GETTONE - LIMITED EDITION 50ml

There was a time when, to reach someone, a voice had to pass through the weight of things. It had to enter a café, move past the coffee counter, past the Formica chairs worn smooth by countless backs and long afternoons, beyond the fogged glass display of pastries. Only then could you look to the back of the room for that iron telephone booth that seemed to have always been there, rooted in smoke and habit, with its heavy door and its small measure of privacy granted only to those who needed to speak away from others while still remaining in everyone’s sight. Making a phone call was a ritual in itself: you would find the telephone directory, large, thick, its pages thumbed through on the counter whenever the chain that held it could no longer do its job. Within those densely printed pages lived an entire city translated into paper, and finding a number already meant drawing closer to a person, stepping into their sphere. But you needed a telephone token—more than one, sometimes many; everything depended on the heart of the conversation. You would search for it in your pocket with a certain anxiety, turning it over between your fingers to feel its engraved edge, sensing the different temperature of that humble yet indispensable piece of metal compared with the other coins, each carrying the memory of countless hands. There was a deeply emotional tension in that gesture. Dropping the token with its three grooves into the slot meant purchasing a few precious minutes of a human voice.

GETTONE is that physical way of searching for someone. It is born from the memory of fingers that, upon leaving the telephone booth, still carried the smell of metal and cigarette smoke. It reaches for that precise place in memory where technology still had a scent.

A voice needed a door to close behind it, a special coin to sacrifice, a number to be searched for among the thin pages of a heavy book, in order to experience desire, guilt, loneliness, forgiveness, love.

Gettone is the anticipation before dialing a number while your heart beats faster.

It is a closed door behind which you find the courage to speak.

It is the memory of those fingers that, raised to the nose, smelled of metal and cigarette smoke.

It is the humble coin of distance that made us feel rich.

It is the memory of a world in which a voice still left its scent upon the skin.