Puderperle
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Puderperle
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A love letter in official German
There is no more desolate place than a long, bare hallway with neon lights shining mercilessly down on its bourgeois subjects from a height of 3 meters, transforming their complexions into those of the long dead.
If you want to use irony, it would certainly be the most romantic place. The place where time seems to stand still.
So I sat patiently for 40 minutes on the wooden folding seat attached to the wall, muttering to myself in a continuous loop "don't forget the yellow bags, don't forget the yellow bags...". German citizens must follow the rules of meticulous waste separation. If they don't, they are left with their plastic waste. So it's better to sit on the official folding seat and dutifully ask for garbage bags, which are handed out by the staff. But only one roll per person, of course. After all, the city has to save money.
Very romantic, I know.
I counted the slats in the neon tubes above me for the 18th time. 315 to the end of the corridor. Or was it 314 this time? How had the missing slat managed to sneak away so unnoticed?
A shuffling officer with a coffee cup in her hand caught my attention. Seizing the opportunity, I asked when I could finally apply for my passport and get yellow bags.
Not here at all, I was told. I wondered if I hadn't read the information on the second floor, around the corner to the right. Because at least it was still there yesterday lunchtime. No, of course I hadn't. Where in God's name would I get help now, I wanted to know. It was like pulling worms out of my nose. I resisted the impulse to shake the lady.
From pillar to post via the freight elevator, past the cashier three times to the locked file room... Now I'd had enough. I burst into the next office and voiced my frustration and then my concerns again. Yes, I admit it was a bit of a rant. The official with the most accurate side parting I've ever seen was so startled that his square glasses slipped off his nose and got caught with one temple in the cord of his pullover. I didn't care about the stitch. I refused to provide information about my liability insurance and exactly 20 seconds later found myself in front of the iron gates of the authority accompanied by two auxiliary police officers with a house ban.
I thought it couldn't get any worse until I received a letter. Exactly. A love letter in the nicest official German from my sweater boyfriend. I told you, romantic place.
"Dear Mrs. Chouchou,
with reference to yesterday's meeting outside of an appointment, I am enclosing the ban on entering the house that I have already conveyed to you verbally in written form
The following reasons led to the refusal of further access to the municipal properties by your person:
1. As part of your inappropriate speech, the usability of the decibel meter was completely removed. This was a disturbance of the official premises and thus an irritation of public order. With the removal of your person from the above-mentioned property, at least the acoustic disturbance could be eliminated and official peace restored.
2. By activating the smoke detector while you were present, public safety was directly endangered. This is almost certainly due to the effect of your scented product. The contaminated air contained containers of floral ornamental plants such as orange blossom, rose, jasmine and tuberose.
in the foyer of the main entrance to the property, explicit reference is made to refraining from consuming food and drink. Nevertheless, I take the liberty of accusing you of having consumed citrus fruits, cinnamon and chocolates on the premises of my place of work, as the odors had a lasting effect over an indefinite period of time, but at least 3 hours. The ability to concentrate was considerably impaired for this period and public traffic came to a standstill. according to witnesses, you caused a shock situation to the detriment of a member of staff, so that the ground floor corridor was contaminated by stains from a hot drink containing caffeine. You will be charged with paying the cleaning bill.
The display of the pumps of an erotic nature constitutes a public nuisance. in addition, a further danger could not be ruled out due to your choice of footwear. The pointed heels are dangerous tools,
which, through the visual stimulus alone, threaten serious harm and can cause damage to physical integrity if used improperly. Without an official permit, this constitutes a violation of the applicable weapons legislation.for the reasons stated above, you are requested to hand in your weapons by the end of the 23rd calendar week."
I paused. What do they want from me?
So the side parting felt distracted by my scent. Too sexy for your romance with the authorities? Baby, you're about to get a full dose of concentration impairment. Put your pen aside for a week, I thought, and sprayed the envelope full of the most delicious coffee, vanilla and floral notes before grinning and enclosing the culprit, my Good Girl Waffen high heels for the return shipment. So now I'll just walk around in Adilettes. After all, sex appeal doesn't depend on the shape of the shoe. You just have to feel it. So be it.
Let someone say I'm not a good girl! At least I met the deadline.
When I wanted to take the explosive shipment to the post office, I discovered outside my front door...
a new roll of yellow bags.
If you want to use irony, it would certainly be the most romantic place. The place where time seems to stand still.
So I sat patiently for 40 minutes on the wooden folding seat attached to the wall, muttering to myself in a continuous loop "don't forget the yellow bags, don't forget the yellow bags...". German citizens must follow the rules of meticulous waste separation. If they don't, they are left with their plastic waste. So it's better to sit on the official folding seat and dutifully ask for garbage bags, which are handed out by the staff. But only one roll per person, of course. After all, the city has to save money.
Very romantic, I know.
I counted the slats in the neon tubes above me for the 18th time. 315 to the end of the corridor. Or was it 314 this time? How had the missing slat managed to sneak away so unnoticed?
A shuffling officer with a coffee cup in her hand caught my attention. Seizing the opportunity, I asked when I could finally apply for my passport and get yellow bags.
