Pinkdawn
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"Beautifully decadent" or just flat out wastefulness after all?
She comes from far away. From a galaxy far, far away. She rides straight at me from the velvety firmament embroidered with silver stars. The little bells on the bridle of her black horse tinkle softly and silvery. She is still very small. But her presence is already clearly felt. Omnipresent. Strong, fascinating, but also dangerous. For the proud goddess is capricious. And powerful. A mixture that rarely ends well. After all, Ataliah ("foreign woman"), daughter of the equally infamous Jezebel, Queen of Judah in the 9th century BC, is autocrat and wants to stay that way. She doesn't achieve much with empathy. It seems more expedient to her to have all rivals - even her own grandchildren - who could lay claim to her throne murdered. After 6 years of dictatorship the people take revenge on the hated Baals-worshipper. She is betrayed in a coup and now meets a bloody end herself.
La Belle Dame sans Merci. Seductive beauty and deadly cruelty have always been ingredients that inspired artists. Racine and Handel are just two of them who were inspired to create works of art by the tragedy of the cold-blooded Atalya.
Atalya's execution is associated with horses, which brings us back to Parfums de Marly. For they not only have two rearing steeds as their logo, but also tend to name their fragrances after historical horse personalities.
Athalia is the third Perfums de Marly fragrance I've tested. None of them appealed to me enough to make me pull out my credit card and spend - as in the case of Athalia - about € 218,- for 75 ml.
When it comes to Perfums de Marly, I often wonder what came first: the passion to create a series of new noble fragrances or a well-calculated marketing concept. Again and again I read that the Parfums de Marly smell "expensive". Probably exactly this effect is intended. Rich people will hardly ever get the idea that something smells "expensive". And if they do, they certainly won't buy it, because they prefer sophisticated understatement. Unless they're nouveau riche people who weren't born with style and taste. I'm not rich, but the fact that a perfume smells "expensive" would never cause me to purchase a fragrance. It's not a desirable criteria for me. With that in mind, I've been wondering what makes a fragrance seem "expensive." First, the price has to be a certain amount. Not too high, but high enough so that the target audience feels that the purchase has hurt a bit financially. This is indispensable when coveting a status symbol that is supposed to convey luxury and elegance to the owner / owner. The image of the brand must, of course, correspond to this. In the case of Parfums de Marly, it is the courtly, royal, but coming from a historical era. King Louis XV is invoked, embodying refined, expensive lifestyles, wealth, pomp and a lavish, playful, decadent lifestyle. The Rococo is not my era. And I can't admire Louis XV, with his fascination with horses and fragrances, which escalated to scented fountains and scented rooms, without moral qualms rising in my mind, as they always do when rulers spend their wealth to satisfy their narcissism while their subjects starve. But well, those days are largely over. Parfums de Marly aims to bring royal extravagance to life, at least olfactorically. Therefore, one should not expect anything really innovative from fragrances that seek to transfer this feeling to those who like to adorn themselves with them. Of course, there have been eccentric monarchs like Empress Elisabeth of Austria, her cousin Ludwig II of Bavaria and others. Louis XV, as far as I know, is not one of them. After all, eccentricity requires an appropriate disposition and a great deal of creative, aesthetic imagination. A technophile, Ludwig II constructed a peacock-shaped flying chariot in which to soar through the skies. And he used to have his beloved "Leibreitpferde" lifted high up to the roof of his Munich residence to ride them in the garden there.
Anyone who has ever visited Neuschwanstein Castle can get an idea of the extravagance, but also the fairy-tale world of the regent, who mostly lived at night. His unrealistic desire to build eventually became the undoing of the "Moon King". He was deprived of power because he was accused of a mental illness - without a specialist examination - and committed suicide in the Würmsee, in which, as is known, his companion, the psychiatrist von Gudden, also lost his life.
After all, the allegedly mentally impaired monarch still attracts countless profitable streams of tourists to Bavaria through his charismatic personality and his rampant castle-building mania.
Louis XV doesn't seem to have as many fans anymore.
But back to Athalia. Once sprayed on, the fragrance quickly develops its potency. It unfolds an opulence that is too strong for me from the start - not least because it is so beguiling. It is a dark, nocturnal fragrance, carried by dignity and pride, elegant, majestic and aloof, at the same time warm and cool, distant, powerful and majestic. You get a hint of the Orient - sweet, smoky, soft and very feminine. However, I tend to see this fragrance on older women. Because he is not youthful, but very adult and serious.
A great mutability Athalia does not have in my opinion. I can actually only perceive incense and orange blossom, after the bitter orange in the top note has dissipated. This combination blends together to create a very uniform looking scent. This isn't a big deal if you like incense and orange blossom. I have more of a problem with it. I can only tolerate both in small doses and with other scents. But here, it's full blast. It's too much for me. And so the fragrance soon gets for me something provocative, intrusive.
I would not say now that this is a perfume for queens or goddesses, but it probably fits especially to so-called "racy" women who are dark-haired and sensual. Or well-groomed, older ladies in their golden years at bridge.
There is a lot of speculation about the fragrance pyramid. I read about rose, iris, suede, cashmeran, amber and vetiver. I trust more the website of Parfums de Marly, which lists only bitter orange and incense in the top note, orange blossom exclusively in the heart note and musk and vanilla in the base. This also corresponds to my sensation.
