Mörderbiene

S Efai blieht bloß em siebente Johr - that's what we learned back then in elementary school.
This is nonsense, of course, suggesting that ivy is a hapaxanthe plant.
In retrospect, I'm not sure if our teacher merely misspoke - my current understanding is that ivy doesn't actually flower until about age seven, but then it does so annually - or if this was meant to be some sort of coded life wisdom she liked to toss around.

Eau de Camille created Annick Goutal for her then seven-year-old daughter, who liked the smell of ivy.
And if the ivy was as old as she was, it must have bloomed for the first time that very year.

Knowing full well that ivy does not necessarily smell pleasant when in bloom, I nevertheless inwardly imagine a flowering wall of ivy - not with the actual, inconspicuous blossoms of ivy, but more magnificent, and matching the lovely floral fragrance of this perfume.
I think of golden green garden bliss, wrapped in late summer sempest sunshine.
Idyllic, with bees dancing around late flowers and around the wild ivy against the west wall.

In ancient times, ivy was consistently regarded as a symbol of the joyously celebrating gods and their revelries, which were as often crowned with ivy as with vine leaves.
And Eau de Camille is a joyful, light-hearted fragrance, playful and telling of freedom and defying all late summer melancholy.
Somehow fitting the image of the seven-year-old girl dancing with the bees while the grown-ups comment benevolently on the flower beds with wine glasses and beer bottles, or discuss over the barbecue the latest match of the local first handball team.

A light summer scent that can be worn equally by the young and the young at heart - and by those who grow more beautiful with age.

Eau de Camille is the fragrance that makes the sun sing of summer on today's snowy February morning.

I had yesterday perfumetechnisch a somewhat unsatisfactory afternoon.
First, there was a sample from Penhaligon's Portraits Collection, named after company founder William Penhaligon. Direct result of the test: I was unsure whether to burst into anger or tears in the face of such irreverence. After a calming walk, I then bumped the scent back up from 0 to 4.5. By then, though, the sample was in the trash.
Then Turandot's blog - I'm still kneading my neck aching from heavy nodding now. So much truth in so few lines. Ouch.
And yet I know I can't leave it at that. Not that I can disagree. But they still exist, the good things.
So I got something good to drink, put on something good to listen to and went in search of something good to smell - it was to be Guerlain's Royal Extract II.
The had as a contrast program in the immediate aftermath of course good cards, but he also knew how to play them well.

Royal Extract II refers, just like the unspeakable outrage from the island, to the company founder, in this case Pierre-Francois Pascal Guerlain, who created the 'Extrait Royale des Fleurs' in 1828, the year of the opening - and has, like the Briton, nothing else to do with it except for the advertising text.
However, that does not change the fact that Royal Extract II is quite a distinctive fragrance.
The backbone is formed by a cheerful spring-fresh hyacinth as well as the frivolity of the same somewhat braking bitter galbanum. With this counterpart of light and dark Thierry water already succeeds in a certain basic tension.
With a gently tart citric (yes, that works!) And background spice arises from it a slightly soapy chypre texture, the hyacinth is subtly underpinned in the further course otherwise floral.
In the base, the illusion of a light leathery note emerges, which is perhaps only caused by the lushly dosed galbanum.

As a comparison fragrance, Chanel's N°19 is mentioned here several times. I have only an older version of the EdP for direct comparison available, and a fundamental similarity can be denied there also not at all.
However, I see Royal Extract II more between Cristalle and Cabochard - with the former it shares the crystal-clear frivolity of the hyacinth, which is much more moderate in N°19, with the latter the lush dose of bitter galbanum with light leather notes, which was also used much more moderately in N°19. The harmonious softness of N°19 is missing from this Guerlain, which I find all the more surprising since this is supposed to be a pure perfume. For this, the fragrance is unusually transparent and yes, also edgy.
In sum, this is tart, cool, elegant and wonderfully retro.
No century fragrance like, for example, Sous le Vent admittedly, but at least a soothing refreshment in the inflation of boredom. And yet similarly unattainable.

Thanks Schatzi, evening saved.

Chamade Homme is a very quiet fragrance that seems quite static, despite some development. Behind a pale spicy woody door hides a chypre-like framework.
At first, there's something pale spicy citrusy before pale spicy florals take over to lead into an unmistakably pale spicy base. Overall, it is difficult for me to isolate individual notes in Chamade Homme, consciously I can actually only make out powdery violet.