Not here at all, I was told. I wondered if I hadn't read the information on the second floor, around the corner to the right. Because at least it was still there yesterday lunchtime. No, of course I hadn't. Where in God's name would I get help now, I wanted to know. It was like pulling worms out of my nose. I resisted the impulse to shake the lady.
From pillar to post via the freight elevator, past the cashier three times to the locked file room... Now I'd had enough. I burst into the next office and voiced my frustration and then my concerns again. Yes, I admit it was a bit of a rant. The official with the most accurate side parting I've ever seen was so startled that his square glasses slipped off his nose and got caught with one temple in the cord of his pullover. I didn't care about the stitch. I refused to provide information about my liability insurance and exactly 20 seconds later found myself in front of the iron gates of the authority accompanied by two auxiliary police officers with a house ban.
I thought it couldn't get any worse until I received a letter. Exactly. A love letter in the nicest official German from my sweater boyfriend. I told you, romantic place.
"Dear Mrs. Chouchou,
with reference to yesterday's meeting outside of an appointment, I am enclosing the ban on entering the house that I have already conveyed to you verbally in written form
The following reasons led to the refusal of further access to the municipal properties by your person:
1. As part of your inappropriate speech, the usability of the decibel meter was completely removed. This was a disturbance of the official premises and thus an irritation of public order. With the removal of your person from the above-mentioned property, at least the acoustic disturbance could be eliminated and official peace restored.
2. By activating the smoke detector while you were present, public safety was directly endangered. This is almost certainly due to the effect of your scented product. The contaminated air contained containers of floral ornamental plants such as orange blossom, rose, jasmine and tuberose.
in the foyer of the main entrance to the property, explicit reference is made to refraining from consuming food and drink. Nevertheless, I take the liberty of accusing you of having consumed citrus fruits, cinnamon and chocolates on the premises of my place of work, as the odors had a lasting effect over an indefinite period of time, but at least 3 hours. The ability to concentrate was considerably impaired for this period and public traffic came to a standstill. according to witnesses, you caused a shock situation to the detriment of a member of staff, so that the ground floor corridor was contaminated by stains from a hot drink containing caffeine. You will be charged with paying the cleaning bill.
The display of the pumps of an erotic nature constitutes a public nuisance. in addition, a further danger could not be ruled out due to your choice of footwear. The pointed heels are dangerous tools,
which, through the visual stimulus alone, threaten serious harm and can cause damage to physical integrity if used improperly. Without an official permit, this constitutes a violation of the applicable weapons legislation.for the reasons stated above, you are requested to hand in your weapons by the end of the 23rd calendar week."
I paused. What do they want from me?
So the side parting felt distracted by my scent. Too sexy for your romance with the authorities? Baby, you're about to get a full dose of concentration impairment. Put your pen aside for a week, I thought, and sprayed the envelope full of the most delicious coffee, vanilla and floral notes before grinning and enclosing the culprit, my Good Girl Waffen high heels for the return shipment. So now I'll just walk around in Adilettes. After all, sex appeal doesn't depend on the shape of the shoe. You just have to feel it. So be it.
Let someone say I'm not a good girl! At least I met the deadline.
When I wanted to take the explosive shipment to the post office, I discovered outside my front door...
a new roll of yellow bags.
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When Coco invites you to her party..
I was listlessly leafing through the magazines in the dentist's waiting room until my eyes fell on the following advertisement:
"Are you ready for a vacation? Embark on a journey that appeals to all your senses and turns summer into an experience.
All you need is a bikini or swimming trunks. Discover the previously undiscovered dream beach of a very special bay in Malibú.
Would you like a surprise?
The path leads over a glistening sandy beach until you stand in front of a rustling curtain of Nimm2 sweets. You can certainly snack on them and take a supply with you. Close your eyes for a moment. Do you have positive childhood memories?
The hostess Coco will welcome you in a raffia skirt and give you a flower necklace with the most beautiful lime blossoms as a welcome gift. Take a whiff!
Let the gentle sounds of the South Seas accompany you into the hammock with the ukulele.
The palm-fringed private beach invites you to linger.
The coconut sugar scrub supports your natural tan. Sun protection is not necessary here, because after the peeling you can immerse yourself in the fountain with a crackling effect. Sparkling lemonade that not only cares for your skin on the outside, but also quenches your thirst on the inside.
How did you like the sweets? That was just a taste.
Now it's time for the main course.
When the sun sinks into the sea and bathes the bay in an atmospheric pink veil, the Raffaello party begins. Colorful lights, paper lanterns and jazz trumpets invite you to dance. Coco and her crew transform the bar into a Pina Colada stage. Enjoy the sweet creamy drinks from the rum barrel, toast to the fireworks and let the rising sun kiss you to sleep. The white massage loungers with privacy screens made of delicate cloths are already waiting for you on the beach.
You don't need to worry about payment. We do not send invoices and you can leave your credit card at home. We prefer barter goods. Simply pay with the most beautiful shells that you have previously collected on the powdered sugar sand beach. These will later be returned to their place of origin as part of our sustainability policy.