I have applied Athalia a few times in recent days and find it now no longer as "dangerous" as the first time. However, it's not exceptional or exclusive either. It is a primarily beguiling, sweet, oriental fragrance. Opulent, but wearable because the durability is within limits. All in all, quite conventional. I wouldn't call it a niche or sophisticated fragrance. You won't knock anyone over the head with it, unless you use too much of it. For me, it is still a perfume that is more suitable for the evening than for the office or a visit to the dentist. It would be too intense, too beguiling and too sweet for that
La Belle Dame sans Merci. Seductive beauty and deadly cruelty have always been ingredients that inspired artists. Racine and Handel are just two of them who were inspired to create works of art by the tragedy of the cold-blooded Atalya.
Atalya's execution is associated with horses, which brings us back to Parfums de Marly. For they not only have two rearing steeds as their logo, but also tend to name their fragrances after historical horse personalities.
Athalia is the third Perfums de Marly fragrance I've tested. None of them appealed to me enough to make me pull out my credit card and spend - as in the case of Athalia - about € 218,- for 75 ml.
When it comes to Perfums de Marly, I often wonder what came first: the passion to create a series of new noble fragrances or a well-calculated marketing concept. Again and again I read that the Parfums de Marly smell "expensive". Probably exactly this effect is intended. Rich people will hardly ever get the idea that something smells "expensive". And if they do, they certainly won't buy it, because they prefer sophisticated understatement. Unless they're nouveau riche people who weren't born with style and taste. I'm not rich, but the fact that a perfume smells "expensive" would never cause me to purchase a fragrance. It's not a desirable criteria for me. With that in mind, I've been wondering what makes a fragrance seem "expensive." First, the price has to be a certain amount. Not too high, but high enough so that the target audience feels that the purchase has hurt a bit financially. This is indispensable when coveting a status symbol that is supposed to convey luxury and elegance to the owner / owner. The image of the brand must, of course, correspond to this. In the case of Parfums de Marly, it is the courtly, royal, but coming from a historical era. King Louis XV is invoked, embodying refined, expensive lifestyles, wealth, pomp and a lavish, playful, decadent lifestyle. The Rococo is not my era. And I can't admire Louis XV, with his fascination with horses and fragrances, which escalated to scented fountains and scented rooms, without moral qualms rising in my mind, as they always do when rulers spend their wealth to satisfy their narcissism while their subjects starve. But well, those days are largely over. Parfums de Marly aims to bring royal extravagance to life, at least olfactorically. Therefore, one should not expect anything really innovative from fragrances that seek to transfer this feeling to those who like to adorn themselves with them. Of course, there have been eccentric monarchs like Empress Elisabeth of Austria, her cousin Ludwig II of Bavaria and others. Louis XV, as far as I know, is not one of them. After all, eccentricity requires an appropriate disposition and a great deal of creative, aesthetic imagination. A technophile, Ludwig II constructed a peacock-shaped flying chariot in which to soar through the skies. And he used to have his beloved "Leibreitpferde" lifted high up to the roof of his Munich residence to ride them in the garden there.
Anyone who has ever visited Neuschwanstein Castle can get an idea of the extravagance, but also the fairy-tale world of the regent, who mostly lived at night. His unrealistic desire to build eventually became the undoing of the "Moon King". He was deprived of power because he was accused of a mental illness - without a specialist examination - and committed suicide in the Würmsee, in which, as is known, his companion, the psychiatrist von Gudden, also lost his life.
After all, the allegedly mentally impaired monarch still attracts countless profitable streams of tourists to Bavaria through his charismatic personality and his rampant castle-building mania.
Louis XV doesn't seem to have as many fans anymore.
But back to Athalia. Once sprayed on, the fragrance quickly develops its potency. It unfolds an opulence that is too strong for me from the start - not least because it is so beguiling. It is a dark, nocturnal fragrance, carried by dignity and pride, elegant, majestic and aloof, at the same time warm and cool, distant, powerful and majestic. You get a hint of the Orient - sweet, smoky, soft and very feminine. However, I tend to see this fragrance on older women. Because he is not youthful, but very adult and serious.
A great mutability Athalia does not have in my opinion. I can actually only perceive incense and orange blossom, after the bitter orange in the top note has dissipated. This combination blends together to create a very uniform looking scent. This isn't a big deal if you like incense and orange blossom. I have more of a problem with it. I can only tolerate both in small doses and with other scents. But here, it's full blast. It's too much for me. And so the fragrance soon gets for me something provocative, intrusive.
I would not say now that this is a perfume for queens or goddesses, but it probably fits especially to so-called "racy" women who are dark-haired and sensual. Or well-groomed, older ladies in their golden years at bridge.
There is a lot of speculation about the fragrance pyramid. I read about rose, iris, suede, cashmeran, amber and vetiver. I trust more the website of Parfums de Marly, which lists only bitter orange and incense in the top note, orange blossom exclusively in the heart note and musk and vanilla in the base. This also corresponds to my sensation.
I have applied Athalia a few times in recent days and find it now no longer as "dangerous" as the first time. However, it's not exceptional or exclusive either. It is a primarily beguiling, sweet, oriental fragrance. Opulent, but wearable because the durability is within limits. All in all, quite conventional. I wouldn't call it a niche or sophisticated fragrance. You won't knock anyone over the head with it, unless you use too much of it. For me, it is still a perfume that is more suitable for the evening than for the office or a visit to the dentist. It would be too intense, too beguiling and too sweet for that
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In the wrong scent?
Some scents you spray on and immediately feel "at home", even if it is an oriental or an incense. Others remain neutral or take you to a distant land where you like to visit from time to time. Difficult it is with the perfumes, which seem above all "foreign" and trigger in you the feeling to be in the wrong movie - er - fragrance.
Yet the name appealed to me so much. Velvet Haze - yes, maybe that's a little cheesy, but it also stirs up expectations because it sounds mysterious, as it always does when it comes to mist. Wasn't the mythical island of Avalon always shrouded in mist?
