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les histoires des parfums - chapitre 4 - Cinnamon tobacco dessert from the Rue Bonaparte
Do you know the Ladurée store on Rue Bonaparte at the corner of Rue Jacob in Paris? If not, put it on your "to-do list" for your next stay in Paris (if it's not yet booked or at least planned, I urge you to do so quickly :-) ). So I can't get past the theming of my boundless love for the ville lumière in this review, and, frankly, I don't want to. How I make the connection to 2012's "Herod" by Parfums de Marly? Listen carefully...!
Our protagonist had only been living in Paris for a few weeks at the time. He knew about niche fragrances fairly well, and had had a few visits to the Jovoy boutique at the Tuileries (also on the Paris list, s'il vous plaît), during which I'm sure he made everyone within a ten-metre radius forever allergic to perfume on the long metro ride home. So he decided to turn to the flagship stores of Parisian niche perfumeries, and chose the Parfums de Marly boutique as his first pick. The reason for this was once again Jeremy Fragrance, who (yes, really) was still a kind of god of the perfume world for our protagonist at the time. His constant, mantra-like repetition of the "Layton" scent from this house had achieved the YouTuber's desired effect, and drove the 19-year-old FSJ student on a cool late October day after work and the gym once again in downtown Paris. Dressed in a down jacket and Nike sweatpants, slightly sweaty and not really wealthy, he must have left a dubious impression on the vendor hyena next to the fragrance table; but he didn't really care. He was now eager to try out the much-hyped Marlys. On y va...
Started with the fragrances from the "Arabian-Breed" series. Flakontechnisch this is really Championsleague. Mercedes-Maybach. House in the Hamptons. Black and classy, they stand there in rows, waiting to be tested. Unfortunately, none of these luxury horses could stand up to the protagonist's nose, and so apart from "Oajan", which could be a nice room scent, nothing remained in the memory. It was a different story with the scents he had written down on his list. Layton, Pegasus, Godolphin and Herod convinced him so much in the boutique that he asked the sales hyena to give him bottlings of all four scents, which she did, surprisingly willingly by hyena standards. The journey home was made with satisfaction, not least because of the convincing performance in French, which was by no means a given at the beginning of the year in Paris.
"Herod" was not to take long to completely captivate the protagonist. It was the much-described "love at first sniff". Warm, soft, gourmand (he didn't know that term at the time, but smelled exactly what he would describe it as today), slightly sweet, subtle tobacco notes in the background. What a smell. "Oajan" without a room scent feel. Woody-tobacco Layton (which would also win him over, but more on that in another chapitre) with a gourmand feel. The cinnamon note reminded him, oddly enough, even if there were no similarities in smell or taste, of a macaron special edition from the aforementioned world-famous patisserie he had once been given. He had to have it, the first really expensive niche fragrance of his life. So one afternoon he bought it on the spur of the moment in the very boutique where he had first met and smelled it. Priced then beyond good and beyond anything he thought was adequate for a perfume at the time. I guess he'd never heard of Roja, Xerjoff, and Tiziana Terenzi. ?
He allowed him his first outlet on a dance night with the French girlfriend already mentioned in the review of "Grand Soir" and her then partner at the "Panic Room", a small bar with an integrated techno basement in the 11th arrondissement east of downtown. After two compliments (not counting those from his two fellow dancers) on the small dance floor, he knew he had made the right choice. He registered it only in bits and pieces now; it tended to be a quiet companion on his skin.
To end the beautiful evening of celebration, a few more cigarettes were consumed on a small grassy strip near the "Filles du Calvaire" metro station, ranting about God and the world, Paris, and the protagonist's French progress. He, however, did not smoke a cigarette. He had already had his nicotine-free dose of tobacco. And what a.....