If you are not able to enjoy the scent of this trip for very long due to a very thirsty skin, we would be delighted to welcome you as a regular guest to refresh your paradisiacal memories.
What are you waiting for?"
Yes, exactly what was I waiting for?
I jumped up and left the waiting room. Off to a dreamy Nimm2CocoBrause vacation! Because there doesn't seem to be any tooth decay there either.
Spoiler: I'll leave a review in the tour operator later: "Not too much of a promise! Stayed there forever."
"Are you ready for a vacation? Embark on a journey that appeals to all your senses and turns summer into an experience.
All you need is a bikini or swimming trunks. Discover the previously undiscovered dream beach of a very special bay in Malibú.
Would you like a surprise?
The path leads over a glistening sandy beach until you stand in front of a rustling curtain of Nimm2 sweets. You can certainly snack on them and take a supply with you. Close your eyes for a moment. Do you have positive childhood memories?
The hostess Coco will welcome you in a raffia skirt and give you a flower necklace with the most beautiful lime blossoms as a welcome gift. Take a whiff!
Let the gentle sounds of the South Seas accompany you into the hammock with the ukulele.
The palm-fringed private beach invites you to linger.
The coconut sugar scrub supports your natural tan. Sun protection is not necessary here, because after the peeling you can immerse yourself in the fountain with a crackling effect. Sparkling lemonade that not only cares for your skin on the outside, but also quenches your thirst on the inside.
How did you like the sweets? That was just a taste.
Now it's time for the main course.
When the sun sinks into the sea and bathes the bay in an atmospheric pink veil, the Raffaello party begins. Colorful lights, paper lanterns and jazz trumpets invite you to dance. Coco and her crew transform the bar into a Pina Colada stage. Enjoy the sweet creamy drinks from the rum barrel, toast to the fireworks and let the rising sun kiss you to sleep. The white massage loungers with privacy screens made of delicate cloths are already waiting for you on the beach.
You don't need to worry about payment. We do not send invoices and you can leave your credit card at home. We prefer barter goods. Simply pay with the most beautiful shells that you have previously collected on the powdered sugar sand beach. These will later be returned to their place of origin as part of our sustainability policy.
If you are not able to enjoy the scent of this trip for very long due to a very thirsty skin, we would be delighted to welcome you as a regular guest to refresh your paradisiacal memories.
What are you waiting for?"
Yes, exactly what was I waiting for?
I jumped up and left the waiting room. Off to a dreamy Nimm2CocoBrause vacation! Because there doesn't seem to be any tooth decay there either.
Spoiler: I'll leave a review in the tour operator later: "Not too much of a promise! Stayed there forever."
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The failed love song
Christian had fallen in love. Really in love at the age of 18. His thoughts revolved around his beloved all day long. How much he wanted to confess his love to her. And he thought what could be better than a song of his own for the lady of his heart. He was still completely inexperienced in this area. But after all, there is always a first time. Elvis had also started from scratch and became world famous with Love me tender. What is not, can still be. So he confidently filled the first lines:
"Oh you enchanting one, what a divine stature,
how beautiful are your... hmm ... your... ahem teeth.
Your hair shines through the sun so ... so golden"
Phew! What rhymes with the stupid golden now? Yeah, nothing. And before the song with misjudged hit potential knew it, it was crumpled under the chair. New attempt.
"Dearest of hearts, I wish you were mine forever
When others look at you, I think it's very mean"
Nah, that sounded too jealous. What girl wouldn't get scared and run away before it had even really started? The grammar thing was also more difficult than expected. Thanks to the endorphins, he was still in a good mood.
New leaf, next attempt.
"I've never felt anything like this under my nose
Like your arm when your skin scent spills over."
Like your arm? What about her neck and back? There's skin there too, after all. It also sounds like she's a waterbed or has bad armpit sweat. He really didn't mean to imply that. Christian groaned. How could he possibly put his feelings into adequate words? This woman, or rather his idea, was giving him a headache. He needed an outlet to communicate. How difficult could it be to put his feelings into poetic words?
As he crossed out the lines to save his last sheet of dog-eared paper for the world song, he realized that he was also missing a melody.
He could sing his lyrics to a well-known song. That would be ok to start with. "I will always love you" by Whitney or "Without you" by Mariah came to mind. They managed that too. He tried to hum the melodies.
Ok, it didn't work, it didn't work at all, so to speak. The notes are just too high. He wasn't born with a singing voice either. Frustrated, he rested his head on his folded arms on the table. Maybe the song with the onion kebab on his skull after all...
"Christian, you're already here!" a sweet voice snapped him out of his musings. He jumped up. She had come to the café much earlier than he had arranged. The sight of her left him speechless. Beautiful was no longer an expression. The butterflies in his stomach were now going berserk. Maybe it was the lactose intolerance after the third cappuccino. Who knew for sure.
When she asked him what he was writing, it made his face flush. A love song. But it had failed. Her eyes wandered to the balls of paper under his chair.
