What perfumers and perfumas in general have in common is a diffuse feeling of "I could use that" or at least "I could actually use that" or, very ascetically, "I wouldn't push it off the edge of the bed". A not inconsiderable amount of precious free time goes by for perfume enthusiasts with Parfumo, and there, in turn, many spend a not inconsiderable amount of that time buying and reselling and lucky swapping perfume. As long as one still has all the cups in the cupboard, one usually has the unpleasant awareness that one's own collection is quite large after all, the reassuring feeling that other people's are even worse (for this, of course, one looks very carefully at the comparative collections, because unfortunately there are always many sensible people who have eleven flacons less, which is very embarrassing for oneself), and the urgent need to at least keep an eye on the size of one's own collection. Still, there's no way you'd want to give up either trying fragrances or at least getting them in bottlings for that purpose. If you were to seriously consider this, you might as well unsubscribe from Parfumo - this hobby thrives on testing countless fragrances, and somehow you have to get your hands on the stuff. So, even if the exchange of 2 ml AFs is the first choice among experts, sometimes you have no choice but to buy. Not for nothing is perfume a luxury good and the problems one has with it are, much to the moral chagrin of most here, by definition only luxury problems.
This, in turn, is the reason for the lists I also very much favor: the lists for the four seasons (and the search for the perfume that combines the four seasons like a pizza ai quattro stagioni), for the different occasions, for the different scents. All of these forms of organization testify to the need to indulge in the illusion that one can artificially reduce a collection that has grown by always keeping in mind only a morsel, a forty-seventh of the actual total collection. The absolute front-runner is therefore the top ten of the individual perfume collection: you try to imagine what it would be like if you had to spend a summer in Newfoundland all alone with a few raspberries and blueberries. You get swept up in a vision of a harrowing house fire that only a few bottles would survive, or, better yet, you hallucinate a jealousy drama and hear the corrections officer whisper, "You're only allowed three fragrances in custody, decide quickly or that's it."
I know you know what I mean. The many different coping strategies of a very morally unpleasant feeling of excess speak volumes of this. Lying to yourself about lists never hurt anyone else. And mostly, a pleasant side effect, increase one's plan godchildren count at the end of a buying perfumo year. I could ramble on forever, but:
Shall I finally get to the subject of this comment? Yes, I shall. So:
IF I were only allowed to keep three fragrances in this lifetime. IF I had to choose. I know it for a fact: Khaltat Night would be there. I'd know I had it all in one scent: a top-notch gourmand. The best cherry in a fragrance in the world. An oriental that most others can't compete with. A feeling of velvety tenderness that few scents can match. And cinnamon in abundance. And complete freedom from any obtrusiveness, nothing distracting, nothing annoying. Not too much sweetness. Not too much spice. Not too much powder. Not too much nothing. I would have that one perfect scent and add to it something floral, fresh, because Khaltat Night doesn't offer that, and my signature scent. And I would be happy and satisfied forever. And if my bottle of Khaltat Night was empty, I would spare no effort to have it shipped to me again from the faraway Orient, because that way I would get a little adventure for free. Because the question of whether the order has arrived at Attar Collection is exciting in itself. It's even more exciting to see how and when it will get across the ocean. Khaltat Night is the egg-laying lizard among perfumes and yet so unmistakable. So soft, so balanced, so velvety. The development is fabulous: from the initial impression of a warm, full, sunlit cinnamon, which in no way comes across as spiky or spicy as it actually does everywhere else, a cherry slowly and deliberately peels out, as if you were trying to slowly strip the cinnamon all around from the cherry it was dusted on with a cake fork. The cherry is juicy, and it's velvety-marzipan, smooth, supple, and soft. It's always hard to deliver valid synaesthetic descriptions, but there's no other way to put it: Khaltat Night smells like a marzipan cherry made of purple velvet would feel. This wonderful impression of perfection then slowly fades over many hours into a warm, rich base, which in turn is a wonderful blend of earthy and vanilla and resinous tones. That Khaltat is really called "blends" amazes me. It's as prosaic as it is accurate. Most of all, it sounds like: 1001 Nights.