Perfumes are a wonderful gimmick for me. They are not necessary for survival - but is there anything nicer than to think after getting up and taking a shower with a coffee in your hand, which fragrance day is today?
Those who use Profumum fragrances have a home advantage: no matter how they smell - they last and last and last. And they have such a strong silage that you know what you have invested your money in, because you really get something from these fragrances all day long. All the more consciously, however, profumum decisions have to be made: Here you have to be really sure that you like the scent, otherwise even a slight displeasure could lead to uncertainty about the daily work to be done, and then you would have paid dearly for this scent. Perfumes should give security, not make you feel insecure. I have a few Profumum fragrances: Dolce Acqua for winter, Sorriso and Dulcis in Fundo and Alba for autumn, Sabbia Bianca for summer and Confetto for spring. I loved Dolce Acqua right away, with the others I had to grow into it. I like Sorriso the best, with Alba and Sabbia Bianca I am not so sure anymore.
And Confetto? Confetto was completely unclear to me from the beginning. Of course - first of all it smells like Hypnotic Poison. I like that - but it costs much less. Confetto was the predecessor, I read here. And it is nicer, I agree. More balanced. More delicate. But I had to be a little more perceptive to make a decision: What's that smell? I admit, I don't know. I know aniseed cookies, of course, but I can't find them here. I also know almonds and I really do have a lot of almond scents. But I don't find almonds here either. Coconut? Coconut? Amber? Musk? I'm at a loss. You can see that when you classify: I can only admit, if anything, to the scent being kind of sweet. I don't think it's floral. And of course not earthy, resinous, green. But also not for a gourmand. When I wear confetto, it feels velvety, soft, sweet, sometimes I get a hint of a fruit that is not listed here. I'm always enchanted by the pink liquid in my bottle, it speaks of sweet, precious promises - but of what kind, I don't know.
My colleague, whom some people know from my Lalique Le Parfum commentary, thinks Confetto is much more elegant than Dolce Acqua. I can only agree with him: Dolce Acqua is a real gourmand, a butter vanilla scent (where the often praised marzipan is very limited). It smells like those little baking aroma bottles. Confetto is obviously not such a clearly identifiable gourmand and I can't think of any food I eat that smells similar to confetto. And if there was such a thing, I wouldn't eat it, arguing "it smells like perfume". So I'll be completely honest and admit: I have no idea what confetto smells like, and I take up the cudgels for all those who may be feeling the same way I do: Scented dummies, come to my confetto support group. We'll work this out. Or not.
Because I believe - and this was exactly the reason why I had my husband give me Confetto for Christmas - that it is exactly what I like about Confetto, so real, so absolutely honest: it is delicious, but it is a secret. A hidden treasure, of which I carry a touch every now and then, without trying to penetrate its secret. In "Narcissus and Goldmund", his pedagogical masterpiece, the revelation for every sixteen-year-old, Hermann Hesse has tried to put this feeling into words:
"Why were these things so beautiful, this golden glow under water, these shadows and premonitions, all these unreal and fairylike apparitions - why were they so unspeakably beautiful and delightful, since they were exactly the opposite of what an artist could make beautiful? For if the beauty of those unnameable things was without any form and consisted entirely of mystery, it was just the opposite with works of art, they were completely form, they spoke with perfect clarity. Nothing was inexorably clearer and more definite than the line of a head or mouth that was drawn or cut in wood.
One thing, however, became clear to him during this thought exercise, namely why so many flawless and well-made works of art did not please him at all, but were boring and almost hated despite a certain beauty. Workshops, churches and palaces were full of such fatal works of art; he himself had worked on some of them. They were so severely disappointing because they aroused the desire for the highest and yet did not fulfil it, because they lacked the main thing: the secret
This was what dream and highest work of art had in common: the secret."
This is exactly why I appreciate Confetto more than many of my other precious fragrances: it has a secret inside. This is what makes it a work of art for me.
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