The perfume L'Air Barbès is a tribute to Paris, capital of mode. It evokes the different roles of Paris, such as the concrete alleys, the suburbs and the Barbès-Rochechouart district. Cold, light and fresh. The fragrance notes include fresh lemon, concrete and ink.
Johan Bergelin: ‘I was still a teenager when I discovered Helmut Newton's photograph that made YSL's Le Smoking legendary. The genderlessness made a big impression on me. With sober, monochrome simplicity, Newton created an icon that still influences me greatly. When creating L'Air Barbès, I was strongly inspired by the androgyny of the image.’
The Scent Journey of L'Air Barbès: The Professor
We are in a car driving through the rainy, dark streets of Paris. My new friend Jacques is on something he clearly wants more of, and he is on a mission. When I look in the rear-view mirror, he is combing his sweaty hair obsessively, paying particular attention to his sideburns. We're on our way to the Professor – the notorious dealer and God knows what else. I cling desperately to the car seat as he races through red lights. This wasn't what I had in mind when I accepted the invitation to dinner. The Professor's domicile is also known as a brothel, a run-down theatre in the ghettos somewhere west of Barbès – Rochechouart. I walk through the heavily guarded door at the end of the passageway. Dark red velvet covers the walls, it's hot and stuffy. The two drag queens Sushi and Missy are hosting the evening and dancing to Grace Jones' ‘La Vie En Rose’. Working girls sit on chaise longues dressed in corsets and high-heeled shoes, balancing glasses of Taittinger and cigarettes. The rooms are dimly lit and candles burn in the chandeliers. It's a quiet evening, but there are certainly still punters out and about. In a private room, I am introduced to a small man from Central Africa in full regalia. A silk robe with a paisley pattern, knee-high socks and tasselled loafers from Weston, genuine Iceberg Slim style. He is freshly groomed and exudes a musky scent. Now I have finally met the professor, king of the sapeurs. With the impeccable manners of a colonial dandy, he speaks English to me with a strong French accent. "How can I help you? Can I offer you something on the house?" In the dim light coming from a bare light bulb, it looks as if two sacks of flour have been emptied onto the round glass table. Two mountains of pure, white Colombian coke. His compadres weigh and divide their evening's supply, which should probably be distributed before dawn. The brothel is just too much for me. I look at the professor and say, ‘I think a trip to Les Bain Douche would be the right thing to do.’ The professor shrugs and grins. "Are you sure? We're in one of the most exciting areas of Paris. Aren't you interested in some of my L'Air Barbès?
