About the FRAGRANCE
I was in my teens when I first discovered Helmut Newton’s picture that made YSL’s ‘Le Smoking’ iconic. The genderlessness really made a big impression on me. With stark monochrome simplicity, Newton created a piece of iconography I still find myself inspired by. In the making of L’air Barbès I was strongly influenced by the androgyny in this picture. L’air Barbès by 19-69 is evocative of Paris’ different personas such as the concrete alleyways, la banlieue and of course, the area Barbès – Rochechouart. The fragrance is also a tribute to Paris, capitale de la mode. Fragrance notes include Fresh Lemon, Concrete and Ink.
INGREDIENTS
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FRAGRANCE NOTES
- Fresh Lemon
- Bright, zesty, and juicy. Sharp citrus peel with a clean, sparkling freshness and a crisp, mouthwatering bite.
- Concrete
- Cool, dry, and mineral. Clean stone-like scent with a faint dusty, slightly metallic edge and a stark, urban freshness.
- Orris
- Powdery, soft, and elegant. Smooth iris root nuance with a cool, velvety floral dryness and a delicate woody touch.
- Ink
- Dark, sharp, and slightly metallic. Clean synthetic blackness with a dry, papery edge and a faint solvent-like bite.
- Leather
- Dry, warm, and slightly smoky. Smells like soft, worn leather with a subtle woody and resinous depth.
- Dry Woods
- Clean, woody, and slightly rough. Feels like sun-dried timber with a soft, airy, and neutral dry warmth.
Same scent, different ritual
THE PROFESSOR
The Fragrance Journey is based on the creator’s memoirs from Paris during the 1990s.
We’re in a car, racing through the rainy, dark streets of Paris. My new friend Jacques is tripping on something he clearly wants more of, and he is on a mission. Glancing into the rear-view mirror, he obsessively combs his hair, paying extra attention to his bushy sideburns. We are heading to The Professor — a notorious dealer and God knows what else. I’m desperately holding onto the car seat as he speeds through red traffic lights. This is not what I had in mind when accepting his invitation to dinner.
The Professor’s hideout is known as ‘The Funhouse’: a run-down theater in the badlands somewhere west of Barbès–Rochechouart. We enter through a heavily guarded door down an alleyway. Dark red velvet covers the walls; it is hot and sweaty inside. The two drag queens, Sushi and Missy, are hosting the evening, voguing to Grace Jones’ ‘La Vie En Rose’. Working girls are perched on chaise longues, dressed in corsets and heels while balancing glasses of Taittinger and cigarettes. The rooms are dimly lit, and candles burn in chandeliers. Apparently, this is a quiet night, but more johns are still expected to arrive.
In a private chambre, I am introduced to a short-statured man from Central Africa in full swag: a paisley-patterned silk robe, knee-high socks, and tassel loafers by Weston — true Iceberg Slim style. He is freshly groomed, oozing a musky fragrance. So, I’ve finally met The Professor, king of the Sapeurs. With the impeccable manners of a dandy, he speaks to me in English with a heavy French accent. “How may I help you? Can I offer you anything, on the house?” In the dim light provided by a single bare bulb, it looks as though two bags of flour have been emptied onto the round glass table. Two mountains of pure white Colombian coke. His compadres are cutting and dividing their evening loads, most likely to be distributed before dawn. ‘The Funhouse’ is just too much for me. I look at The Professor and utter, “I guess I could do with a ride to Les Bains Douches.” The Professor shrugs, then grins. “You sure? We are in the most vibrant area of Paris. Aren’t you interested in some of my L’air Barbès?”