Velvet Haze starts off a bit cool-tart on the top notes, but turns sweet and very creamy in no time. To me, the fragrance also seems floral. Where the flowers come from is unclear to me. Because not a single one is to be found in the fragrance pyramid. So it must be ambrette and coconut water. More like ambrette. Because this is dominated by a certain pungency with - sorry - echoes of certain synthetic moth remedies.
Coconut? I remember times when just about everything that could smell smelled like coconut: perfumes, shampoos, creams, fabric softeners, lipsticks. However, at the time, it was a distinctly tropical coconut scent that conveyed a feeling of vacationing in the South Seas, palm trees, white sandy beaches and turquoise blue seas. I admit, I was expecting something similar, in a modern reimagining of course. Since the coconut fragrance fashion has long died down and I have also already experienced too much coconut in fragrances, I would hardly have voluntarily reached for an EdP, which wants to score with it.
Meanwhile, however, it seems to be the trend that perfumes exactly do not smell like the roses or other ingredients that they supposedly contain. Perhaps one wants to surprise deliberately, to mislead, to serve no conventional expectations. That is laudable, after all. Times are changing. And so do rose and coconut fragrances.
I only find it disappointing when rose is listed and you don't notice anything about it. I feel the same way about the coconut here. I perceive nothing of the kind.
There's something irritatingly sweet that reminds me of strawflowers. Calluna, for instance. I never managed to visit the Lüneburg Heath without taking a heather basket with me. I wonder if they still have them today From the heath it is only a small associative step to an old folk song. It is already dark on the heath, home let us go ...
The evening mood on the heath already hits the soul of the fragrance more than tropical islands, palm trees and South Sea noise.
I wait for the patchouli, which is usually not easy to smell over. But the evening puts a cloth on the land - and everything disappears in a diffuse fragrance creamy mist, from which I perceive only ambergris and musk. Soft, gentle, velvety, powdery and of dry sweetness. The fragrance mist is subtle, elegant and feminine. It's almost all too delicate and becomes increasingly so. Who interprets this as weakening durability, is on the right track.
After coconut and patchouli left out, only cocoa absolute could bring some color into play. It would undoubtedly have the potential to make Velvet Haze something special after all. But the cocoa sensation with the expected gourmand dark bittersweetness unfortunately also holds back. The fragrance remains pale. No excesses, no passion, not even sensuality disturbs the evening peace everywhere. This is another concept I let myself be talked into. I love the quiet evening atmosphere, when the sun sets and dusk falls, the colors become softer, the day quieter. But if you want to achieve that effect, it has to be more explicit - and not just because of the fog in the name. I've never liked movies where the ending is left open. Will they get it now? Will they fall? Will their lives get meaning after all when their son finally returns? Will he survive the cancer? Will she get custody? No answer. You'd better come up with your own! That's how easy it is to be a writer or a filmmaker. The visual arts, of course, have a harder time of it ...
A little iso-star sparkle would have already helped to deepen the evening mood. Or if the patchouli would have risen nice velvety-dark.
But no. Didn't want to, or couldn't? The intention may have been there. But with the implementation of the mood transfer it hapert. In other words, the fragrance is not balanced according to my nose. It has hardly any stability. Well, fog just ...
Whether the musk in the base can still "deliver"? For this, however, it would have to come along more animalic. However, it does not. It is a thoroughly tame white Musk as from the drugstore. Nothing provocative, nothing exciting.
I am not convinced by the fragrance. I like Velvet Haze best still in the initial phase, when you realize with surprise that it is far less gourmandig than you imagined with coconut and cocoa. But that's too little.
What remains is a soft musky amber or ambrette scent with a warm spicy drydown. For me, it is an all in all yet quite conventional fragrance with a certain retro touch, which is probably owed to the quiet patchouli.
Who the fragrance is too synthetic-sweet, need not fear: The durability is low.
Velvet Haze is the first perfume from Byredo that I tested. The niche fragrance house, which also has exclusive scented candles, soaps and other nourishing cosmetics in its portfolio, was founded by Ben Gorham in Stockholm in 2006. Instead of Scandinavian minimalism, Gorham deliberately reflects on his Indian origins. Sounds exciting, but maybe that's where my "foreign" feeling comes from. I will certainly test more Byredos, but not as a blind buy. To me, the fragrances, which usually cost so € 190, - (100 ml), but too expensive.
(With thanks to NatRocks)
Yet the name appealed to me so much. Velvet Haze - yes, maybe that's a little cheesy, but it also stirs up expectations because it sounds mysterious, as it always does when it comes to mist. Wasn't the mythical island of Avalon always shrouded in mist?
Velvet Haze starts off a bit cool-tart on the top notes, but turns sweet and very creamy in no time. To me, the fragrance also seems floral. Where the flowers come from is unclear to me. Because not a single one is to be found in the fragrance pyramid. So it must be ambrette and coconut water. More like ambrette. Because this is dominated by a certain pungency with - sorry - echoes of certain synthetic moth remedies.
Coconut? I remember times when just about everything that could smell smelled like coconut: perfumes, shampoos, creams, fabric softeners, lipsticks. However, at the time, it was a distinctly tropical coconut scent that conveyed a feeling of vacationing in the South Seas, palm trees, white sandy beaches and turquoise blue seas. I admit, I was expecting something similar, in a modern reimagining of course. Since the coconut fragrance fashion has long died down and I have also already experienced too much coconut in fragrances, I would hardly have voluntarily reached for an EdP, which wants to score with it.
Meanwhile, however, it seems to be the trend that perfumes exactly do not smell like the roses or other ingredients that they supposedly contain. Perhaps one wants to surprise deliberately, to mislead, to serve no conventional expectations. That is laudable, after all. Times are changing. And so do rose and coconut fragrances.
