Inedito

So here we have a safari jacket. When I look at the promotional photo and the contents of the rather straightforward bottle, I really only have one association: BEIGE.

I hate beige. Well, to be honest, I have nothing against the color itself and I'm not haunted by any horrible childhood memories ... being bullied and dipping my head in a school toilet full of beige liquid ... Unfortunately, however, I always see two kinds of people in my mind's eye when I come across this actually quite restrained and elegant color. Both are German and give me a bad feeling. I'm probably afraid of recognizing myself in them at some point.

On the one hand, there are the over-70s who get open wounds from the slightest gust of wind ("IT PULLS!"). It's not nice, of course, but I still can't understand why people of a certain age start wearing all their clothes in plaster colors. At least the latest Hansaplast doesn't stand out. Even so, senior citizens wearing everything from sandals to fishing hats are an aesthetic thorn in my side. Iris Apfel is more my role model in this respect.

On the other hand, I immediately think of the kind of German tourists who wonder why people in Cape Town don't ride lions to work during their South African vacation. Of course, they also wear the beige outdoor functional clothing with Jack Wolfskin shoes in the trendy hipster café in De Waterkant - safari jacket included.

This fragrance has absolutely nothing to do with these two nightmares and that makes me happy. Instead of a beige safari jacket, I smell a white shirt, so white that it almost hurts my eyes. It's being worn by a handsome, cultured man (what was that again about recognizing yourself?) who has probably just come from a safari. Or from work. Or from a shopping trip. But now he is sitting comfortably by the pool of a beautiful wine estate in the Western Cape, freshly washed, scented and with a radiant shirt. They often have accommodation, fine dining and phenomenal views of the green, blue and beige of the breathtaking landscape. And pools. But you don't go in there because sitting nearby and sipping white wine looks much more "sophisticated".

And that's how "Le Vestiaire - Saharienne (2015) | Yves Saint Laurent" smells to me! Very white and yet somehow colorful. Very green-citrusy-fresh, even if the initial explosion only lasts a few minutes. The fragrance quickly becomes very close to the skin, as the sun slowly sets by the pool. You don't wear loud, long fragrances at times like this, because you soon retire to dinner with good friends. People get closer, talk in hushed tones. "Le Vestiaire - Saharienne (2015) | Yves Saint Laurent" is equally restrained and has a cultivated effect.

Then night falls and it gets cold. Off to bed, lights off, scent off. It was nice, even if it was only a brief pleasure.

My fragrance collection is actually quite summery and citrusy, a little green, sometimes tart. I like classic colognes and anything that conveys a dignified freshness. Lyn Harris seems to appeal to me, rugged cliffs in Portugal with a view of the sea, clear air.

Finding a fragrance for the colder months of the year has therefore proved to be a bit of an undertaking. Companions who ultimately had to move on included "Dior Homme Intense (2011) | Dior", almost classic, but somehow too tiring for me in the end, "Vanagloria | Laboratorio Olfattivo", love at first sight, but only for a few months and "Iris Malikhân | Maison Crivelli". The latter was quite similar to Dior, a little less rough, but after a while almost as tiring due to its syrupy persistence.

I also need air to breathe at some point. Subtlety is more important to me in perfumes than mega longevity and sillage. Especially as I wouldn't necessarily describe sprayed-on lips with bold make-up and huge eyelashes as timelessly beautiful or aesthetic.

As the majority of common winter fragrances are too strong for me, my enjoyment of fragrances has been severely stunted recently, apart from a few splashes of Neroli to remind me of warmer days. Until I came across this fragrance in a small perfumery in a small town. At first, a leather accord that is completely unisex and neither particularly pithy nor overly creamy. And it fades quite quickly, which I think is a good thing, because otherwise it would probably get on my nerves. Instead, a pleasantly restrained vanilla emerges more and more, which is not as sweet as some others. Everything is framed by a citrusy veil that is reminiscent of "Opsis | Diptyque" in its silkiness.

For me, this is an ideal winter fragrance. Warming, never too sweet, with a longevity that lasts throughout the day, becomes very skin-deep at the end and never overwhelms me or others. The combination of leather and vanilla with bergamot does not create an inky accord for me, but it is an interesting twist that rounds off the perfume and ends my search for the time being. Until a new winter fragrance introduces itself to me.

Well, then I will probably be the first to write a review here. Not so inappropriate, after all, this is on the one hand also my first own review and 701 on the other hand one of the first fragrances that introduced me to the world of "somehow different" fragrances.

If, like me, you're more used to the fresh, aquatic scents of mainstream designers, 701 can come as quite a surprise. When I first tested the travelspray version, the scent honestly pissed me off. Too sour, too different, organic waste in high summer. The sweet bottle then disappeared for quite a while in the back row of my still quite manageable fragrance collection. Maybe it was because I first tested the scent in the fall and it's slowly starting to bloom in the meantime, but suddenly I liked it when I sniffed it again recently. Probably, however, it was because I have "tasted" in the meantime some quite different perfume samples and my nose has possibly come to terms with not always smell only Bleu de Chanel.

So what does 701 smell like? Of the notes, my unskilled nose can not yet smell out much, but what stands out is the tangy acidity, which is quite idiosyncratic and reminds me not so much of grapefruit or bergamot , but of eucalyptus medicine - in a good, interesting, because "somehow different" way. For such a tangy fresh, the scent also lasts surprisingly long, after maybe five hours it fades away. Until then, however, it pleases with summery acidity, without being intrusive and may be considered for me as the beginning of a journey that will hopefully reveal many more fragrance treasures to me.