allowed to sprawl, nothing should be out of line. Just no disorder - it could give you the creeps!

But in Sicily, things are different. Cemeteries are not places of silence, but of life, of remembrance. Families gather at the graves, like at a Sunday picnic, laughing, eating, talking. It is almost as if death were just another person at the table, someone to be greeted respectfully but not feared. And that seems to be the essence of Black Orchid - this fragrance that lingers in the air as heavy and beguiling as the scent of wilted flowers and damp earth. Perhaps the creative minds at Tom Ford were inspired by a Sicilian cemetery when they designed this darkly beautiful composition. The fragrance begins with a hint of cold, damp earth, freshly dug up, a little musty, but in a strangely appealing way.

Then come the flowers - heavy, dark, almost too heavy flowers that slowly unfurl. It remains to be seen whether they are black orchids. It could also be the scent of an old, long-forgotten flower garden, where the flowers have long since left their splendor behind. Sweet, dark, almost narcotic, like the deep sleep you voluntarily let yourself fall into to escape reality. And then, very quietly, a hint of yellowed flower water - stale, yes, but still fresh enough not to repel.

Patchouli? Don't worry, it doesn't intrude, but remains discreetly in the background, as if it knows that it is not the star of this gloomy spectacle. And then - surprise! A delicate whiff of incense drifts by, gentle and almost comforting, as if to remind us that after the darkness there is always light. And at the end, just when you think the fragrance has drawn us completely into the blackness, vanilla arrives. Warm, sweet, like a conciliatory smile that awaits us on the other side. It's almost as if the fragrance is telling us: "Everything will be fine."

When should you wear this fragrance? Well, the obvious answer would be, of course: to the next gothic party, with black lace gloves and a look that reveals that you have long understood the secret of life. But why not just wear it in everyday life? In the office, to really get your colleagues thinking. "So, how was your weekend?" "Oh, you know, a walk in the cemetery. And you?"

Maybe Black Orchid just wants to tell us: don't be so uptight, death is part of life. With this in mind: welcome to the black parade!

Thanks for reading.