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End on St. Helena
I still remember how I laughed when I first saw the image of Napoleon on the bottle. Your creators were immediately repugnant to me. It was a sight brimming with kitsch and megalomania. Anyone who takes such an ahistorical approach to historical figures and places warmongers responsible for thousands of deaths on products is also eating little children - I'm pretty sure about that. But well, I'll face you, I thought to myself. I will not underestimate you as young Napoleon was underestimated in his time at the military academy or later on the battlefield. No, I will be a worthy reviewer to you.
To begin, I would like to recognize you, Aventus, for your accomplishments. You have ascended the throne, without question, just as the "world spirit on horseback," so beautifully titled by Hegel, had done. No one would have expected it at the beginning, as Napoleon did not, and you moved the people. In droves you made them submissive to you. You brought them compliments. Immeasurable is the number of panties that have been degropped because of you, as well as the number of your illegitimate children. You unleashed entire clone armies on the world, and without you, some fragrance houses might not have existed. For this you deserve fame and glory, and also an entry in the history books.
But giving compliments and dropping panties - that's not enough for you, or for us. We want art, depth, unfathomability! We want to feel you in our marrow, damn it! A scent should surprise us, shake us, make us orgasm! It should make a heroin addict feel like he's hooked on a gateway drug! And you, my dear Aventus, you want to be the emperor of niche fragrances! The best of them all. Those who have read Crime and Punishment once in their lives may remember the idea that a man is either a maggot who is crushed by the course of history, or someone who comes from outside history, someone for whom no laws apply and who is destined for greatness - a Napoleon, in other words. But although we know your daydreams of greatness, Aventus, to which you indulge, we do not know who you really are. Just as we are unsure of Napoleon, whether he betrayed or perfected the ideals of the French Revolution, we do not know of you whether you are more smoky, more fruity or even vanilla, let alone how long you will last on our skin.
And what can I say? Maybe they had that greatness once. But that's no longer true. Yes - I definitely still smell some of your former DNA, I'll grant you that, but it's hardly worth mentioning. There's still some of that aphrodisiac tickle in my nose that gets through to me, but it doesn't stick. Too quickly you lapse, too little you offer me. Banal, ephemeral, almost arbitrary. Soon your children will spurn you, and the former collectors will abandon their collections and crown a new emperor. Still you lie on St. Helena in your death-bed, which you do not know is your death-bed, and you dream of your back-ker and a renewed campaign. Certainly there will be Aventus-bearers in the future, as there were professed Bonappartists after Napoleon's death, but secretly we know: THIS story is over.
PS: Dear Perfume co-conspirators, please bear with my arrogance. It is only partly tongue-in-cheek. Instead, join me in celebrating my first review. We all know it - it had to be Aventus, anything else is gross nonsense.