I only find it disappointing when rose is listed and you don't notice anything about it. I feel the same way about the coconut here. I perceive nothing of the kind.
There's something irritatingly sweet that reminds me of strawflowers. Calluna, for instance. I never managed to visit the Lüneburg Heath without taking a heather basket with me. I wonder if they still have them today From the heath it is only a small associative step to an old folk song. It is already dark on the heath, home let us go ...
The evening mood on the heath already hits the soul of the fragrance more than tropical islands, palm trees and South Sea noise.
I wait for the patchouli, which is usually not easy to smell over. But the evening puts a cloth on the land - and everything disappears in a diffuse fragrance creamy mist, from which I perceive only ambergris and musk. Soft, gentle, velvety, powdery and of dry sweetness. The fragrance mist is subtle, elegant and feminine. It's almost all too delicate and becomes increasingly so. Who interprets this as weakening durability, is on the right track.
After coconut and patchouli left out, only cocoa absolute could bring some color into play. It would undoubtedly have the potential to make Velvet Haze something special after all. But the cocoa sensation with the expected gourmand dark bittersweetness unfortunately also holds back. The fragrance remains pale. No excesses, no passion, not even sensuality disturbs the evening peace everywhere. This is another concept I let myself be talked into. I love the quiet evening atmosphere, when the sun sets and dusk falls, the colors become softer, the day quieter. But if you want to achieve that effect, it has to be more explicit - and not just because of the fog in the name. I've never liked movies where the ending is left open. Will they get it now? Will they fall? Will their lives get meaning after all when their son finally returns? Will he survive the cancer? Will she get custody? No answer. You'd better come up with your own! That's how easy it is to be a writer or a filmmaker. The visual arts, of course, have a harder time of it ...
A little iso-star sparkle would have already helped to deepen the evening mood. Or if the patchouli would have risen nice velvety-dark.
But no. Didn't want to, or couldn't? The intention may have been there. But with the implementation of the mood transfer it hapert. In other words, the fragrance is not balanced according to my nose. It has hardly any stability. Well, fog just ...
Whether the musk in the base can still "deliver"? For this, however, it would have to come along more animalic. However, it does not. It is a thoroughly tame white Musk as from the drugstore. Nothing provocative, nothing exciting.
I am not convinced by the fragrance. I like Velvet Haze best still in the initial phase, when you realize with surprise that it is far less gourmandig than you imagined with coconut and cocoa. But that's too little.
What remains is a soft musky amber or ambrette scent with a warm spicy drydown. For me, it is an all in all yet quite conventional fragrance with a certain retro touch, which is probably owed to the quiet patchouli.
Who the fragrance is too synthetic-sweet, need not fear: The durability is low.
Velvet Haze is the first perfume from Byredo that I tested. The niche fragrance house, which also has exclusive scented candles, soaps and other nourishing cosmetics in its portfolio, was founded by Ben Gorham in Stockholm in 2006. Instead of Scandinavian minimalism, Gorham deliberately reflects on his Indian origins. Sounds exciting, but maybe that's where my "foreign" feeling comes from. I will certainly test more Byredos, but not as a blind buy. To me, the fragrances, which usually cost so € 190, - (100 ml), but too expensive.
(With thanks to NatRocks)
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Love strikes like cold steel
The curtain's going up. Enter Rose. It's a grand entrance. The rose is immediately present, almost kitschy sweet and heavy like in some oriental perfumes. I'm a fan of rose scents. But this is too intense for me. If you take a closer sniff and let the scent develop after this overdose of ripe rose, it soon comes across as surprisingly fresh and green, almost citrusy - and makes you sit up and take notice. At least to me. Because I like this modern kind of rose. But no sooner do I begin to rejoice in the unexpected freshness than a dark cloud rolls in in the form of an equally unexpected metallic pungency. Where did it suddenly come from? I have no idea. But it's there. Possibly the geranium breaking into the rose idyll.
Even if no geranium appears in the fragrance pyramid at Parfumo, most other sources mention it. For me, it is in any case clearly noticeable.
Geranium and rose meet each other yes more often in perfumes. On the one hand, to stretch the expensive rose oil, on the other hand, to make the fragrance more durable. Nothing against the delicate white flower, but I am not a fan of its floral sweetness. I may be unfair, but in geranium I always see the cheap "substitute rose" of low quality, which spoils any rose fragrance for me.
Here, it's a little different. I recognize the concept. Love Kills is a parable of the transience of love. You could also say the life of a rose as an allegory to the short-lived nature of romantic relationships.
Okay, you don't have to put something in everything. I'm also bothered by the rigorous apodicticism of such metaphors. After all, not all love stories end up as drama or are shorter than a rose life. Do they? But this one is about the finality of love relationships - be it through the daily grind that kills rapturous feelings, betrayal, disappointment, jealousy, stranded hopes, or whatever - and the melancholy inherent in it by its very nature.
For me, the message is clear: In the beginning, there is the still green rose with its promising freshness. Then it blossoms into a beautiful, velvety bloom and develops such a heavy, dark-sweet fragrance that it is almost too intense to enjoy as pleasant. But while one wonders if so much rose is allowed in a fragrance or on a person, geranium conquers the scene. Its citrusy spiciness makes the unisex fragrance wearable for men, but also brings this almost painful metallic sharpness into play, as if a sword were cutting the wonderful rose in two.
So the geranium is a deliberately used player here, intended to show olfactorically how the innocent, heavenly love affair is beginning to crack. And the early tragedy remains. At this point, the fragrance develops a certain cleanliness and neatness that cannot be interpreted quite clearly in the play of this allegory. I would say: the passion is now out of the relationship. One still remains together, but under different conditions.
