Duftsucht

... it is simple, unfussy and somewhat distant. I have a few fragrances by Jean-Claude Ellena in my collection - it may be a coincidence, but they all have one thing in common. They strike me as a highly stylized take on an idea from nature. I think of ikebana, the elaborate Japanese flower arrangements with their precise minimalism, subject to strict rules. A voluntary self-restriction to the essential, which I like very much.

Bergamote by The Different Company is no exception for me. At the center, artfully placed in the light, is the eponymous bergamot. Now you could remark somewhat sarcastically, that's actually it, but that would do this ethereal fragrance structure then but injustice. The bergamot was placed by the master of understatement some delicate pastel helpers to the side, a brush stroke of ginger spiciness, a dab of green, a touch of flower, a touch of acidity.
This added acidity is what I like least about the scent. At the beginning it seems almost vinegary-sour, the pyramid identifies it as rhubarb, funnily enough it reminds me more of the smell of vegetable aspic as it progresses. After some time, this for me undesirable component moves into the background and a translucent, restrained fragrance remains.
Sensation is unlikely to attract with him, the sillage I estimate as practically non-existent. On days when I'm a little fragrance tired or after a restless night through he is but a perfectly balanced and thus soothing companion.

When my then 70 year old mother visited me in Washington D.C. (a trip for which she actually learned English so well that it was perfectly sufficient for conversation! The most beautiful sentence that came out of her mouth that I'll never forget was, "You know, kid, I think I'm starting to think I'm growing up..." So maybe it just runs in the family that getting older is not usually an issue for me either. But recently I was suddenly struck by the realization that half of my life is already behind me. The trigger for this was, of all things, this simple fragrance. When I was a high school student, I bought Chèvrefeuille with my not very generous pocket money. I have rather fond memories of all the Yves Rocher perfumes that came out at that time, but it was this one that catapulted me back into the past with a vehemence that almost hurt when I unscrewed the cap. Because not only beautiful memories come to light, but also some things that seemed terrible and irreparable in the turmoil of puberty: for example, the first "steady" boyfriend, who then turned out to be not as durable as thought...
Chèvrefeuille was the fragrance of those summers, a constant that accompanied the ups and downs of my feelings. I can still remember that whenever I unscrewed the pouring bottle (I still had the one with the lid turned upwards, which is also here on the page as a reference photo), I first held the bottle directly to my nose and inhaled deeply. There are perfumes you're better off not doing that with - unless you want to make sure you don't smell anything at all for some time afterwards. With this delicate and precisely crafted fragrance, it's pure indulgence! I love the scent of nature: lilac, rose, lavender, daffodils, violets - in fact, anything blooming is just waiting for me to poke my curious nose into it, according to my unshakable conviction. When it comes to perfumes, however, I'm usually more of a fan of complex scents and usually have a problem with too clear a lilac or violet component.
The honeysuckle that lives in this flacon is an exception. The trace of citrus, which provides some freshness especially at the beginning, takes back the usually honey-like sweetness of the honeysuckle and gives the fragrance cheerful lightness. But actually the name says it all here: wonderful real honeysuckle pure from the beginning to the (quick) end. For me, rather than a perfume, but really a natural fragrance that I like to wear even in high heat, when many other fragrances overwhelm me.
For a long time now Chèvrefeuille is a shadow of the past - I had the great fortune to get hold of a bottle here in the souk once again, which gave me this nostalgic trip to my youth. Now that the contents of the bottle is coming to an end, I wanted to dedicate a small tribute to him, the fragrant friend, the soul comforter, the faithful companion of turbulent years...

The small lapse of the weather to play after Easter once again a little winter, can not keep me from my summer fragrances to the front to clear and at the opportunity to test through again.
Néroli Amara came to me as a bottling directly before a summer vacation at the lake and wandered untested immediately with in the luggage. On a hot and humid summer day, just before a violent thunderstorm brought cooling, I thought the hour of the fragrance had come. In anticipation of a citrus-fresh ethereal-light fragrance I sprayed not carefully on the wrist, but misted me generously.
The beginning was as I had hoped for on this stuffy day: fresh citrus notes with a distinct bergamot and a nice pinch of pepper, which I really appreciate in fragrances. And yet the components are built much more compactly than I would have liked for high summer. From the start, a certain density characterizes the fragrance, which increases over time, making it creamy. As I sought refuge from the sweltering heat on the shaded balcony, Néroli Amara became increasingly uncomfortable. The orange blossom settled around me with unanticipated vehemence like a too-dense veil, the freshness of the start a mere shadow of a memory. Only when the downwind of the thunderstorm sent the first gusts and swept away the veil, I could enjoy the fragrance again.
Since then, Néroli Amara is no longer a summer scent for me, but is gladly worn in spring - and now and then in winter on gray, wet and cold days, to evoke in my imagination the feeling of spring sunshine and the accompanying high spirits.
Like today, while the cold rain pelts the window and I, sitting at my kitchen table, delight in the bright yellow of the forsythia and daffodils in my little garden. Then it is perfect and stirs up in me the anticipation of hot summer days. The wonderful orange blossom, which is not held in check by wood, green notes or even moss, floats gently and translucent over my skin and accompanies me for hours.

