03/28/2021
Rebirth2014
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10
The Flea Circus of New York
"Ladies and gentlemen, watch how our flea master - Le Labo - mixes all-natural fragrances on his scent organ! How? Can't you see? Well, it must be your eyes. Please, we made it to New York! How do you think we would have gotten to this fame if my fleas weren't doing what I'm describing to you right now!"
Natural ingredients are trending. In small apothecary bottles, made of amber glass, (watch out, now it's getting bulky!) perfumes are filled all-natural; -naturally- especially if they come from the unique Grasse. - Naturally! -
That's what they thought probably also in the flea circus - Le Labo - and used from then on particularly ugly flacons to the (already clear what comes now?) - natural - image of the in-house flea attractants can also optically capture.
Well, I also recently visited this flea circus. There I was presented with a unique bath and massage oil with a scent reminiscent of rain freshly fallen on the earth: Baie 19.
"Not bad!", I thought, "There's creativity behind this!" But then the flea tamer started telling me something about the fabulous - naturalness - of his products. A look at the ingredients (nicely listed on the label) confirmed in large part what he was saying. But why was this oil in a plastic bottle of all things?
Confronted with this fact, the man laughed sheepishly and immediately replied, "Oh, forgive me, that's where our 19th generation flea Baie made a tiny little mistake, I'm afraid!"
He immediately pushed me aside and handed me an aluminum tube containing an aftershave balm. He whispered conspiratorially, "Look here, from the flea grooming department. Sustainable, made from aluminum. A balm with great conditioning properties. Only - natural - ingredients. No parabens and stuff ..."
My eyes immediately fell on the statement of ingredients. Who would have thought it? Already the second ingredient, after water, was the very - natural - silicone oil.
"There your fleas must again to the recipe! Of nature? Not a trace!", I remarked cynically.
Again the nervous twitching around the corner of his mouth and the embarrassed cackling laugh, "Now, now, sir! Who's going to be so critical in a minute? It's the intention that counts. Our youngest fleas are responsible. They won't get any blood from me today as punishment, then they'll do their job so right again tomorrow."
Silence. (He even blushed)
"M...? (Clearing his throat) May.... do you like black tea?" the tamer asked, beads of sweat now dripping from his top hat.
"I'd love to.", I replied as kindly as I still could.
Good, that was a lie, because I don't really care for tea. But to the tense ringmaster my words were a visible relief. He stomped off to the ring, performed odd hand gestures (with one of the fleas?) and returned with two flasks.
"Now this is something very special! Our extremely talented flea - Thé noir, already in its 29th generation - asked me to present you with this exclusive perfume.", said the now again - unnaturally - cheerful flea prince.
He sprayed some on my wrist. While this composition was no longer quite as unique and creative as the 19th generation concoction from little Baie, it was still a solid perfume that actually nicely combined the black tea aroma with figs and dry wood.
"Ahhh, you like it. Thought so."
New York's most famous flea manager breathed a sigh of relief, "I can see it on your face!"
The gentleman's grimace, the supposed flea-perfumers, and the whole stifling atmosphere in the circus tent seemed to confuse me. Was this now great cinema, what I smelled, or after all just any fragrance?
"Well, that's not bad. But...", I tried to analyse gently, but already Mr. Director interrupted me, "Sir, please, no problem. I know you now!"
The second bottle, with a pipette, quickly wandered into my hand. "You want to challenge our - natural - image? Absolutely. That's your right. But with this unique perfume oil, I now dismiss you from our fabulous little flea circus. Go and enjoy at home this nectar of Mother Nature, created with the finest safflower oil. As a parting gift, give our little star, Thé noir 29, another round of applause (and 130 euros). Then, shoo, shoo, OUT!"
Before I knew what hit me, I was standing in the bathroom at home, unscrewing the cap on the medicine bottle. Even as I opened it, the oil inadvertently dripped out of the eyedropper, leaving ugly stains on my shirt. But it hardly smelled at all. What was it? Very slightly, I detected the aroma of - Thé noir - but without the magic of the fleas. The inherent smell of the thistle oil even almost overlapped the aura of the perfume.
Now I drizzled 7 drops on my wrist until I realized that this oil just stayed on my skin. Conscientiously, I tried to massage it in, but was unsuccessful. Eventually, the fabric of my shirt absorbed the greasy substance.
Still I perceived olfactory hardly something. Over time, a slight inkling of the scent developed, but it remained very skin-deep and subtle.
I made myself comfortable on the sofa and tried to process my impressions and the burgeoning frustration, when it began to sting at the spot where I had applied the oil. Little pinpricks occurred constantly, but I was so tired that I promptly fell asleep.
It was not until the next morning that I awoke. Hypnotically I brought my arm to my nose and was surprised that the scent was still perceptible. Durability it possessed; just no sillage.
However, when I looked at the arm, I saw countless little flea bites forming letters. Throughout the context, it said there in red pustules, "A touch of nothing. - Of course! - from Le Labo."
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