Top Notes 
Heart Notes 
Base Notes 
04/03/2024
HeavyAlice
5 Reviews
Translated
Show original
HeavyAlice
7
Her name is Emily
The very first time he sees her is at the party he throws every summer on his magnificent yacht. The sky is a steely blue and is hardly impressed by the tiny, wispy clouds. They are merely faint decorations that stand in the way of the perfection of a balmy summer's day, which is precisely what makes it so round, so exciting. Dozens of beautiful women cavort on the boat, which is moored directly on the beach; the air is filled with sparkling champagne, chilled raspberries and heavy, sultry perfume fragrances, which, just like the guests, try to outdo each other in their luxuriousness.
He laughs. He smiles. He shakes hands. He is the perfect host. He traipses in his white, expensive tennis shoes through sticky puddles of Chardonnay something, casually caressing sun-tanned, silky skin with his arms. Snow-white Hollywood smiles threaten to burn his eyes, high-pitched giggles tug at his eardrums and nerves, expectations constantly squeeze his strong shoulders. He pushes his way through the crowd in panic, towards the edge of the boat, wanting to escape the party-happy, ostentatious crowd that he has invited himself like the ghosts he never wanted to summon - and then it is suddenly quiet around him.
Because then he sees HER.
The opulent, pompous, ostentatious cloud of expensive women's fragrances recedes bitchily and clamorously before this delicate, innocent and yet remarkably assertive note of peony, which bathes his nose in a white swan's lake and whisks him away to a place that is so inviting, romantic and safe that he immediately feels secure.
She, - this is Emily.
Emily is standing on the sidelines, nervously holding a glass of champagne, not knowing what she is doing here among all the luxurious, well-heeled guests talking about horse betting and shares. She was dragged along by her friend, a self-declared fashionista, who immediately disappeared into the hustle and bustle and left her behind.
Emily is not rich; she works in a lingerie store and lives in a tiny house on the beach, which she inherited from her father. She wears her honey-blonde curls loose, caressing a round, naturally beautiful and friendly face, which smiles shyly at him when he dares to approach her. Fascinated, he notices how much more elegant and feminine she looks than the screaming, colorful, pompous ladies who usually fawn over him. The white, creamy satin summer dress plays around her tanned legs, the diamond studs in her ears match the glittering pendant on her necklace and those on her bracelet. The fact that they aren't real doesn't bother him at all. The black strappy sandals caress her well-groomed, delicate feet. She doesn't want to stand out, she doesn't have to. She is the dove among a thousand birds of prey, the Cinderella at the ball. A woman of restrained elegance, white, pure and yet cuddly.
He misses her. He misses her just by looking at her.
Before he can say anything, she reaches out her dainty, soft hand to him.
"Hello," she says. A soft yet clear voice, present yet reserved, accompanied by white, somewhat cone-like teeth which, despite her feminine presence, still hint at the cute girl from earlier days. "My name is Emily."
They cuddle in the beach house. Two empty plates with leftover wild salmon in tagliatelle on the small country house table in front of them. Her scent caresses him, bright and flattering; he sees glistening bright fields of flowers, smells cedar wood and roses, smells the down-to-earth and quiet awakening of spring and knows that he will never stop dreaming again. And so he lets her take him into eternity; into her own white blooming garden of peonies, freesias and roses, a bouquet that gives him the security he has been looking for for so long and which has now finally found a home.
This fragrance "Cute" is based on Chloe and I have to say that I like Chloe a little better, but that doesn't mean that this one is bad. I always try to see the "dupe" as a fragrance composition in its own right. For me, it's a fragrance like the Emily from my story; soft, pure, cool in its restrained elegance, a feminine fragrance, quite classic. A fragrance for women who, despite their important professions, whether they are teachers, sales clerks, cooks or nurses, are still one thing above all: Remarkable ladies.
He laughs. He smiles. He shakes hands. He is the perfect host. He traipses in his white, expensive tennis shoes through sticky puddles of Chardonnay something, casually caressing sun-tanned, silky skin with his arms. Snow-white Hollywood smiles threaten to burn his eyes, high-pitched giggles tug at his eardrums and nerves, expectations constantly squeeze his strong shoulders. He pushes his way through the crowd in panic, towards the edge of the boat, wanting to escape the party-happy, ostentatious crowd that he has invited himself like the ghosts he never wanted to summon - and then it is suddenly quiet around him.
Because then he sees HER.
The opulent, pompous, ostentatious cloud of expensive women's fragrances recedes bitchily and clamorously before this delicate, innocent and yet remarkably assertive note of peony, which bathes his nose in a white swan's lake and whisks him away to a place that is so inviting, romantic and safe that he immediately feels secure.
She, - this is Emily.
Emily is standing on the sidelines, nervously holding a glass of champagne, not knowing what she is doing here among all the luxurious, well-heeled guests talking about horse betting and shares. She was dragged along by her friend, a self-declared fashionista, who immediately disappeared into the hustle and bustle and left her behind.
Emily is not rich; she works in a lingerie store and lives in a tiny house on the beach, which she inherited from her father. She wears her honey-blonde curls loose, caressing a round, naturally beautiful and friendly face, which smiles shyly at him when he dares to approach her. Fascinated, he notices how much more elegant and feminine she looks than the screaming, colorful, pompous ladies who usually fawn over him. The white, creamy satin summer dress plays around her tanned legs, the diamond studs in her ears match the glittering pendant on her necklace and those on her bracelet. The fact that they aren't real doesn't bother him at all. The black strappy sandals caress her well-groomed, delicate feet. She doesn't want to stand out, she doesn't have to. She is the dove among a thousand birds of prey, the Cinderella at the ball. A woman of restrained elegance, white, pure and yet cuddly.
He misses her. He misses her just by looking at her.
Before he can say anything, she reaches out her dainty, soft hand to him.
"Hello," she says. A soft yet clear voice, present yet reserved, accompanied by white, somewhat cone-like teeth which, despite her feminine presence, still hint at the cute girl from earlier days. "My name is Emily."
They cuddle in the beach house. Two empty plates with leftover wild salmon in tagliatelle on the small country house table in front of them. Her scent caresses him, bright and flattering; he sees glistening bright fields of flowers, smells cedar wood and roses, smells the down-to-earth and quiet awakening of spring and knows that he will never stop dreaming again. And so he lets her take him into eternity; into her own white blooming garden of peonies, freesias and roses, a bouquet that gives him the security he has been looking for for so long and which has now finally found a home.
This fragrance "Cute" is based on Chloe and I have to say that I like Chloe a little better, but that doesn't mean that this one is bad. I always try to see the "dupe" as a fragrance composition in its own right. For me, it's a fragrance like the Emily from my story; soft, pure, cool in its restrained elegance, a feminine fragrance, quite classic. A fragrance for women who, despite their important professions, whether they are teachers, sales clerks, cooks or nurses, are still one thing above all: Remarkable ladies.
7 Comments
