The thermometer shows 28 degrees for the first time this year, and that in the middle of April. As expected, everyone around me is freaking out and the midsummer programme is running as soon as they return from their skiing holiday, at full speed. SPF50 and spaghetti ice cream everywhere. Finally, wearers of shorts over milky rice coloured men's legs are no longer arrested and young and old are allowed to wear blackjacks with impunity and their own pedicure status regardless of their toe separator.
Even my children found last year's inflatable XXL paddling pool somewhere in the basement and placed it in a slightly reproachful casualness at the edge of the terrace. All right, for Christ's sake. I'm already in the game. Yeah! Summer! Gin & Tonic! Barbecue orgies! Yeah.
After what felt like years of the worst of all dull winters, I'm so soft as a nappy and in need of summer that, before the third barbecue this week, I'm going to visit my trusted perfumer by remote control. Finally, I'm still missing this one, which is somehow different from the others. It should be citric (total surprise), please no lime this time, but also woody (as always), something green-herbal (not new either), a little fruity (crazy), but not too sweet, a little tart, and not even remotely reminiscent of oakmoss, not in the front, not in the middle, not out the back. At least this is a little challenge
How very original. I was a hopeless victim of my own eternally recurring scent preferences. Anyway, so off to the realm of Hesperidia
As soon as I enter the store, I spray myself for the 200th time in the summer fragrance self-experiment Allure Homme Édition Blanche on my forearm, sometime it must work out with both of us, today would be a good day. A mainstreamer, what for every day, completely unagitated, does not hurt anyone, beautiful fragrance, solid and reliable heat resistant and immediately I hear myself murmuring "WC-freshener-lemon". Top notes can put a good scent to shame, and the white version of the male temptation doesn't make it over the target this time either. So in my desperation I start to look at the Tom Ford corner, the little bright blue things down there, it looks so Mediterranean summery, Amalfi coast, Capri fish, hach, lemon sorbet with grappa, yippee, there must be something useful this time?
Nothing. Too fruity, too one-dimensional, too synthetic, too angular, too blue, too extravagant, too pretentious, too expensive, too Tom Ford. So it won't work today, summer will pass me by without the grapefruit kissing me. And there is my salvation in front of me, a lovely young lady from the local staff, and I hear myself dazedly babbling something about "summer scent" and "thirty degrees" and "citric", determined not to be tempted towards a niche this time.
"Ohhhh, I would have some great things for her, but I see them rather over here with diiiiiiiies scents!", and before I can even protest for the sake of form, I am already standing in front of the well sorted niche corner again. Oh, great. Wondering what exactly it is about my appearance that tempts her to make this steep thesis, or whether she's only interested in selling the high-priced registers, the cunning beast, I play the game. Let's go, Frollein, we have nothing to lose here, the sun is burning, my brain is evaporating, the bratwurst is charring, show me
Summer scents come and go. Nothing knocks my socks off. A tragedy. I want to go back to 7 degrees Celsius and mizzle
And bang, all of a sudden I have a fruit juice splashing tangerine with leaves and stalks on my arm, fully ripe and half green at the same time, picked directly from the branch in full sunshine. Not a German Advent mandarin from the red net bag, but a Californian citrus fruit, which is much more fully grown and hangs rather orange-like on its tree and aaaah, how wonderful, this completely non-Christmas Pacific coastal freshness exudes. Now please don't be silly in the fragrance, I think, after such a stunning start. And God knows I won't be disappointed, and as if I'd guessed, a wonderful, gin-splashed, non-alcoholic juniper note is added, herbaceous with basil, you can see the leaves in this fantastically cool-fruity refreshing drink almost in front of you, as they glide past the ice cubes when you top up. Everything is very natural, delicate and flowing. And then, as if I had ordered it, a dry woodiness is added, hard to describe in its unsweetened tart sweetness. According to the fragrance pyramid, it's sandalwood (I smell it), star anise (nope), pepper (I mean pepper) and vetiver (thanks that vetiver has its place in this fragrance, but I don't notice any of it) that give the fragrance a firm and solid centre, which turns the fruity, tangy exuberance of the youthful citrus fruit into an adult affair. No sensation, nothing the world hasn't heard of yet, but a fruity, fine, noble, unagitated, well-tempered refreshment exactly to my taste and booty
I don't really need to pretend that the fragrance doesn't fit like a fist on the inner perfume eye, and of course a bottle of the delicacy will be placed in my pocket under the shining eyes of the successful young saleswoman
In the practical test the following day, the fragrance lasts a full 12 hours despite its superficial lightness, and even in the evening I still sniff a Californian citrus breeze under the warm dry woodiness. So the summer may go on like this.
It is a pity that the fragrance no longer finds fans here, but in my eyes it does not diminish its quality.
Oh, yeah. Before I forget: No oakmoss for miles around....