The association with Freddie Mercury's 1984 song "Love Kills" suggests itself. It's not one of his best, even if it is his first solo track. But there's this line of lyrics, "Love strikes like cold steel, scars you from the start. Love kills."
So Freddie doesn't seem to have had too good an experience with love either.
I wonder if Caroline Dumur, who created this fragrance, was thinking of Freddie and his song when she mixed up "Love Kills"? I don't know. It doesn't matter, either. The message - coincidentally or not - is the same.
Even though this fragrance didn't exactly take my heart by storm right now, you have to give it credit. Here one wanted to create no pleasing floral round dance. The fragrance tells a - extremely dramatic - story and is an interesting, varied composition with exciting scent progression, which remains in the memory. But it plays very much to the fore. You have to like it, share its mood. Then it fits. It won't conform to you or "underline your personality" as perfumes are so fond of being expected to do. It's far too strong itself for that. An "all or nothing" thing. No compromise, no tolerance, no harmony. It's more about power and dominance. If you are willing to accept that strength, you will find yourself in the fragrance. For me, it's too intense and ultimately too superficial in its message. Program music, that's what you call it in musical compositions. Moreover, I am not prepared to have the destructive course of the fragrance, from the rosebud to the toxic relationship, forced upon me. May the story be true - I don't want to be constantly reminded of the power of love to kill.
If you can stand the dark rose-patchouly mixture, you will be rewarded with a literary-like fragrance, which shows a varied course, has a remarkably strong sillage and durability and is very extreme. Not for the superficial, not for wallflowers, office workers or status people. Rather something for existentialists, courageous, curious and depressed.
The strange name "III-III Love Kills", which somehow reminds me distantly of X Æ A-XII Musk,
by the way, is supposed to mean something like III. elevator, III. scene, I read somewhere, which underlines the dramatic character of this perfume.
(With thanks to NatRocks)
Even if no geranium appears in the fragrance pyramid at Parfumo, most other sources mention it. For me, it is in any case clearly noticeable.
Geranium and rose meet each other yes more often in perfumes. On the one hand, to stretch the expensive rose oil, on the other hand, to make the fragrance more durable. Nothing against the delicate white flower, but I am not a fan of its floral sweetness. I may be unfair, but in geranium I always see the cheap "substitute rose" of low quality, which spoils any rose fragrance for me.
Here, it's a little different. I recognize the concept. Love Kills is a parable of the transience of love. You could also say the life of a rose as an allegory to the short-lived nature of romantic relationships.
Okay, you don't have to put something in everything. I'm also bothered by the rigorous apodicticism of such metaphors. After all, not all love stories end up as drama or are shorter than a rose life. Do they? But this one is about the finality of love relationships - be it through the daily grind that kills rapturous feelings, betrayal, disappointment, jealousy, stranded hopes, or whatever - and the melancholy inherent in it by its very nature.
For me, the message is clear: In the beginning, there is the still green rose with its promising freshness. Then it blossoms into a beautiful, velvety bloom and develops such a heavy, dark-sweet fragrance that it is almost too intense to enjoy as pleasant. But while one wonders if so much rose is allowed in a fragrance or on a person, geranium conquers the scene. Its citrusy spiciness makes the unisex fragrance wearable for men, but also brings this almost painful metallic sharpness into play, as if a sword were cutting the wonderful rose in two.
So the geranium is a deliberately used player here, intended to show olfactorically how the innocent, heavenly love affair is beginning to crack. And the early tragedy remains. At this point, the fragrance develops a certain cleanliness and neatness that cannot be interpreted quite clearly in the play of this allegory. I would say: the passion is now out of the relationship. One still remains together, but under different conditions.
The association with Freddie Mercury's 1984 song "Love Kills" suggests itself. It's not one of his best, even if it is his first solo track. But there's this line of lyrics, "Love strikes like cold steel, scars you from the start. Love kills."
So Freddie doesn't seem to have had too good an experience with love either.
I wonder if Caroline Dumur, who created this fragrance, was thinking of Freddie and his song when she mixed up "Love Kills"? I don't know. It doesn't matter, either. The message - coincidentally or not - is the same.
Even though this fragrance didn't exactly take my heart by storm right now, you have to give it credit. Here one wanted to create no pleasing floral round dance. The fragrance tells a - extremely dramatic - story and is an interesting, varied composition with exciting scent progression, which remains in the memory. But it plays very much to the fore. You have to like it, share its mood. Then it fits. It won't conform to you or "underline your personality" as perfumes are so fond of being expected to do. It's far too strong itself for that. An "all or nothing" thing. No compromise, no tolerance, no harmony. It's more about power and dominance. If you are willing to accept that strength, you will find yourself in the fragrance. For me, it's too intense and ultimately too superficial in its message. Program music, that's what you call it in musical compositions. Moreover, I am not prepared to have the destructive course of the fragrance, from the rosebud to the toxic relationship, forced upon me. May the story be true - I don't want to be constantly reminded of the power of love to kill.
If you can stand the dark rose-patchouly mixture, you will be rewarded with a literary-like fragrance, which shows a varied course, has a remarkably strong sillage and durability and is very extreme. Not for the superficial, not for wallflowers, office workers or status people. Rather something for existentialists, courageous, curious and depressed.
The strange name "III-III Love Kills", which somehow reminds me distantly of X Æ A-XII Musk,
by the way, is supposed to mean something like III. elevator, III. scene, I read somewhere, which underlines the dramatic character of this perfume.
