Shahar
Reviews
Shahar
Translated
Show original
LOVE - the great love disaster
Enthusiastically and unconvincingly, my husband has been trying to gift me and add to my perfume stash for years: completely unsuccessfully.
Every perfume he has ever given me: absolute failure. Is also because he consistently ignores my scent preferences and wants to expand my horizons for the heck of it. I don't like aquatic? Great idea to gift me any perfume with "aqua" in the name. I can't with rose? Bring on the rose perfumes, "INTO THE RIGHT ROSE WILL MY WIFE ALREADY FALL IN LOVE!"
His wife doesn't. On the contrary. After every fragrance that has much to do with (real) roses stopped by my house for a 5-minute visit (open - smell - throw out) over the past few years, I can't even see real roses anymore. Like, as flowers, gift. Total rose ban!
Within the last 12 months alone 7 rose scents. All smelled like: Rose.
Love doesn't just smell like rose, it smells like all the roses in the world. All the varieties from all over the world, all the existing flowers of the rose genus: I swear you can recognize every single one of 452,387,261 roses alive right now! The young, the old, the dark, the light, the quiet, the loud - I can't go on! The scent smells like: Roses. Scent: roses. Sillage: roses. Longevity: the immortal rose.
Did I mention that I don't like roses?
Every perfume he has ever given me: absolute failure. Is also because he consistently ignores my scent preferences and wants to expand my horizons for the heck of it. I don't like aquatic? Great idea to gift me any perfume with "aqua" in the name. I can't with rose? Bring on the rose perfumes, "INTO THE RIGHT ROSE WILL MY WIFE ALREADY FALL IN LOVE!"
His wife doesn't. On the contrary. After every fragrance that has much to do with (real) roses stopped by my house for a 5-minute visit (open - smell - throw out) over the past few years, I can't even see real roses anymore. Like, as flowers, gift. Total rose ban!
Within the last 12 months alone 7 rose scents. All smelled like: Rose.
Love doesn't just smell like rose, it smells like all the roses in the world. All the varieties from all over the world, all the existing flowers of the rose genus: I swear you can recognize every single one of 452,387,261 roses alive right now! The young, the old, the dark, the light, the quiet, the loud - I can't go on! The scent smells like: Roses. Scent: roses. Sillage: roses. Longevity: the immortal rose.
Did I mention that I don't like roses?
20 Comments
Translated
Show original
The one possessed by Layla - one of the most beautiful love stories in the world
One of the most famous love stories is that of Layla and Ghain, Madschnūn Lailā - the Layla-obsessed man who died of this love.
There are many versions of this story, each of which can be read in the vast expanses of the Internet or in the story of Nizami, so I am not reproducing NONE that has been written, but the one I was told many years ago:
"Ghain and Layla were two children together as one. Always together, one came - came the other, one went - went the other and laughed one - laughed the other. To look into Layla's eyes was for Ghain to see the sun rising every day, there is no life without the sun, unimaginable to be without it. Together they had learned to walk and together they would leave the world one day. They lived like brothers and sisters, but they were not like brothers and sisters.
Anyone with eyes in their head could see that. Layla's father was a rich merchant and rarely saw his children. Ghain's father, his childhood friend, honest and wealthy owner of an inn, but not rich, saw his son Ghain and Layla each of their shining days and both his heart and mind seemed to see the path of the two of them into a common future.
As Layla grew older, put on the veil and was no longer allowed to roam around with Ghain, the father took his son Ghain aside and told him not to be sad, the time had to wait to ask Layla's father for her hand.
That day came and brought darkness to all life, when Layla's father laughed at Ghain and his father, his own childhood friend. He would never give Layla to Ghain and quickly he married her to his even richer business partner, for Layla was beautiful and an adornment of her sex.
Ghain was no longer Ghain without Layla, he did not eat, he did not sleep, and when the caravan with Layla left the village forever, he never set foot in a house again: he walked and stayed at the edge of the desert, under the open sky, under the sun that burned the healthy spirit out of his head more and more every day. He wandered around, no longer recognizing anyone, neither by face nor by heart. Tangled verses of love flowed from his lips incessantly, like tears from his eyes. His life was empty and lonely like the desert and his heart burned for a cold spirit.
This is the story of Ghain, who was obsessed with Layla."
The westerner now has a thousand questions: What is the end of the story? Why was nothing done? Did Layla love him that much? Why did she not refuse?
These questions do not arise. Suffering and pain and their contrast to this all-encompassing love is the central point and it is a matter of preserving the beauty of the story with the beauty of the narrative.
By the way, the song "Layla" by Eric Clapton refers to this love story in a version in which Layla and Ghain only meet and fall in love when they are adults.
When some years ago LAYLA was announced by Al Kimiya, I immediately had the memory of this story in my head and very, very high expectations. They were all fulfilled.
Because as in Madschnūn Lailā LAYLA as a fragrance is not really tangible, remains diffuse, is not concrete. And yet true and present. Without the scent pyramid in front of my eyes I would never have come up with these 'ingredients' - but the other way round you find the ingredients in the fragrance.
If I had to describe LAYLA without knowing the pyramid of scents, I would say: warm spiced milk. In addition, the fragrance becomes so one with my skin that after a few hours I can't tell where I applied it - nevertheless its aura is there.
Unfortunately, no one else has noticed when I've worn LAYLA - even my children say when you ask them to "smell" - "THAT smells like you, mummy".
