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01/03/2024
loewenherz
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loewenherz
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A false friend
Here we have a false friend. In linguistics, a false friend is a word of which the non-native speaker of that language is apparently certain of its meaning - after all, it is similar to an analogous word in his or her own language. For example, Germans may think that the English word 'pathetic' is the equivalent of 'pathetic'. In fact, however, it means 'pathetic'. Interlinguistics knows many such false friends in almost all languages, and time and again we fall for one or the other.
There are also such false friends in perfume - some quite accidentally and unsuspectingly, some deliberately - even if the analogy is perhaps a little off the mark. Tom Ford's Soleil Neige is such a candidate, because 'Soleil' (sun) and 'Neige' (snow), as well as the silver-white of its bottle, suggest a cool, luminous winter fragrance - like ethereal, white, dazzling sunlight pouring over freshly snow-covered fields. Nothing could be more misleading here, nothing could be more false - because Soleil Neige is neither cool, nor dazzling, let alone ethereally white.
Soleil Neige is a white bloomer - with everything there is to love and fear about it. The initial bergamot and the hint of animal and resin in its base are unable to disguise the fact that this fragrance is a creature of jasmine and orange blossom - sweet, dainty and, for those who don't like white bloomers (me!), downright shrill. There is no snow here, nothing silver, nothing ethereal, blindingly cool. This is not a badly made fragrance, but when something is promised that the product is unable to deliver, you are left with an unmasked false friend.
Conclusion: Soleil does not mean sun here, and Neige does not mean snow. Instead, it's a summery white bloomer - solidly crafted and without any big surprises, but with the famous Fordian dazzle, that excess of everything that you either love or you don't. And a real false friend. And a real false friend.
There are also such false friends in perfume - some quite accidentally and unsuspectingly, some deliberately - even if the analogy is perhaps a little off the mark. Tom Ford's Soleil Neige is such a candidate, because 'Soleil' (sun) and 'Neige' (snow), as well as the silver-white of its bottle, suggest a cool, luminous winter fragrance - like ethereal, white, dazzling sunlight pouring over freshly snow-covered fields. Nothing could be more misleading here, nothing could be more false - because Soleil Neige is neither cool, nor dazzling, let alone ethereally white.
Soleil Neige is a white bloomer - with everything there is to love and fear about it. The initial bergamot and the hint of animal and resin in its base are unable to disguise the fact that this fragrance is a creature of jasmine and orange blossom - sweet, dainty and, for those who don't like white bloomers (me!), downright shrill. There is no snow here, nothing silver, nothing ethereal, blindingly cool. This is not a badly made fragrance, but when something is promised that the product is unable to deliver, you are left with an unmasked false friend.
Conclusion: Soleil does not mean sun here, and Neige does not mean snow. Instead, it's a summery white bloomer - solidly crafted and without any big surprises, but with the famous Fordian dazzle, that excess of everything that you either love or you don't. And a real false friend. And a real false friend.
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