"Well then, just say it with your words." She looked at him with a smile, as if she were looking into his naked soul. This suddenly released his inner valve and it gushed out of him like a waterfall:
"Jil, you come in here and you flood the whole room with the warmth of your sunbeams. Even a block of ice couldn't withstand you. Your bright blue eyes reflect the Caribbean Sea and I sink into it. I want to cry with bliss. And how beautiful your hair is, like soft shimmering threads of the purest gold. It could only have been an angel who brushed your freckles onto your delicate face on God's behalf. They sit perfectly, not one is crooked. The sweet scent of your skin... ehm... is currently blocking my speech center I notice... "
Christoph swallowed hard until he caught himself again.
"Your skin is so soft and warm, it smells like the most beautiful sun cream. You leave traces in my heart like footprints on a white sandy beach. Ylang ylang, heliotrope and sweet fruits are your companions, they are always welcome. The orange blossom dress suits your tanned complexion like no other. I want to drink vanilla shakes with you in a musky bath until sunrise. It is as if you are caressing my soul, which surrenders to you with hope, knowing that I am safe with you. You are the infinity of summer, I want to dance with you forever."
Jil's eyes filled with tears. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever heard. She threw her arms around his neck and together they danced in love to the song "You are my sunshine". The room was filled with the most wonderful scent of sun care.
Christoph had learned today that sometimes you need a muse to express your words. How good that it was Jil Sander Sun. From now on, nothing should stand in the way of a successful career as a songwriter.
"Oh you enchanting one, what a divine stature,
how beautiful are your... hmm ... your... ahem teeth.
Your hair shines through the sun so ... so golden"
Phew! What rhymes with the stupid golden now? Yeah, nothing. And before the song with misjudged hit potential knew it, it was crumpled under the chair. New attempt.
"Dearest of hearts, I wish you were mine forever
When others look at you, I think it's very mean"
Nah, that sounded too jealous. What girl wouldn't get scared and run away before it had even really started? The grammar thing was also more difficult than expected. Thanks to the endorphins, he was still in a good mood.
New leaf, next attempt.
"I've never felt anything like this under my nose
Like your arm when your skin scent spills over."
Like your arm? What about her neck and back? There's skin there too, after all. It also sounds like she's a waterbed or has bad armpit sweat. He really didn't mean to imply that. Christian groaned. How could he possibly put his feelings into adequate words? This woman, or rather his idea, was giving him a headache. He needed an outlet to communicate. How difficult could it be to put his feelings into poetic words?
As he crossed out the lines to save his last sheet of dog-eared paper for the world song, he realized that he was also missing a melody.
He could sing his lyrics to a well-known song. That would be ok to start with. "I will always love you" by Whitney or "Without you" by Mariah came to mind. They managed that too. He tried to hum the melodies.
Ok, it didn't work, it didn't work at all, so to speak. The notes are just too high. He wasn't born with a singing voice either. Frustrated, he rested his head on his folded arms on the table. Maybe the song with the onion kebab on his skull after all...
"Christian, you're already here!" a sweet voice snapped him out of his musings. He jumped up. She had come to the café much earlier than he had arranged. The sight of her left him speechless. Beautiful was no longer an expression. The butterflies in his stomach were now going berserk. Maybe it was the lactose intolerance after the third cappuccino. Who knew for sure.
When she asked him what he was writing, it made his face flush. A love song. But it had failed. Her eyes wandered to the balls of paper under his chair.
"Well then, just say it with your words." She looked at him with a smile, as if she were looking into his naked soul. This suddenly released his inner valve and it gushed out of him like a waterfall:
"Jil, you come in here and you flood the whole room with the warmth of your sunbeams. Even a block of ice couldn't withstand you. Your bright blue eyes reflect the Caribbean Sea and I sink into it. I want to cry with bliss. And how beautiful your hair is, like soft shimmering threads of the purest gold. It could only have been an angel who brushed your freckles onto your delicate face on God's behalf. They sit perfectly, not one is crooked. The sweet scent of your skin... ehm... is currently blocking my speech center I notice... "
Christoph swallowed hard until he caught himself again.
"Your skin is so soft and warm, it smells like the most beautiful sun cream. You leave traces in my heart like footprints on a white sandy beach. Ylang ylang, heliotrope and sweet fruits are your companions, they are always welcome. The orange blossom dress suits your tanned complexion like no other. I want to drink vanilla shakes with you in a musky bath until sunrise. It is as if you are caressing my soul, which surrenders to you with hope, knowing that I am safe with you. You are the infinity of summer, I want to dance with you forever."
Jil's eyes filled with tears. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever heard. She threw her arms around his neck and together they danced in love to the song "You are my sunshine". The room was filled with the most wonderful scent of sun care.
Christoph had learned today that sometimes you need a muse to express your words. How good that it was Jil Sander Sun. From now on, nothing should stand in the way of a successful career as a songwriter.
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The group therapy
Circle of chairs. They all sat dutifully in their seats and looked expectantly at the therapist to see who she would throw the colorful ball to at the start of the lesson.
The choice fell on Ms. Good Girl. She was allowed to open the well-being session.
"Oh" she sighed, "I have deformed feet from the high heels and would love to wear sports shoes. But it hurts so much... boooo everyone thinks I come from an establishment."