(With thanks to NatRocks)
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Translated
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The sweet porridge
I am not one of those people who are critical of hypes just because they are hypes. Quite the opposite. A fragrance that is hyped up by many arouses my interest. Not because I think so many simply can't be wrong, but because I want to know: What does a fragrance have to be like to be so liked? In the process, of course, I experience my surprises - some positive, as with some Kurkdjians, but also negative, as with Montale Mukhallat.
Recently, an also very hyped fragrance aroused my curiosity: Delina by Parfums de Marly, which is available as Eau de Parfum, Exclusif and La Rosée. Based on the composition, the EdP seemed to be the best fit for me. I was curious about the combination of the fruity-tart notes of lychee, rhubarb and bergamot with rose. Rosy-fruity is how I imagined this fragrance, so very appealing to me. With the Guerlain Aqua Allegorias, this composition always appeals to me as well, though it's mostly blackcurrant there. La Rosée doesn't fit my prey scheme so much because of its aquatic notes.
Since bad purchases of perfumes over the 200-euro limit but rather hurt, I first order two samples in the souk (thank you, NatRocks!) - One of the EdP, the other of the Exclusif, but I thought that would be too elegant and pompous with amber, oud and musk. In addition also still the sweet pear ...
In the reviews Delina is associated with spring feelings, summer garden, joie de vivre, optimism and luxury. That makes you want this fragrance. But somewhere there is also, quite hidden under all the euphoria, a statement that makes me sit up and take notice:
"Who expects a rose that blows all the senses, will be disappointed."
A warning that makes me think. Because I am actually expecting a wonderful rose scent. Nothing nostalgic, soapy, something new, fresh, intriguing, a contemporary interpretation of rose that enchants.
But what do I discover after spraying it on? A very feminine, floral fragrance that flashes fruity and green in the short term, but then becomes gourmand and a little reminiscent of caramel. I'm a little confused: Does Delina want to be floral, gourmand or green now? I can't make out individual florals like lily of the valley or peony - both of which are normally impossible to over-smell. For me, the fragrance quickly becomes a combination of scents that, as such, develops and retains its own character. Delina smells elegant, very elegant, sweet, gentle, harmonious. However, the rose fragrance experience does not occur to me. To me, the fragrance seems rather gourmand, creamy like a sweet porridge.
Parfums de Marly takes inspiration for their perfumes from the 18th century. Late Baroque, courtly, lavish pomp, luxury, playful ornaments, frills, lace, elaborate wigs, gardens constructed on the drawing board that have little to do with nature, prestigious palaces like the royal palace of Versailles. They were particularly taken with Louis XV and his courtly world: the lavish splendor of his refuge, Marly Palace, and its fairy-tale world of pastel colors, floral ornaments, and aristocratic ladies who wore entire landscapes in their towering hair.
Louis XV is known for his love of noble steeds and his extravagance with fragrances. He scented his suite of rooms at Versailles with sumptuous perfumes of flowers, animals and fruits. His famous perfumed fountains alone devour vast sums of money, while large parts of the population starve.
I never mustered much sympathy for the baroque lifestyle of the French kings, which always struck me as decadent in an incomprehensibly misanthropic way. But I would never transfer that antipathy to a fragrance.
Briefly, Delina reminds me of a cross between Un Jardin Sur Le Toit and Baccarat Rouge 540, both fragrances I hold in high regard. However, I would never layer them. That's the problem with Delina for me, though. Not layering, but combining the two irreconcilable opposites of fruity-green and gourmand. Such experiments can work if you are brave enough and innovative. Here, they obviously wanted to create a designer fragrance, but one that would also be accepted by the mainstream. Can it succeed? Yes and no. In terms of popularity and sales success, the attempt was clearly successful. The fragrance is pleasing, but for me too much effort construct, which as such even seems synthetic.
I had expected a fragrance with a beautiful rose note. From rose, however, I perceive nothing. Also nothing of lily of the valley, lychee, rhubarb and vanilla. There are no soloists in this orchestra. All I find is a synthetic conglomerate that shows virtually no scent progression to speak of. I feel the gourmand most strongly, but it does not trigger such idyllic sensations as Baccarat Rouge 540.
I don't find Delina very inspiring. The longer I wear the EdP, the more the fragrance reduces to a diffuse, synthetic sweetness. I keep trying to find something else sensational, special about Delina, but I can't. I am disappointed. Did I expect too much? Rose instead of indefinable sweetness?
The durability is at least good. The fact that the intensity decreases over time doesn't bother me. Delina is not a fragrance for me. The marketing, with its homage to Louis XV and the late Baroque period, is convincing and professional - from the tassel bottle to the perfume's dominant sweetness. But I'm not a wasteful baroque man at the court of Versailles, which is thankfully now a museum.
The fragrance wants to be elegant. However, it is too sweet for me for that. Due to the hype, I would have expected more ingenuity and creativity.
Recently, an also very hyped fragrance aroused my curiosity: Delina by Parfums de Marly, which is available as Eau de Parfum, Exclusif and La Rosée. Based on the composition, the EdP seemed to be the best fit for me. I was curious about the combination of the fruity-tart notes of lychee, rhubarb and bergamot with rose. Rosy-fruity is how I imagined this fragrance, so very appealing to me. With the Guerlain Aqua Allegorias, this composition always appeals to me as well, though it's mostly blackcurrant there. La Rosée doesn't fit my prey scheme so much because of its aquatic notes.
Since bad purchases of perfumes over the 200-euro limit but rather hurt, I first order two samples in the souk (thank you, NatRocks!) - One of the EdP, the other of the Exclusif, but I thought that would be too elegant and pompous with amber, oud and musk. In addition also still the sweet pear ...
