Christacita

Our Christina Aguilera, then. I need to catch up a little. In 1999, the song "Genie in a bottle" entered the charts and reached number 1 shortly afterwards. This was Christina's international breakthrough and she conquered the world with her songs.

And then. Yes, then Christina underwent a transformation. Suddenly she was thrilling audiences with ballads that went straight through their bones and exposed a voice that resembled that of a goddess. Full, warm tones that gigantically pass through several octaves without falling out of balance even a tiny bit. Her appearance changed from girlie to full-blooded woman, which can be seen beautifully in the movie "Bourleque". Lots of curves and hot outfits give a glimpse into the depths of an abyssal ocean. Admittedly, the plot of the film of the same name is rather poor, but there is no denying that worshippers of beautiful women in sexy clothes would not be richly rewarded. Hand on heart. Something for the eye and the ear.

Indeed, this fragrance captures the sensual and erotic touch of the Bourlesque style. A heavenly opening of fresia and peach that briefly reminds me of Gucci Rush, but only very briefly. The fruit-floral opening and the woody-vanilla drydown are perfectly coordinated. Unfortunately, the longevity does not speak volumes for too long, but "By Night" does not necessarily need to, as it keeps its promise with its name. An unmistakable, evening-night appearance with an oriental to erotic flair.

Perhaps "by night" lacks a certain essential depth. Perhaps fragrance experts and experienced perfume enthusiasts will not get their money's worth in an olfactory sense. So be it. In any case, it makes me feel exhilarated. And my wallet is happy too. Thank you Christina.

Where has it gone? My all-consuming youth, characterized by discontinuity and adventure? It seems to me as if it has been abducted by an invisible magic train, steaming and squeaking through the misty expanses. Out of nowhere, suddenly vanished. According to the drama, this even happened at night, because nothing led back to the youth who had so abruptly disappeared. In the private compartment of the night train, a small bowl of fruit adorned the nostalgic window sill. Tangerines and pineapples lay there untouched and lonely, only their gentle fragrance drawing a few invisible clouds into the silence, even releasing a slightly peppery note. I remember the scent of orange blossom, the tea bags of which I always carried with me, as their essences were always able to soothe and calm me in hours of restlessness. Pleasantly warm. Their scent, all-consuming and clear, as if their existence existed solely to be broken into and tasted. Where has it gone, that eroticizing, soothing time that threatened to burst with restlessness? Only the amber and musk aromas were able to ground the feelings a little, to tame the emotions a little so that I didn't burst into a thousand pieces from sheer enthusiasm. Or was it really fear that was holding me back?

An oil painting from Paris in the early 1920s appears in my mind's eye. The Eiffel Tower presents itself with its striking, all-consuming presence in matt black. To the right and left of it are pretty rows of apartments in the Art Deco style, which suddenly gain positive resonance and playfulness thanks to individual pink jamine bushes. In the middle of the picture at the front are two couples in love, walking slowly and reverently towards the magnificent Eiffel Tower under a pink umbrella to seal their love with its symbolism. At the very front, I recognize a figure that resembles mine, although I dismiss this possibility in my mind, as I am not aware that I am officially a time traveler. All I can see of this person resembling me is his back, his long hair, his arms and hands stretched out towards the landmark, as if he wanted to embrace it in all its splendor and hold the love that comes with it forever and never let go.

Letting go of youth with all the facets that maturity brings with it can be a real challenge, all the more so when the unfathomable paths of life and its forks are so varied and, looking back, one or two things could have been managed in a more differentiated way.

The fragrance reflects a playful sweetness, a little too orange blossom-heavy and even a little kitschy and unreal, so I will probably not grant this little fragrance called "Parisian Dream" a permanent stay in my modest rooms, despite its heavenly name and enchanting bottle. However, the time travel and fragrance dreams are here to stay.

In the nearby Bonaduz forest, it slowly and steadily darkens. The mysticism is immediately enchanting and casts a spell over you, as if you were diving into a surreal world. The densely populated coniferous forest exudes a cozy warmth and a sense of adventure at the same time. My border collie Nuri loves to roam through the moss and woodland, where primal screams echo like echoes through the menacing forest. If I didn't have Adonis Nuri, I would quickly feel uneasy, but his masculinity and fearlessness give me a pleasant sense of security. A completely cold fireplace appears in the middle of nowhere and an eager, almost desperate hunt for dry logs begins. Mossy wetness and resinous clouds of smoke waft like promises through the cold air. My incense box has been depleted of a few incense capsules and I let the spicy orbs slide into the still gently blazing splendor. As the flames grow stronger, they flicker gracefully and clouds of incense escape into the depths of the night. A vanilla punch gives us the intrinsic warmth we so desperately need as we stare silently into the orange flames. There is no tomorrow. Only here and now.

