The hippie movement and protest culture – just like John and Yoko's bed in Amsterdam and Montreal, and the Woodstock Music and Art Fair in 1969. Purple Haze creates the atmosphere of 1969. Profound, powerful, quirky and fascinating. The fragrance notes include a cannabis accord, violet leaves and patchouli.
Johan Bergelin: ‘The fragrance Purple Haze is about the legendary Keenak, whom I met in Bahama Village on Key West. A guitar on his back, snakeskin boots, tight jeans and long hair. A touch of Woodstock. A tribute to creativity, freedom and enjoyment.’
The fragrance journey of Purple Haze: Keenak and me
Key West is one of the most scented and inspiring places I know. It gives you strength and plays with all your senses and emotions. Waving palm trees, orchids, beautiful bougainvillea and located at the southernmost tip of the USA, only 90 miles from Cuba. The motto of this melting pot is ‘humanity is one family’.
This is also where the story of Keenak and me began. I had been to Key West a few times and got to know the locals. Just a few metres away from me, this eccentric character walked past my favourite café in Bahama Village. He had a guitar on his back, snakeskin boots, tight jeans and a black silk shirt open to his belly button. He was also wearing lots of necklaces, bracelets and a headband under his trademark hat with a black feather. Who was this man? Was he an old hippie, a Woodstock relic? Or maybe a rock star? I was fascinated and knew I wanted to meet him again. I asked around town and looked for clues. I was told that he was a street musician who lived on a boat. Others said he was a talented musician with a weakness for spirits and psychedelic substances who slept under a bridge. One day, I ran into him again. I was shopping for groceries at Fausto's with my three-year-old daughter when I saw him sitting on the pavement, playing his guitar. There he was, this mysterious man from another time and place.
We hit it off right away, and Keenak invited me to join him for a lubricated lunch the next day (or some uppers, if I preferred). His trailer park was located in the seedy badlands of Stock Island, a tiny plot behind Cow Key Channel. We talked about life, music and literature. About my European heritage and his life as a vagabond artist. I was fascinated by the peculiar scent that surrounded his home. I recognised patchouli, tobacco and woody scents mixed with leather and vanilla. When I mentioned it, he told me about a special patchouli oil he had been using since he was a young man in Vietnam. The women liked it, so why change a winning formula, he said and laughed. But he leaned over to me and whispered, ‘Man, if you want to know my real secret ingredient, it's weed. Purple Haze is the best, but it's damn hard to find these days.’