In the reviews Delina is associated with spring feelings, summer garden, joie de vivre, optimism and luxury. That makes you want this fragrance. But somewhere there is also, quite hidden under all the euphoria, a statement that makes me sit up and take notice:
"Who expects a rose that blows all the senses, will be disappointed."
A warning that makes me think. Because I am actually expecting a wonderful rose scent. Nothing nostalgic, soapy, something new, fresh, intriguing, a contemporary interpretation of rose that enchants.
But what do I discover after spraying it on? A very feminine, floral fragrance that flashes fruity and green in the short term, but then becomes gourmand and a little reminiscent of caramel. I'm a little confused: Does Delina want to be floral, gourmand or green now? I can't make out individual florals like lily of the valley or peony - both of which are normally impossible to over-smell. For me, the fragrance quickly becomes a combination of scents that, as such, develops and retains its own character. Delina smells elegant, very elegant, sweet, gentle, harmonious. However, the rose fragrance experience does not occur to me. To me, the fragrance seems rather gourmand, creamy like a sweet porridge.
Parfums de Marly takes inspiration for their perfumes from the 18th century. Late Baroque, courtly, lavish pomp, luxury, playful ornaments, frills, lace, elaborate wigs, gardens constructed on the drawing board that have little to do with nature, prestigious palaces like the royal palace of Versailles. They were particularly taken with Louis XV and his courtly world: the lavish splendor of his refuge, Marly Palace, and its fairy-tale world of pastel colors, floral ornaments, and aristocratic ladies who wore entire landscapes in their towering hair.
Louis XV is known for his love of noble steeds and his extravagance with fragrances. He scented his suite of rooms at Versailles with sumptuous perfumes of flowers, animals and fruits. His famous perfumed fountains alone devour vast sums of money, while large parts of the population starve.
I never mustered much sympathy for the baroque lifestyle of the French kings, which always struck me as decadent in an incomprehensibly misanthropic way. But I would never transfer that antipathy to a fragrance.
Briefly, Delina reminds me of a cross between Un Jardin Sur Le Toit and Baccarat Rouge 540, both fragrances I hold in high regard. However, I would never layer them. That's the problem with Delina for me, though. Not layering, but combining the two irreconcilable opposites of fruity-green and gourmand. Such experiments can work if you are brave enough and innovative. Here, they obviously wanted to create a designer fragrance, but one that would also be accepted by the mainstream. Can it succeed? Yes and no. In terms of popularity and sales success, the attempt was clearly successful. The fragrance is pleasing, but for me too much effort construct, which as such even seems synthetic.
I had expected a fragrance with a beautiful rose note. From rose, however, I perceive nothing. Also nothing of lily of the valley, lychee, rhubarb and vanilla. There are no soloists in this orchestra. All I find is a synthetic conglomerate that shows virtually no scent progression to speak of. I feel the gourmand most strongly, but it does not trigger such idyllic sensations as Baccarat Rouge 540.
I don't find Delina very inspiring. The longer I wear the EdP, the more the fragrance reduces to a diffuse, synthetic sweetness. I keep trying to find something else sensational, special about Delina, but I can't. I am disappointed. Did I expect too much? Rose instead of indefinable sweetness?
The durability is at least good. The fact that the intensity decreases over time doesn't bother me. Delina is not a fragrance for me. The marketing, with its homage to Louis XV and the late Baroque period, is convincing and professional - from the tassel bottle to the perfume's dominant sweetness. But I'm not a wasteful baroque man at the court of Versailles, which is thankfully now a museum.
The fragrance wants to be elegant. However, it is too sweet for me for that. Due to the hype, I would have expected more ingenuity and creativity.
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Big drama in the tropical night
Did I mention that I can be manipulated by advertising? When I read the not so few reviews and statements about Mukhallat, I immediately thought: I must have it! The scent seemed to fit me perfectly. Synthetic strawberry gum with vanilla, musk and almonds - that sounded so cheesy to me that it's beautiful again. No. I was expecting a cheeky, eccentric scent that would be an idealization, so to speak, of the artificial aroma of cheap strawberry gum. A banal theme from the pink Barbie doll's room that becomes an elite fragrance beyond any girlie image through great perfumery. I was excited to see Montale's solution to this equation. I was looking forward to Mukhallat, especially since I also really like the distinctive snow-white metallic bottle.
Then the package from the online perfumery finally arrived. True, the fragrance already looks noble and special from the outside: golden box, stylish storage bag, the playful gold closure of the spray ...
The ritual begins with the hasty removal of the cellophane wrapper. I am curious. Now it is sprayed. First, a little cautiously. Some call the perfume yes as an unbearable fragrance bomb. In principle, I have with loud, sweet and fancy no fear of contact, if the quality is convincing. I love to vary fragrances according to occasions, mood, season and time of day.
Almonds, vanilla, white musk, wild strawberry and Peru balsam - I like it all. What else can go wrong?
The fragrance is already a bit intense, right from the start. What do you mean a bit? I do not want to speak now of penetrating, but he has a - let's say it more friendly - enormous presence. Distinct, sweet, loud ... Well, that's what I expected. Just in the direction of wild strawberry or strawberry gum. But I don't perceive anything of that. Also not from almonds or vanilla and so.
30 minutes later: I'm still waiting for the promised strawberry flavor. But it does not come. Instead, the strong floral scent seems more and more familiar to me. My little gray cells begin to work, check all possible tropical or exotic scents. Wasn't there once a fragrance oil called Monoi de Tahiti by Yves Rocher? Bingo! I found the scent far too strong and sweet at the time. Today, the fragrance oil is still standing around unused somewhere. And in the meantime, I've also remembered the plant that lends its scent to the beauty product, which comes from the French Polynesian islands: Gardenia Tahitensis, the tiare - a white, large flower with an almost synthetic sweetness that I actually find intrusive. Of course, this is a matter of taste. I like intense scents, but when they also have that certain "beguiling" quality to them, it becomes too much for me - for a perfume I wear on me. And Mukhallat is such a beguiling fragrance. Heavy, sweet and warm, it catapults me right into the middle of a magical tropical night in Tahiti. Oh wait, then why is it called Mukhallat? From this Arabic name I would have expected something more oriental. Was there a false scent here?