A simple, graceful fragrance that perfectly stages the sweetness of orange blossom.

Getting a package from Acqua di Parma is always a treat. The lovely packaging with tissue paper, the yolk-yellow and dark-blue boxes and jars made of haptically wonderful textured paper alone are worth the luxury of a blind order every now and then! This time, I really only wanted to repurchase the excellent shower gel (to match Colonia), but the notes of the new, limited-edition fragrance in the blue range sounded so enticing that I broke all vows never to make impulse fragrance purchases again - and, I must confess, with great inner pleasure.

Blu Mediterraneo - Bergamotto die Calabria La Spugnatura: what a name! Let it roll on the tongue and taste it really - immediately you feel transported to the picturesque coastal villages of Calabria. And a first careful spray from the really extraordinarily beautiful bottle contributes considerably to the olfactory underpinning of this fantasy. Close your eyes, take a deep breath, sit back and relax, because now you're about to enter the Hesperides grove of your dreams. It's all there: bitter, citrusy-zesty, lovely-orangy, tart and juicy-green - and in its entirety it makes for an extremely enticing and promising prelude, with the eponymous bergamot always in the foreground. But let's not praise the day(dream) before the evening, and some of the blue Acquas have had me muttering murmurs of enthusiasm in the top notes, only to either shamefully let me down immediately afterwards or disappoint me with a lukewarm, generic base.

With "La Spugnatura", it goes on for a delightfully long time with this refreshingly clear opening. It changes only very gradually in a slightly more delicate direction. To call it floral would already be saying too much. More like catching a whiff of the floral in addition to the fruit of the orange - and bergamot trees. If I were to name it, it would probably be floral-green, because it remains without sweetness for my nose.

As the afternoon progresses, the scent moves on, becoming pleasantly tart-green towards evening. Unmistakably push two of my favorite notes in the foreground: vetiver and galbanum let "La Spugnatura" softer and deeper and give it new fullness. Mentally, the smells transport me to a terrace, a glass of wine in hand, the sun is setting and finally a breeze from the mountains brings fresh moist air and perhaps a hint of coolness.

The fragrance with the sonorous name accompanied me in the past days to the office, to a bike ride and to extended walks. He is an unobtrusive fellow, but which carries a lot of elegance and Italian esprit in itself. It reminds me (not of the scent, but of the attitude to life!) of the classic Colonia from the same house, which I always steal from my husband's scent cabinet. I will certainly empty the 100 ml bottle with the beautiful stylized bergamot decoration in the course of the summer - and I must confess that I like this limited edition much better than the normal Bergamotto di Calabria. And already I'm starting to consider whether a bunker bottle wouldn't be an extremely sensible thing to do, and in doing so, I'm nimbly suppressing the fact that my perfume drawers are bursting at the seams and I had sworn to myself to finally radically reduce my collection.

PS: a few more words about the addition in the name "La Spugnatura". In my treasure box from Italy was a little flyer describing the process used in the fragrance. The bergamots are processed by hand - using a mini rake the size of a spoon to extract the pulp. The peel is then pressed onto sea sponges, which absorb the bergamot essence. Apparently, this is a process that was used in ancient times and is said to be capable of preserving a special variety of aromas. Be that as it may - the result is an extremely pleasing summer fragrance, a test is recommended to all lovers of bergamot fragrances.

... then a small gemstone could be created! And I'm talking about the respective old extra versions of these primeval stones of perfume art. And while I'm sniffing my wrist so enthusiastically, I realize once again that you can't really go wrong with the classic-unsweet-complex!
My little emerald begins with a classically citric, delicate, not pointed top note. A little bit aldehydey it also comes very short for my nose, although this is not to be found in the pyramid. The citric top note of old fragrances often seems to be softer than modern chypres, which sometimes smell too sharp-pointed for me. But maybe it is just the natural aging process of the noble waters that makes the top note flatten and thus meets my personal fragrance preferences. Under this gentle citric, a wonderful bouquet of jasmine and ylang ylang peels out, not pompous and opulent, which these fragrances have a lot to offer, but delicately sweet, almost transparent and elegantly framed by wood. And wood is also a keyword for the sensational base: sandalwood in its most beautiful form, accompanied by patchouli, which is as far away from gravelly or musty as it can be and that probably many who wince when they discover this fragrance in a pyramid could still be converted. The base is overpowered by ethereal smoke and unsweet vanilla, which give the fragrance a certain lightness and volatility.
But let's go back to the family tree of the emerald. From Mama Shalimar he inherited the vanilla and the delicate smoke, Papa Bois des Îles contributed sandalwood and tropical flowers - and so this scent, which I discovered by chance in the souk and acquired in a fit of daring, is in no way inferior to these incomparably better known ancestors. I will probably use up the small bottle quite quickly and with great pleasure - and I am once again delighted about this wonderful characteristic of old extravaganzas to stay very close to me and not fill the whole room with their scent. So I enjoy this treasure in private for myself and I have the feeling that it was created exactly for this purpose. Not for the grand entrance in robe and with jewellery, but for the quieter, more intimate moments when I can relax, simply enjoy and which are a very special luxury for me.