SinLaurent

There are such people, and then there are "such" people.

It has happened not infrequently that I have left a lasting impression on those around me with my passions. It makes me all the more happy when I see them unleash these passions themselves, run to the nearest department store and get Oud Satin Mood Extrait de Parfum as their first "favorite". Okay, admittedly this surprised even me. But then, there are "such" people.

My dad is one of those.

He barely notices scents. You could almost say that most of the time he would not even notice that you spray water beads worth 19 euros per ml on his skin. On a longer visit times again at home I had of course my whole library with me. But nothing. No reaction. You know when you're almost hoping to get a compliment on your taste? Neither Portrait of a Lady, nor Oud Wood, nor my beloved Tobacco Oud could elicit a reaction. When I do ask, there's usually a shrug of the shoulders and an "okay" whose enthusiasm reaches even lower levels of intensity than I could describe here. However, one day. "What is that perfume?" Jerking to a halt, I turned around, taking a second to catch myself. Could it really be? Could the toughest judge, the most querulous in the fabric of scent enthusiasts take a liking to this perfume?

"I have never smelled such a fragrance. It's the best you've ever had."

Sustained.

Tears flow down the defense's eyes as the verdict opening follows. The scent is unique, very intense, somehow fruity but at the same time gentle. For the otherwise taciturn man.... A big statement. And although he didn't describe the fragrance as I did, I knew exactly what he meant.... Creamy, even melt-in-the-mouth almond mousse, whipped up and sliced vanilla beans baked in it. In the prelude, the slightly "pungent" currant bush, which I like extraordinarily. Watch out, sunshine, here I come! Le soleil c'est moi! And so we shine and shine and shine until the day separates us from the night and the twelve hours have passed. Tenderly the woods nestle against me and let their fragrance fade away, with the hope that tomorrow the sun may kiss my skin one more time.

I would actually share a little secret with you, a hypothesis as it were, about what makes this fragrance so special. But if I were to tell you this, your image would be completely shattered, and I actually really think I might be right. It took me almost 6 months to recognize this scent and the penny finally dropped.... But as I said, some things should not be brought to light....

I like opposites. And I like memories. Oud Wood has a permanent place in my heart that I will never give up. It may not be as good as it used to be, but as they say again, "you can't miss what you never had". Only dreaming would remain, but I'm already doing that. Yes, dream, dream and remember back.

I smell Oud Wood and feel like the substance is pulling me in. Through a tunnel through eternity, where I forget space and time and wake up in a parallel universe in a forest, leaning against a tree trunk on which I had fallen asleep. I decide to doze off for a few more seconds. Boom. Everyday life is calling. Tip tip tip, derivative acquisition of property, tip tip tip, valid causa, tip tip tip. Then suddenly, as if it had snuck up on me from behind, an air of pleasant warmth surrounds me. For a second I am back in the forest, letting my mind wander, still seeing the morning dew on the leaves, being there and breathing that familiar air. "Fellow student please!".... damn, what was the question?

It's starting to dawn as I tap out and I completely forget what I was supposed to be doing. I'm just a selectively disciplined person. I live for the moments, where rest and adventure unite in one. So I adjust my black mini-skirt as I pass by the church. It smells like sacred woods being burned, and I very briefly consider daring to make a quick detour. For God's (and the priest's) sake, I don't and keep walking.

Right now, I have no one by my side to share moments like this with. Sometimes I think about how I would take him by the hand, show him the starry sky and all the beautiful constellations. And we could talk together about everything, about our fears and our dreams, our plans and our weaknesses, because it will feel like the same eternity is echoing in two bodies. And we could be still together, together enjoying this balance of nature, this balance that we are also given by the woods of the earth. And I would look into his eyes and hope that he feels the same as I do. The peace and strength that familiar arms can give you.

But until then, I have the whole world. The whole world, and Oud Wood, who captivated me in my early 20s and has never let me down 3 years later after quite a few more experiences. Even though it might be more of a "men's perfume", or at least associated with it, I like that contrast. It is also just this dark undertone, the mystical, mysterious, the dark, which draws me so much under its spell

There are stories about some people remembering their past lives. I don't believe it. I know I don't. Whereas, know is a strong word, but I intend to know what I'm talking about when I talk about perfumes and my life.

First of all, you may not get along with this lady. I may look very different from her, but we are a spitting image on the inside. If you're planning on hitting the clubs with us and dancing the night away with "Alien" until 9am, then we're sorry to disappoint you. We're also not going to be the kind of women that guys talk about after the weekend about how the night was with us and how black opium felt on our skin. We're also not the kind of women who recklessly explore the world alone with a backpack and occasionally spray up the courage with "Black Afghano."

Why we're so boring?

Because we have seen all this before.

Portrait of a Lady can already count off all her fingers on one hand to show how many decades she has behind her. She wears her pearl necklace around her neck, inherited from her grandmother, and drinks the same black tea every morning at exactly 9 o'clock. With the same light pastry. One may hand her new confectionery, new delicacies from the world's best pastry shop, but she will refuse. Because she has already found what she likes (some call her "dull", "boring" and "stuffy" for this reason). For her birthday she gets her favorite roses from her husband, he can not make a mistake, because the lady has always had the same taste. Something about her seems as if she's been wintering together with her clothes in the closet and just crawled out five minutes ago. Still quickly patting herself over her clothes, something about it reminds me of chalk dust.... Yes, wet chalk.

She doesn't wear herself out or rage. She stays but does not force herself on, she leaves a trace but only certain she will be remembered. That one calls her prude, is equal to her. She has seen the world through different eyes, and this time she knows that she has no reason to hurry to discover herself. She is already at the end, even though it may only be the beginning.

Dostoevsky once said, "We are the slaves of that which does not make us happy."

Perhaps this is why I have developed such a love-hate relationship with this perfume. Maybe I just love this melancholy too much to ever let it go. To place myself in its arms, beautifully enveloped in its veil of incense, where it is so familiar. Familiar even though I had never heard of her before.

From the first meeting she made me breathe a sigh of relief, her presence through the pungent carnation was impossible to put down, and I was caught off guard by this figure I couldn't put into words. Was she tipsy? Or was I? I wanted to grab her, to look for the tangerines she was carrying (or was my mind just playing tricks on me?), but before I knew it-which could take longer in this state of delirium-suddenly there was silence. We had arrived. My heart beat slower and slower, as if it were becoming dull. As if I'd been laid on a bed of wet wood and never wanted to get up. It just fit so well. And the more time passed, the more I noticed what this world was made of: I let my hand slide through the oak moss. Loneliness. Monotony. Indifference. Peppercorns. A corrupt system. I'll never find a way out. What is life worth, what does this suffering mean? Ladanum. The sweetness of melancholy. We can't do better. I hate you. But I need you. And while I was escaping into my fantasies of Russian giants, of adulteresses and intrigue, of questions about the meaning and nonsense of this existence, I knew that at least she was with me. She wrapped herself around me, in her white musk dress, and whispered in my ear. I can't remember what it was. But the feeling... It remains.

I lower my gaze, feeling heavy. Heavy, but happy at the same time. The heaviness I loved and carried with me, that I wouldn't shed in a thousand years because it's just so familiar. Enveloped in that comfort, perhaps hoping someone will find me and save me, I move forward. But until that time comes, leave me here. I like this silence. Because it's only when everything is black that you recognize the colors of white