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Notes12/15/2018
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A gentleman. Almost.
Maybe he was lost, the Ford, Tom Ford, looking for Tuscany.
Perhaps instead he had landed in Parma, in the plain of the Po, and had smelt it there, the leather that was to become world-famous afterwards.
And it sounded better too, admittedly, Tuscan leather, "Tuscan Leather", better than Parma leather or something.
Who wouldn't have thought of ham, the delicious ham of the region, which I love on the plate, but less on my skin?
Yeah, maybe it had been that way, that way or something, who knows.
It was dark, that leather, smoky and oily and coarse, as it went up Tom Ford's nose in some tannery.
It also smelled a little dirty how men sometimes smell when they work with their hands, with their muscles, with tools and dust and stone.
He captured this, the Ford, and filled it into bottles, mixed with herbs, wood and fruit, which underlined the black, emphasized the astringency and at the same time lent soul to the roughness of the cowboy.
That was new, that was exciting, that conquered the world - and many, many followed him, the Ford, on his way, the leathery, the smoky one, whether he started in Tuscany or southwest of the Po.
There it took a few more years until the signs of the times were understood, until "Acqua di Parma" took on the leather, the still black, still coarse, which was still so masculine that women rather kept their distance, loved it more by (foreign?) men than on their own skin.
The boys and girls of "Acqua di Parma" made the leather a little lighter, a little finer, gave it transparency and - yes: decency.
Where the forefather is loud, noisy and clumsy, where he fills entire rooms with his presence, "Colonia Leather" holds back almost nobly, surrounds the wearer, the wearer with a dark aura that is clear and perceptible, but never loudly rumbles.
The leather's roughness is tanned, the blackness nestles up velvety, the smoke doesn't take my breath away anymore and lets go again after a good handful of hours, instead of putting me in leather shackles like the knight Ford until the day after next.
A real gentleman.
Almost.
Perhaps instead he had landed in Parma, in the plain of the Po, and had smelt it there, the leather that was to become world-famous afterwards.
And it sounded better too, admittedly, Tuscan leather, "Tuscan Leather", better than Parma leather or something.
Who wouldn't have thought of ham, the delicious ham of the region, which I love on the plate, but less on my skin?
Yeah, maybe it had been that way, that way or something, who knows.
It was dark, that leather, smoky and oily and coarse, as it went up Tom Ford's nose in some tannery.
It also smelled a little dirty how men sometimes smell when they work with their hands, with their muscles, with tools and dust and stone.
He captured this, the Ford, and filled it into bottles, mixed with herbs, wood and fruit, which underlined the black, emphasized the astringency and at the same time lent soul to the roughness of the cowboy.
That was new, that was exciting, that conquered the world - and many, many followed him, the Ford, on his way, the leathery, the smoky one, whether he started in Tuscany or southwest of the Po.
There it took a few more years until the signs of the times were understood, until "Acqua di Parma" took on the leather, the still black, still coarse, which was still so masculine that women rather kept their distance, loved it more by (foreign?) men than on their own skin.
The boys and girls of "Acqua di Parma" made the leather a little lighter, a little finer, gave it transparency and - yes: decency.
Where the forefather is loud, noisy and clumsy, where he fills entire rooms with his presence, "Colonia Leather" holds back almost nobly, surrounds the wearer, the wearer with a dark aura that is clear and perceptible, but never loudly rumbles.
The leather's roughness is tanned, the blackness nestles up velvety, the smoke doesn't take my breath away anymore and lets go again after a good handful of hours, instead of putting me in leather shackles like the knight Ford until the day after next.
A real gentleman.
Almost.
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