One hour later. From strawberry still no trace. The fragrance has not changed. It reminds me of heliotrope and ylang-ylang, maybe some gardenia; so it continues to be beguiling tropical night. I am disappointed. I was expecting something completely different and am puzzled by the fragrance pyramid. Because I smell no strawberry, no almond, no nothing - except the tiare, which is supposedly not in there at all. If there was at least something gourmandiges ...
A few days later, I give Mukhallat another chance. But I'm almost afraid of the gush of sweet tropical night, which will immediately embrace me, not to say crush me. Or? Alas, no ... There it is again, the tropical night. Quite the drama: sweet, sultry, dominant, a strong, exotic floral scent that I'm apparently too mid-European for. When, where and for what occasion should a woman wear this intrusive exotic floral blend? I don't know. Maybe a summery South Seas festival? But otherwise?
Mukhallat is certainly not going to be my favorite scent. The cheeky, fun, high-spirited, of which is so often talked about and to which I was looking forward, I do not find here. Of course, they could have played ironically with cheesy melodrama, South Seas romance and magical tropical night. But that obviously did not succeed or was not even planned.
I am disappointed. I can not do much with this fragrance. In a way, it's even quite banal, because it has little to offer: nothing really eye-wateringly shocking, no emotions to touch me, no mystery or secrets to fathom, no interesting scent progression, nothing to inspire me. No challenge, at best the over-the-top passion of a pulp novel. But even that sounds more promising than it is.
If anyone wants to give this unusual, luxurious fragrance, with its truly above-average sillage and longevity, a home where it will be more respected, I'm happy to let it go, though not to give it away. Just get in touch with me.
Then the package from the online perfumery finally arrived. True, the fragrance already looks noble and special from the outside: golden box, stylish storage bag, the playful gold closure of the spray ...
The ritual begins with the hasty removal of the cellophane wrapper. I am curious. Now it is sprayed. First, a little cautiously. Some call the perfume yes as an unbearable fragrance bomb. In principle, I have with loud, sweet and fancy no fear of contact, if the quality is convincing. I love to vary fragrances according to occasions, mood, season and time of day.
Almonds, vanilla, white musk, wild strawberry and Peru balsam - I like it all. What else can go wrong?
The fragrance is already a bit intense, right from the start. What do you mean a bit? I do not want to speak now of penetrating, but he has a - let's say it more friendly - enormous presence. Distinct, sweet, loud ... Well, that's what I expected. Just in the direction of wild strawberry or strawberry gum. But I don't perceive anything of that. Also not from almonds or vanilla and so.
30 minutes later: I'm still waiting for the promised strawberry flavor. But it does not come. Instead, the strong floral scent seems more and more familiar to me. My little gray cells begin to work, check all possible tropical or exotic scents. Wasn't there once a fragrance oil called Monoi de Tahiti by Yves Rocher? Bingo! I found the scent far too strong and sweet at the time. Today, the fragrance oil is still standing around unused somewhere. And in the meantime, I've also remembered the plant that lends its scent to the beauty product, which comes from the French Polynesian islands: Gardenia Tahitensis, the tiare - a white, large flower with an almost synthetic sweetness that I actually find intrusive. Of course, this is a matter of taste. I like intense scents, but when they also have that certain "beguiling" quality to them, it becomes too much for me - for a perfume I wear on me. And Mukhallat is such a beguiling fragrance. Heavy, sweet and warm, it catapults me right into the middle of a magical tropical night in Tahiti. Oh wait, then why is it called Mukhallat? From this Arabic name I would have expected something more oriental. Was there a false scent here?
One hour later. From strawberry still no trace. The fragrance has not changed. It reminds me of heliotrope and ylang-ylang, maybe some gardenia; so it continues to be beguiling tropical night. I am disappointed. I was expecting something completely different and am puzzled by the fragrance pyramid. Because I smell no strawberry, no almond, no nothing - except the tiare, which is supposedly not in there at all. If there was at least something gourmandiges ...
A few days later, I give Mukhallat another chance. But I'm almost afraid of the gush of sweet tropical night, which will immediately embrace me, not to say crush me. Or? Alas, no ... There it is again, the tropical night. Quite the drama: sweet, sultry, dominant, a strong, exotic floral scent that I'm apparently too mid-European for. When, where and for what occasion should a woman wear this intrusive exotic floral blend? I don't know. Maybe a summery South Seas festival? But otherwise?
Mukhallat is certainly not going to be my favorite scent. The cheeky, fun, high-spirited, of which is so often talked about and to which I was looking forward, I do not find here. Of course, they could have played ironically with cheesy melodrama, South Seas romance and magical tropical night. But that obviously did not succeed or was not even planned.
I am disappointed. I can not do much with this fragrance. In a way, it's even quite banal, because it has little to offer: nothing really eye-wateringly shocking, no emotions to touch me, no mystery or secrets to fathom, no interesting scent progression, nothing to inspire me. No challenge, at best the over-the-top passion of a pulp novel. But even that sounds more promising than it is.
If anyone wants to give this unusual, luxurious fragrance, with its truly above-average sillage and longevity, a home where it will be more respected, I'm happy to let it go, though not to give it away. Just get in touch with me.
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