If I smell Chamade Homme, I am in the head quickly with "Gentile", another men's fragrance, which, however, is more open with his kind about his naming, because he is called as he is: 'nice'.
A fragrance that lets you hope for more - because the brand has actually consistently produced fragrances full of character, because the stated fragrance notes are actually promising.
A fragrance that offers less, which is just also somehow pale spicy, which is ultimately a clearly too nice Fougère. Chamade Homme can be considered from a scent-technical point of view, so to speak, as a Chypre equivalent to this - and vice versa.
Both are fragrances for the gentleman, for whom perfume is a necessary accessory that should not be given superfluous attention.
For the gentleman who perfumes himself to be perfumed - because one makes that just occasion-related so.
Or even for a lady - it would probably not notice anyone.
Chamade Homme would be a candidate for the job interview and the supervisory board meeting (Confederates excluded, there one wears other).
Chamade Homme is so smooth and colorless that I can't find it bad. Troppo gentile just.

And just so I can still somehow get my act together: Natale gentile, dear ones!

There are phases in the test life of a perfume because you think you can't discover anything new. Where one sample resembles the other, everything seems to have already been there, because you think you're running in a hamster wheel, turning in circles.
I have been there, put aside my sample box for quite a while, scented myself with old familiar things and dedicated myself to other things.
At that time, I also started my bottling stock and did not even realize what a revelation Rovo Nero is - until now, as my bottling is nearing its end.

I came across the Acqua di Genova brand because of its classic colognes, which are said to have been created as early as the middle of the 19th century, but in the end I was not convinced by them.
The handmade bottle, however, had done it to me, and that's why I had brought other fragrances of the brand under my nose - among them this one.

Rovo Nero can probably be described as a chypre in terms of its structure, but for me it goes far beyond that.
In my opinion, the classical perfumery is married here with independent experiments.

The start is initially citric with a distinct orange coloration. Shortly afterwards, autumnal spice is added, I think I can hear an enigmatic Immortelle and some pepper. On top of this there is a soapy veil which is so typical for tarragon and which can be found in a similar form in many chypre classics. In this fine soapiness something carnation-like is added, under it rosy blackness is mixed
Soon the fragrance draws pictures of a damp forest floor with rotting leaves on mushrooms and half rotten, mossy wood. However, this impression is preserved from the pure impression of nature by a brightening, perfumed powderiness and a fine sweetness.
All in all, the whole fragrance is masterfully blended and appears extremely high quality.

Rovo Nero is certainly not a perfume that is immediately obvious, it may even be a somewhat demanding perfume, but it is precisely this that makes it stand out from the crowd.
Especially now in autumn it was a pleasure to carry him to extensive walks.

Maybe I will get one of these beautiful Genova bottles in my house after all.

There are plenty of vetiver scents, and the spectrum ranges from the classic spicy-fresh representatives such as Carven and Guerlain to warm balsamic interpretations such as vetiver ambrato. Here I allow myself a reference to the collection folder 'Oriental Vetiver' of the user Yatagan.
I would classify Vetiver Royal Bourbon from Oriza Legrand between these extremes. The classic citrus head and characteristic freshness of the former group is missing, the fragrance has body and weight, but it is too hard and lacks the sweetness to be classified in the latter group.
The vetiver note is crunchy like Etro and Heeley, which is why I recommend the use of Vetyverylacetat.
However, like all the accompanying notes, it seems to be used rather reservedly here.
The lively herbal freshness of mint and thyme is combined with the rugged vetiver, sweet Styrax and vanilla tobacco
All in all, it has a slightly medical effect, which I sometimes like very much.
But I didn't choose the headline just because of that - Vetiver Royal Bourbon is characterised above all by the moderate use of the individual fragrances. So here are some notes that I find very difficult in high dosage. Thyme quickly becomes too smoky, mint too toothy, vetiver too crunchy, tobacco too sweet, iris too powdery, Immortelle too spicy, leather...
Here, however, perfumer Hugo Lambert seems to have hit the golden section, the proportions are right, and the individual notes combine to create an extremely pleasant, like anything but boring, vetiver scent. Thus they offer each other room to unfold and interact to create an extremely exciting scent, which fascinates me deeply.
The wishlist is just missed, which is not so much because of the fragrance itself, but rather because of my collection, which already has a midway-vetivator with Odin's Nr 08.
Nevertheless, I would like to make an explicit test recommendation not only for vetiver lovers.