"But your shoes are beautiful," she was comforted by those present.
However, she could not complain about her popularity. She also received a lot of support from her flat-shod friends. She was also a really good girl.
Baaaaaam!
The door opened with a thunderous crash, the shock went through the bones of those present.
"Mr. Spicebomb, you really are acting a bit extreme today! You burst in here like a hand grenade!" admonished the surprised therapist, her eyes wide open.
"Sorry. It's the ADHD... I forgot my Ritalin. But that doesn't matter. It'll be all the spicier today!" he grinned and winked at the group.
He clattered over to a chair, which creaked under his swinging weight. The group laughed. Week after week, he grew on them. They could always rely on his entertainment value.
Mrs. Perles de Lalique in the white dress was the next to catch the ball. "I'm here because everyone says I'm as cold as an ice cube. I only have a few contacts and sometimes I'm so lonely." A small tear ran down her cheek and turned into an ice crystal. Even though the French accent seemed very sympathetic, there was no mistaking that the two people sitting next to her were shivering and trying to keep their distance. "Hey, your crystal sparkles so beautifully," a female voice called out encouragingly from a safe distance. Mrs. Perles de Lalique smiled gratefully and raised her sniff. "Merci beaucoup ma Cherié."
She asked Mrs. Wish to pass the tissues from the center.
But she groaned. "Why does everyone think I'm her wish granter! Am I Santa Claus...?" This also revealed her problem. It was as if it was literally written on her forehead.
None of those present dared to go into the problem any further, however, as a feeling of being caught out spread.
The next gentleman, who certainly had feminine features, was fumbling around. He didn't quite want to come out with it, he seemed embarrassed. He was suffering from an inferiority complex. His best friends Dior and Luna Rossa Black had always been successful with the female sex. He, on the other hand, lived on the Virgin Island and had never had a girlfriend.
"Sorry dear Mr. Creed, if you're surfing and sipping pina coladas all year round, don't be surprised. You'll just have to change your priorities or move away from your virgin island." said the snappiest participant, Ms. Lacoste. "And have you ever thought that it might be because of your Hawaiian shirt?" she couldn't help but add. Just like a crocodile with sharp teeth.
But the eyes of one person present shone particularly brightly: Ms. Scandal felt able to offer her willingness to help quite selflessly and exposed her right leg conspicuously lasciviously in the direction of the sun-tanned Mr. Creed.
"Pffff! The depraved one just wants to butter him up," whispered Mrs. Lacoste to her neighbor, whose wound was the eternal friend zone. "And why is she here?" asked her neighbor Alien, who thought she was an alien.
"I wonder what! You see - she's addicted to erotic adventures."
The therapist cleared her throat loudly with the intention of creating calm.
The androgynous Molecule 01 thinks she is invisible. "So I see you," said Good Girl. "I see you too," confirmed another participant.
The gentleman with the Hawaiian shirt tried to look around the room as inconspicuously as possible, while others preferred to look at the carpet. Sometimes, there are just too many fat balls in the setting.
"Huh?! Who?! How?! What?!"
Once again, Mr. Spicebomb was oblivious.
The door opened. Everyone raised their heads to see who the newcomer was. A dazzling personality came in and filled the room with her entire presence and sillage. Astonishment. What an apparition.
Mrs. Alien narrowed her eyes. Somehow she looked familiar.
"Take a seat, please introduce yourself and why you are here today." the therapist invited her to a free chair with a friendly gesture.
"My name is Bacc... Baccara..." the tear-choked voice faltered. The poor girl seemed to be visibly suffering.
Her beauty was breathtaking and the participants could not imagine for the life of them that this gem could have any problems. She somehow didn't fit into this group at all. She was definitely a very wealthy private patient by all outward appearances.
"Dear Baccarat... and what next? Please continue," the therapist smiled encouragingly.
"Rouge. Baccarat rouge. I've been sad for a long time. But for about two years now, really. Everyone copies me..."
"Huh? You think you're special too! Who's supposed to have copied you?" asked the jealous woman Hypnotic Poison, whose specialty was spraying poison at the most inopportune moments.
Baccarat Rouge ignored the rude remark. "Oh there are many! Zara who makes a red temptation, certainly hundreds from the Orient and the lady on the cloud - I can't remember her name. I had an instant crush on one of them, he was really cute. But once again it was a copy. And I could go on like this for hours." She hung her head. Tears ran silently down her beautiful cheeks. Everyone stared at her, spellbound.
Now it dawned on Mrs. Alien, she must have encountered quite a few copies on the streets in the last few weeks.
"Yes, but what exactly is making you so sad?" a curious woman wanted to know.
"I have the feeling that my delicacy is not appreciated. The copies are often so bunglingly crude and that hurts my sensitive spirit. All I was meant to do was bring beauty into the world and enchant people. But I keep hearing complaints from all corners about the pungent medicinal saffron smell from the countless imitations. And it always comes back to me. It's not my fault at all."
The participants were overcome with compassion.
