Last but not least, inspired by the many scent descriptions worth reading here and knowing that this scent falls exactly into my hive scheme, I recently also bought Cašmir - especially since it is offered at a price at which one cannot say no, and I occasionally simply like to be surprised.
Now it is generally the case that I (Nick-nomen est omen) am completely at home in the land of the Orientals and Gourmands and surround myself with great pleasure with heavy calibres. Vanilla always works for me, fruity or floral, and I'm also very fond of woods and resins.
Curiously I spent the loot in the bathroom, grabbed, not without marvelling at its extraordinary sight, the pretty little boy from his red box and ventured in anticipation of an oriental-sweet scent explosion a careful sprayer on my wrist. Coconut, mango and peach... very cute? I couldn't believe my nose, but I couldn't see anything of it. Just nothing at all. Just a delicate, spicy, almost tangy vanilla scent. Maybe I just didn't get enough perfume on my wrist. So spray again. And again. And - again. With the same effect: no fruit. No coconut. No jasmine or lily of the valley either. Yes, I do notice the rose geranium, which I like to use in homemade cosmetics. And sandalwood (probably Amyris?), amber, musk. That too. I imagine I can smell a trace of rosewood, too, and something fresh and green flashes in the background like a hint of freshly cut grass. Vanilla, but not a sweet, light one, as one associates it with grannies delicious biscuits, but a dark, warm, very earthy vanilla. Quiet and spicy, that's how I would describe my impression.
That was really the opposite of what I had expected, but I was - and still am - taken with this fragrance. It is fascinating how differently people perceive such a composition; it is as if Cašmir was music, and I would not be able to perceive the higher frequencies; as if head notes and large parts of the heart note were simply unscented for me.
The most apt association I can find with Cašmir is the smell of a bathing jetty on a hot summer day, when you just get out of the water, lay on the warm wood and let it dry in the sun. That evening I went to bed with a hint of cašmir on my skin (which I always do with new scents) and looked for the hidden fruits and flowers while falling asleep. They had to be there somewhere, right in front of me! I didn't find it. But I dreamed of a day at the lake with its sweet, deep secrets...
The next day (a Saturday) I wanted to find out if I had become just nose-blind in the end (a horrible performance!), fogged me properly with Cašmir and held out my wrists to my husband who was waiting for me downstairs (we were just about to go shopping). As I am, as I have said, a fan of heavy fragrances, but in order not to disturb my environment, we have an agreement that he must warn me at all costs should I overdo it. I also like to play the "What am I wearing today?" game. He sniffed. "Hm" he did and buried his nose in my throat and in my hair. "Hmmm." He looked at me. "That's a trick question! You're not wearing anything today, right?" it came out triumphant. "But your new cream smells really nice. Do you make me one of those?"
Cašmir is not only so inconspicuous in my nose that one could safely go on a coffee ride with strict monastery sisters without even risking a raised eyebrow. But the big end, ladies and gentlemen, is yet to come. Cašmir is a real noble wood vanilla stealth bomber, with which you can get under the radar of any internal and external chaperones directly to this place of magic beyond the everyday life. Just let it work a little. My husband looked at me as if we had just met, buried his nose in my throat and hair again, the mild morning autumn sun was shining outside, and the Saturday shopping was waiting for us. But we, we were suddenly disinterested in shopping, autumn sun, apartment cleaning and Saturday business as usual, the door to everyday duties closed gently, and what remained were dark, earthy vanilla and fine woods and a rather unusual weekend.
By the way, we did all the shopping that day with barely any effort. A few days later I repeated the experiment (scientifically speaking, an experiment must be repeatable so that one can speak of a non-random result, hihi), and my respectful conclusion is: I will never wear Cašmir in the office - and certainly not if I ever take part in such a thing, on a coffee ride in a bus full of nuns. :)