Do you also see the paths enchanted by fog, whose lightness leads us into the blazing nowhere? Do you also feel the loneliness of the last few years in the flames that have almost been nipped in the bud? Do you not also see the melancholy in our cold hearts, how they long for quiet togetherness? Do you not also feel the remorse of all those unsaid words as a wedge of our recent failure? Unsaid, gentle and loving words, gestures of pardon, of forgiveness, which would (have been) able to heal everything? When, if not now, who, if not us, where, if not here?

I am. In the here and now. I love you. Now and always.

Je t'aimais, je t'aime et je t'aimerai (Francis Cabrel)

Daisies:

He likes me, he doesn't like me
He likes me, he doesn't like me
He likes me, he doesn't like me
He likes me.........

The last flower says yes. Only Santa knows whether he really likes me. Although, the flower oracle says that he does. I can rely on that, can't I? I just have to know now. Or should I consult the pendulum? Is it reliable? Please help me!!!!!!

This fragrance is not a daisy number at all. In this composition, Paco has managed to subtly captivate you. I'm not sure yet whether it's positive or negative. To me, this smells like a spicy dominatrix dressed in patent leather and leather with some metal guns. The face was dramatically staged with smokey eyes. Strict ponytail with leather accessory. Yes baby! Strikingly different, severe and somehow herbaceous, distant and what - plummy?

I smelled something similar in "Sunshine Woman | Amouage", but I thought it was the tobacco's fault that I somehow liked it and didn't like it at the same time. I thought it was really hard tobacco. Or is it the herbaceous davana after all, which is one-sidedly captivating here and nothing follows?

Well my dear Paco, with "Pure XS for Her | Paco Rabanne" you have enchanted me in a romantic way and lulled me into popcorn caramel and conjured up a Harry Potter episode. Here with "Strong Me | Paco Rabanne" I wonder all the time whether he likes me or not. Does he only like me because of my appearance or are there romantic feelings involved? I would actually prefer the latter.

You know what? It's too stupid for me, just tell me when you know if you like me. I don't have the time or inclination to always consult the oracle or some clairvoyant medium.

Now I'm going to watch the movie "a star is born". I just need a few beguiling songs to bring up everything that has been simmering subliminally inside me. The first tears will start rolling down my face as soon as I hear the song Shallow and goosebumps are guaranteed. I actually like love stories with happy endings. But today I feel like total drama.

"Tell me something boy,
aren't you tired trying to fill that void,
or do you need more,
ain't it hard keeping it so hardcore.
I'm falling.........

Back to 2000, everything was easy, the world, life, the new language. No worries, young, impetuous, wonderful. Tout était formidable. During my time in Paris, I felt sexy anyway, even without haut couture. It remains to be said that I found the most legendary jeans of all time at Mango in Paris, flared and not too stretchy with a golden M on the butt. All I can say is très chic and très hot. In addition to the famous mango store, Rue de Rivoli was also home to my favorite café, where I liked to drink my café au lait after a shopping trip, devour a tiny raspberry tart and amuse myself with the tourists and their astonished eyes. From Chinese to Arabs, South Americans and North Americans, all nations were present, but many countries from all over Europe also paid their respects to the French capital. Who can you blame for visiting the city of love? No one. Not even me, who settled there after I bought a one-way ticket Chur-Paris and quit my job in Switzerland head over heels. After all, true love doesn't wait for you every day, does it?

Oui bébé je t'aime à la foli et a l'infini.

Hot Couture reminds me of exactly this beautiful life, the wow-life with the raspberry i-dot, which shows the sunny side of life in all its splendor, the sweet lightness on the one hand and the opulence of heaviness on the other with a slightly smoky and woody touch and parts of a chocolaty undertone that beguiles with a spicy touch.

Edith Piaf would indeed describe it like this:

Des yeux qui font baisser les miens
Un rire qui se perd sur sa bouche
Voilà le portrait sans retouches
De l'homme auquel j'appartiens
Quand il me prend dans ses bras
Qu'il me parle tout bas
Je vois la vie en rose
Il me dit des mots d'amour.......

I have smelled, tasted, felt, explored, kissed, sung, grasped, learned everything and enriched and refined the moments in my heart into a sea of poetry.