Most of them had already experienced the problem of being copied. Which in some cases was taken as a compliment. But here it seemed to take on truly unbelievable proportions. Because she was threatened with a real loss of identity.
Her own psychoses and compulsions seemed to be forgotten at that moment. Together, the patients tried to rebuild. Baccarat Rouge is and remains the original. The blending of the saffron note with jasmine, ambergris and cedarwood with the finest sweetness is pure perfection and so extraordinary that it is almost impossible to describe.
The fate of this beauty miraculously united them all.
Mr. Spicebomb couldn't sit still any longer and burst with joy: "Let's all go to Replica's Jazz Club together and celebrate our uniqueness!"
Note: The genders of the characters were determined for entertainment value only.
The choice fell on Ms. Good Girl. She was allowed to open the well-being session.
"Oh" she sighed, "I have deformed feet from the high heels and would love to wear sports shoes. But it hurts so much... boooo everyone thinks I come from an establishment."
"But your shoes are beautiful," she was comforted by those present.
However, she could not complain about her popularity. She also received a lot of support from her flat-shod friends. She was also a really good girl.
Baaaaaam!
The door opened with a thunderous crash, the shock went through the bones of those present.
"Mr. Spicebomb, you really are acting a bit extreme today! You burst in here like a hand grenade!" admonished the surprised therapist, her eyes wide open.
"Sorry. It's the ADHD... I forgot my Ritalin. But that doesn't matter. It'll be all the spicier today!" he grinned and winked at the group.
He clattered over to a chair, which creaked under his swinging weight. The group laughed. Week after week, he grew on them. They could always rely on his entertainment value.
Mrs. Perles de Lalique in the white dress was the next to catch the ball. "I'm here because everyone says I'm as cold as an ice cube. I only have a few contacts and sometimes I'm so lonely." A small tear ran down her cheek and turned into an ice crystal. Even though the French accent seemed very sympathetic, there was no mistaking that the two people sitting next to her were shivering and trying to keep their distance. "Hey, your crystal sparkles so beautifully," a female voice called out encouragingly from a safe distance. Mrs. Perles de Lalique smiled gratefully and raised her sniff. "Merci beaucoup ma Cherié."
She asked Mrs. Wish to pass the tissues from the center.
But she groaned. "Why does everyone think I'm her wish granter! Am I Santa Claus...?" This also revealed her problem. It was as if it was literally written on her forehead.
None of those present dared to go into the problem any further, however, as a feeling of being caught out spread.
The next gentleman, who certainly had feminine features, was fumbling around. He didn't quite want to come out with it, he seemed embarrassed. He was suffering from an inferiority complex. His best friends Dior and Luna Rossa Black had always been successful with the female sex. He, on the other hand, lived on the Virgin Island and had never had a girlfriend.
"Sorry dear Mr. Creed, if you're surfing and sipping pina coladas all year round, don't be surprised. You'll just have to change your priorities or move away from your virgin island." said the snappiest participant, Ms. Lacoste. "And have you ever thought that it might be because of your Hawaiian shirt?" she couldn't help but add. Just like a crocodile with sharp teeth.
But the eyes of one person present shone particularly brightly: Ms. Scandal felt able to offer her willingness to help quite selflessly and exposed her right leg conspicuously lasciviously in the direction of the sun-tanned Mr. Creed.
"Pffff! The depraved one just wants to butter him up," whispered Mrs. Lacoste to her neighbor, whose wound was the eternal friend zone. "And why is she here?" asked her neighbor Alien, who thought she was an alien.
"I wonder what! You see - she's addicted to erotic adventures."
The therapist cleared her throat loudly with the intention of creating calm.
The androgynous Molecule 01 thinks she is invisible. "So I see you," said Good Girl. "I see you too," confirmed another participant.
The gentleman with the Hawaiian shirt tried to look around the room as inconspicuously as possible, while others preferred to look at the carpet. Sometimes, there are just too many fat balls in the setting.
"Huh?! Who?! How?! What?!"
Once again, Mr. Spicebomb was oblivious.
The door opened. Everyone raised their heads to see who the newcomer was. A dazzling personality came in and filled the room with her entire presence and sillage. Astonishment. What an apparition.
Mrs. Alien narrowed her eyes. Somehow she looked familiar.
"Take a seat, please introduce yourself and why you are here today." the therapist invited her to a free chair with a friendly gesture.
"My name is Bacc... Baccara..." the tear-choked voice faltered. The poor girl seemed to be visibly suffering.
Her beauty was breathtaking and the participants could not imagine for the life of them that this gem could have any problems. She somehow didn't fit into this group at all. She was definitely a very wealthy private patient by all outward appearances.
"Dear Baccarat... and what next? Please continue," the therapist smiled encouragingly.
"Rouge. Baccarat rouge. I've been sad for a long time. But for about two years now, really. Everyone copies me..."
"Huh? You think you're special too! Who's supposed to have copied you?" asked the jealous woman Hypnotic Poison, whose specialty was spraying poison at the most inopportune moments.
