02/08/2019
Meggi
212 Reviews
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Meggi
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She's gonna turn around!
"Come back to the dark side, we have incense!" Hades shouted after her...
In contrast to the previous speaker I was able to sort in the name Persephone correctly. This may be due to the fact that I attended an old-language school, but it is mainly due to my appendix. When I was dawdling twelve or 13 years old, first with him and then without him in the hospital for a few days, my parents brought me plenty of reading material, including some: "Gods and Heroes of the Greeks." Greatly illustrated and, although the content remained close to the classical version, halfway flaked, also the second in the band at that time: to the Vikings.
I inhaled the two volumes, so to speak, and since then I have known that Persephone, the daughter of the fertility goddess Demeter, has to spend part of the year with Hades in Hades (not even Zeus has managed such a pars pro toto). Because mummy consumes herself with longing in these months, winter is on earth. It's simple. And logical. Much more catchy than the tangled stuff with the crooked ecliptic.
Rarely, always in the natural fragrance area, have I had a perfume in front of my nose, with which I could do so little with the information. This does not mean that (at least presumably) nothing can be smelled of it at all. In any case, disappointed expectations would not be objectionable anyway - if, in return, pleasant surprises were to be expected. Just stingy 'Persephone's Return' with the latter unfortunately...
From the front: I briefly smell watermelon from the tube as well as during and directly after application (see also statement by Bellemorte). On the skin, the scent is immediately more bitter, presumably contributed by the hyacinth. Pretty stinky, but that's how the early bloomers are. Hundred per it does not fit however, it breaks at the cleaning freshness of the bulb flower.
I think the lime tree fits, but it looks somehow concentrated, it completely lacks the upbeat, the summery here. The combination with the previous paragraph results in a diffuse, bitter-floral, cloudy sweetness that can hardly be considered pleasant.
I know poplar primarily from the annual pollen sourness, then there may be a similar smell in the air, I do not know it. It's just a speculation, I just go through it sometimes. The fact that I have not deleted the last two, actually useless sentences, should underpin my helplessness with this fragrance.
In the afternoon it is noticeable that the floral sweetness (lime tree) tries more penetration, but it is reliably kept in check and basically outstrips the whole day by the early flowering stink. I also think it is precisely this early-flowering attitude that creates the slightly watery impression that is sometimes mentioned. However, this is not refreshing, but Fluxit's "old flower water" actually fits better.
Nevertheless, I like the afternoon a little more than the morning. It becomes an idea "more perfumed" when the stink finally slackens a bit and the thing therefore - only therefore! - a little rounder.
And last but not least, the evening finally has a smeller in store. The fragrance is now almost animalistic in its thickened, sour, leathery florality. Mimosa, lime, everything fits, just like alienated. I feel reminded in style of the (of course much bigger!) 'Une Fleur de Cassie' by Frédéric Malle. By no means as a twin, only as a rough association.
Conclusion: The brew is as bumpy as my text and essentially suitable for friends of miserable florists. Persephone would immediately tip it back again, because at Hades there's definitely horny smoke...
I thank Fluxit for the sample.
In contrast to the previous speaker I was able to sort in the name Persephone correctly. This may be due to the fact that I attended an old-language school, but it is mainly due to my appendix. When I was dawdling twelve or 13 years old, first with him and then without him in the hospital for a few days, my parents brought me plenty of reading material, including some: "Gods and Heroes of the Greeks." Greatly illustrated and, although the content remained close to the classical version, halfway flaked, also the second in the band at that time: to the Vikings.
I inhaled the two volumes, so to speak, and since then I have known that Persephone, the daughter of the fertility goddess Demeter, has to spend part of the year with Hades in Hades (not even Zeus has managed such a pars pro toto). Because mummy consumes herself with longing in these months, winter is on earth. It's simple. And logical. Much more catchy than the tangled stuff with the crooked ecliptic.
Rarely, always in the natural fragrance area, have I had a perfume in front of my nose, with which I could do so little with the information. This does not mean that (at least presumably) nothing can be smelled of it at all. In any case, disappointed expectations would not be objectionable anyway - if, in return, pleasant surprises were to be expected. Just stingy 'Persephone's Return' with the latter unfortunately...
From the front: I briefly smell watermelon from the tube as well as during and directly after application (see also statement by Bellemorte). On the skin, the scent is immediately more bitter, presumably contributed by the hyacinth. Pretty stinky, but that's how the early bloomers are. Hundred per it does not fit however, it breaks at the cleaning freshness of the bulb flower.
I think the lime tree fits, but it looks somehow concentrated, it completely lacks the upbeat, the summery here. The combination with the previous paragraph results in a diffuse, bitter-floral, cloudy sweetness that can hardly be considered pleasant.
I know poplar primarily from the annual pollen sourness, then there may be a similar smell in the air, I do not know it. It's just a speculation, I just go through it sometimes. The fact that I have not deleted the last two, actually useless sentences, should underpin my helplessness with this fragrance.
In the afternoon it is noticeable that the floral sweetness (lime tree) tries more penetration, but it is reliably kept in check and basically outstrips the whole day by the early flowering stink. I also think it is precisely this early-flowering attitude that creates the slightly watery impression that is sometimes mentioned. However, this is not refreshing, but Fluxit's "old flower water" actually fits better.
Nevertheless, I like the afternoon a little more than the morning. It becomes an idea "more perfumed" when the stink finally slackens a bit and the thing therefore - only therefore! - a little rounder.
And last but not least, the evening finally has a smeller in store. The fragrance is now almost animalistic in its thickened, sour, leathery florality. Mimosa, lime, everything fits, just like alienated. I feel reminded in style of the (of course much bigger!) 'Une Fleur de Cassie' by Frédéric Malle. By no means as a twin, only as a rough association.
Conclusion: The brew is as bumpy as my text and essentially suitable for friends of miserable florists. Persephone would immediately tip it back again, because at Hades there's definitely horny smoke...
I thank Fluxit for the sample.
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