Baccarat Rouge ignored the rude remark. "Oh there are many! Zara who makes a red temptation, certainly hundreds from the Orient and the lady on the cloud - I can't remember her name. I had an instant crush on one of them, he was really cute. But once again it was a copy. And I could go on like this for hours." She hung her head. Tears ran silently down her beautiful cheeks. Everyone stared at her, spellbound.
Now it dawned on Mrs. Alien, she must have encountered quite a few copies on the streets in the last few weeks.
"Yes, but what exactly is making you so sad?" a curious woman wanted to know.
"I have the feeling that my delicacy is not appreciated. The copies are often so bunglingly crude and that hurts my sensitive spirit. All I was meant to do was bring beauty into the world and enchant people. But I keep hearing complaints from all corners about the pungent medicinal saffron smell from the countless imitations. And it always comes back to me. It's not my fault at all."
The participants were overcome with compassion.
Most of them had already experienced the problem of being copied. Which in some cases was taken as a compliment. But here it seemed to take on truly unbelievable proportions. Because she was threatened with a real loss of identity.
Her own psychoses and compulsions seemed to be forgotten at that moment. Together, the patients tried to rebuild. Baccarat Rouge is and remains the original. The blending of the saffron note with jasmine, ambergris and cedarwood with the finest sweetness is pure perfection and so extraordinary that it is almost impossible to describe.
The fate of this beauty miraculously united them all.
Mr. Spicebomb couldn't sit still any longer and burst with joy: "Let's all go to Replica's Jazz Club together and celebrate our uniqueness!"
Note: The genders of the characters were determined for entertainment value only.
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How chickenpox brought success..
New York 1993.
"Crap! This can't be happening!" Calvin Klein threw his hands up in horror. The day after tomorrow, the campaign shoot for Obsession was supposed to take place. And now the agency informed him that his model was indisposed due to chicken pox.
"What am I going to do now...?" Fear sweat stepped on his forehead. Would everything fall into the water now?
The perfume had already appeared in 1985 and to continue to boost sales of his popular "Dufttwässerchen" he had come up with something very special. Although Wässerchen sounds almost like blasphemy at the oriental-spicy waterfall that pours over the wearer at a spray. A delightful rushing feast of herbs, flowers and slightly sweet spices led by bergamot. Woods and especially cinnamon lend the warming notes. In the vintage version of the time, kittens scampered across the parquet until new formulations came along and then the celebration was only half as long and half as loud. But even then, Obsession was still an explosive firework of the senses. Like liquid gold from a volcanic eruption. So far nothing comparable came under my nose. What a blast!
To present the crackling eroticism of the fragrance to the general public in a visual way, he had booked the racy actress Monica Bellucci as a model. It should have been so good. As a location for the advertising clip and subsequent photo shoot, he had chosen an old, smoky billiard bar in Havana, Cuba.
The script envisaged Monica suddenly rising from the dimly dark corner of a worn-out Chesterfield armchair and strolling wordlessly between all the billiard-playing men in slow motion. While doing so, she should be wearing a dark red dress tailored to her stunningly feminine curves. Her black curls and red lips should literally take the breath away from the gentlemen present. What a surprise effect. Then a deep cat look directly into the camera to capture the rest of the viewers in front of the screens. And that was it. The short sequence would literally hypnotize. According to his imagination, no other would have embodied this elixir as authentically as this goddess.
"Haven't you got a spare girl?"
Calvin was snapped out of his thoughts. Meryl, his loyal assistant in her 50s was always solution-oriented.
"Nah...I don't know...give Cindy Crawford a call."
"She doesn't have time, has to shoot in Hong Kong dingsbums," Maryl chewed gum in response.
"Whatchamacallit... ok. What about Penelopé Cruz? Or Salma Hayek?"
"Penelopé's agent turned me down, she's shooting a secret series. And Salma... ehm cough... I'm not really allowed to say... don't tell anyone. The had yesterday ne beauty surgery, so obenr..."
"Enough! I say the whole theater now off!"
Mario Sorrenti just came shuffling in. "You're looking for a new model, I hear? Boss, should I ask my girlfriend?"
"Your girlfriend?... is clear. A supermodel certainly..." Calvin was only listening in half an ear. Considering the fact that now the whole posse had to be cancelled, the male model was annoying him right now. What did he have for a clue of campaigns, he was with its 20 years nevertheless still green behind the ears and tried now and then to snap even someone.
With a dismissive hand gesture he instructed "There take the camera with you, do with it what you want. Photograph your girlfriend in the cottage. Get out of here now..."
Three days later when Calvin had already forgotten the conversation, the junior photographer presented his results.
"Eeeh... huh... Who is that...?" asked Calvin.
"Kate. My girlfriend."
"Hm. She sure doesn't fit my idea of a racy ...eh yeah..."
The hardworking staff nevertheless sat down at the photos and created a promotional clip from Mario's film sequences without further ado.
"Hobsseschn..."
breathed the "no makeup, way too skinny kid" into the camera, as Meryl called her in horror. "Calvin, where are her parents? Oops the child is naaackt and certainly hungry!"
When Kate, who had just come of age, walked into CK Studio and signed the contract, no one had any idea that these black-and-white film snippets would bring groundbreaking success to everyone involved.
Happy they sat two months later on the modern designer sofa, munched Maryls brought sandwiches to prevent the starvation she feared and rejoiced in the masterpiece that they had created together.
End of the (semi-)fictional story.
This fragrance has done it to me like no one before. I fell in love from the first second, since then it is my signature. I thank Kate, who embodies this fragrance so wonderfully and naturally with a certain sexiness. If Monica Bellucci had appeared on the promotional posters from my imagination, I probably wouldn't have felt worthy enough to wear the fragrance. Because my type is more comparable to freckled Kate. Not always, but every now and then, as a consumer, one is inclined to identify with the advertising person. Master Proper I leave out of it ;-)
Thank you Obsession for the fire of love. Forever you will be mine.
"Crap! This can't be happening!" Calvin Klein threw his hands up in horror. The day after tomorrow, the campaign shoot for Obsession was supposed to take place. And now the agency informed him that his model was indisposed due to chicken pox.
"What am I going to do now...?" Fear sweat stepped on his forehead. Would everything fall into the water now?
The perfume had already appeared in 1985 and to continue to boost sales of his popular "Dufttwässerchen" he had come up with something very special. Although Wässerchen sounds almost like blasphemy at the oriental-spicy waterfall that pours over the wearer at a spray. A delightful rushing feast of herbs, flowers and slightly sweet spices led by bergamot. Woods and especially cinnamon lend the warming notes. In the vintage version of the time, kittens scampered across the parquet until new formulations came along and then the celebration was only half as long and half as loud. But even then, Obsession was still an explosive firework of the senses. Like liquid gold from a volcanic eruption. So far nothing comparable came under my nose. What a blast!
To present the crackling eroticism of the fragrance to the general public in a visual way, he had booked the racy actress Monica Bellucci as a model. It should have been so good. As a location for the advertising clip and subsequent photo shoot, he had chosen an old, smoky billiard bar in Havana, Cuba.
The script envisaged Monica suddenly rising from the dimly dark corner of a worn-out Chesterfield armchair and strolling wordlessly between all the billiard-playing men in slow motion. While doing so, she should be wearing a dark red dress tailored to her stunningly feminine curves. Her black curls and red lips should literally take the breath away from the gentlemen present. What a surprise effect. Then a deep cat look directly into the camera to capture the rest of the viewers in front of the screens. And that was it. The short sequence would literally hypnotize. According to his imagination, no other would have embodied this elixir as authentically as this goddess.
"Haven't you got a spare girl?"
Calvin was snapped out of his thoughts. Meryl, his loyal assistant in her 50s was always solution-oriented.
"Nah...I don't know...give Cindy Crawford a call."
"She doesn't have time, has to shoot in Hong Kong dingsbums," Maryl chewed gum in response.
"Whatchamacallit... ok. What about Penelopé Cruz? Or Salma Hayek?"
"Penelopé's agent turned me down, she's shooting a secret series. And Salma... ehm cough... I'm not really allowed to say... don't tell anyone. The had yesterday ne beauty surgery, so obenr..."
"Enough! I say the whole theater now off!"
Mario Sorrenti just came shuffling in. "You're looking for a new model, I hear? Boss, should I ask my girlfriend?"
"Your girlfriend?... is clear. A supermodel certainly..." Calvin was only listening in half an ear. Considering the fact that now the whole posse had to be cancelled, the male model was annoying him right now. What did he have for a clue of campaigns, he was with its 20 years nevertheless still green behind the ears and tried now and then to snap even someone.
With a dismissive hand gesture he instructed "There take the camera with you, do with it what you want. Photograph your girlfriend in the cottage. Get out of here now..."
Three days later when Calvin had already forgotten the conversation, the junior photographer presented his results.
"Eeeh... huh... Who is that...?" asked Calvin.
"Kate. My girlfriend."
"Hm. She sure doesn't fit my idea of a racy ...eh yeah..."
The hardworking staff nevertheless sat down at the photos and created a promotional clip from Mario's film sequences without further ado.
"Hobsseschn..."
breathed the "no makeup, way too skinny kid" into the camera, as Meryl called her in horror. "Calvin, where are her parents? Oops the child is naaackt and certainly hungry!"
When Kate, who had just come of age, walked into CK Studio and signed the contract, no one had any idea that these black-and-white film snippets would bring groundbreaking success to everyone involved.
Happy they sat two months later on the modern designer sofa, munched Maryls brought sandwiches to prevent the starvation she feared and rejoiced in the masterpiece that they had created together.
End of the (semi-)fictional story.
This fragrance has done it to me like no one before. I fell in love from the first second, since then it is my signature. I thank Kate, who embodies this fragrance so wonderfully and naturally with a certain sexiness. If Monica Bellucci had appeared on the promotional posters from my imagination, I probably wouldn't have felt worthy enough to wear the fragrance. Because my type is more comparable to freckled Kate. Not always, but every now and then, as a consumer, one is inclined to identify with the advertising person. Master Proper I leave out of it ;-)
Thank you Obsession for the fire of love. Forever you will be mine.
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