That's why I had been thinking about buying it for so long: who spends SO MUCH money on a perfume that nobody notices as perfume? And it doesn't help to apply more perfume - LAYLA refuses and remains in every dosage and no matter where tender, subtle and elegant - a dark shadow. Clearly oriental - but not a perfume orient. Feminine - but not feminine. Absolutely timeless with your foot in eternity. Great perfume art!
In the end I felt like Ghain: when the bottling was over I realized that I don't want to live without LAYLA. With money you could solve my problem - with much more money Ghain could have solved his problem. That's why I find the "moral" of this story a bit unorthodox: if Ghain had been a problem solver, this beautiful story would not exist.
I hope I have not disappointed anyone that my description is so little aimed at the description of the fragrance itself. But from Sweetsmell75 there is an absolutely accurate comment, to which nothing of substance could be added.
It was a matter of the heart for me to spread this great story behind the name - every time I use Layla I think about it and I hope to have passed on some inspiration.
"What passes is time, but not love. Let all else be bauble and jugglery and conceit: it is not. For the brazier on which it burns is eternity itself, which has neither beginning nor end Nizami
"Layla, you've got me on my knees
Layla, I'm begging, darling please
Layla, darling won't you ease my worried mind" Eric Clapton
There are many versions of this story, each of which can be read in the vast expanses of the Internet or in the story of Nizami, so I am not reproducing NONE that has been written, but the one I was told many years ago:
"Ghain and Layla were two children together as one. Always together, one came - came the other, one went - went the other and laughed one - laughed the other. To look into Layla's eyes was for Ghain to see the sun rising every day, there is no life without the sun, unimaginable to be without it. Together they had learned to walk and together they would leave the world one day. They lived like brothers and sisters, but they were not like brothers and sisters.
Anyone with eyes in their head could see that. Layla's father was a rich merchant and rarely saw his children. Ghain's father, his childhood friend, honest and wealthy owner of an inn, but not rich, saw his son Ghain and Layla each of their shining days and both his heart and mind seemed to see the path of the two of them into a common future.
As Layla grew older, put on the veil and was no longer allowed to roam around with Ghain, the father took his son Ghain aside and told him not to be sad, the time had to wait to ask Layla's father for her hand.
That day came and brought darkness to all life, when Layla's father laughed at Ghain and his father, his own childhood friend. He would never give Layla to Ghain and quickly he married her to his even richer business partner, for Layla was beautiful and an adornment of her sex.
Ghain was no longer Ghain without Layla, he did not eat, he did not sleep, and when the caravan with Layla left the village forever, he never set foot in a house again: he walked and stayed at the edge of the desert, under the open sky, under the sun that burned the healthy spirit out of his head more and more every day. He wandered around, no longer recognizing anyone, neither by face nor by heart. Tangled verses of love flowed from his lips incessantly, like tears from his eyes. His life was empty and lonely like the desert and his heart burned for a cold spirit.
This is the story of Ghain, who was obsessed with Layla."
The westerner now has a thousand questions: What is the end of the story? Why was nothing done? Did Layla love him that much? Why did she not refuse?
These questions do not arise. Suffering and pain and their contrast to this all-encompassing love is the central point and it is a matter of preserving the beauty of the story with the beauty of the narrative.
By the way, the song "Layla" by Eric Clapton refers to this love story in a version in which Layla and Ghain only meet and fall in love when they are adults.
When some years ago LAYLA was announced by Al Kimiya, I immediately had the memory of this story in my head and very, very high expectations. They were all fulfilled.
Because as in Madschnūn Lailā LAYLA as a fragrance is not really tangible, remains diffuse, is not concrete. And yet true and present. Without the scent pyramid in front of my eyes I would never have come up with these 'ingredients' - but the other way round you find the ingredients in the fragrance.
If I had to describe LAYLA without knowing the pyramid of scents, I would say: warm spiced milk. In addition, the fragrance becomes so one with my skin that after a few hours I can't tell where I applied it - nevertheless its aura is there.
Unfortunately, no one else has noticed when I've worn LAYLA - even my children say when you ask them to "smell" - "THAT smells like you, mummy".
That's why I had been thinking about buying it for so long: who spends SO MUCH money on a perfume that nobody notices as perfume? And it doesn't help to apply more perfume - LAYLA refuses and remains in every dosage and no matter where tender, subtle and elegant - a dark shadow. Clearly oriental - but not a perfume orient. Feminine - but not feminine. Absolutely timeless with your foot in eternity. Great perfume art!
In the end I felt like Ghain: when the bottling was over I realized that I don't want to live without LAYLA. With money you could solve my problem - with much more money Ghain could have solved his problem. That's why I find the "moral" of this story a bit unorthodox: if Ghain had been a problem solver, this beautiful story would not exist.
I hope I have not disappointed anyone that my description is so little aimed at the description of the fragrance itself. But from Sweetsmell75 there is an absolutely accurate comment, to which nothing of substance could be added.
It was a matter of the heart for me to spread this great story behind the name - every time I use Layla I think about it and I hope to have passed on some inspiration.
"What passes is time, but not love. Let all else be bauble and jugglery and conceit: it is not. For the brazier on which it burns is eternity itself, which has neither beginning nor end Nizami
"Layla, you've got me on my knees
Layla, I'm begging, darling please
Layla, darling won't you ease my worried mind" Eric Clapton
9 Comments
Translated
Show original
The invisible third party
Since I had missed the last Sharings of "Love Tuberose", I jumped like wild on the Sharing of the "Portrayal". As soon as the 10ml reservation was out, I read the scents for the first time and got a preventative headache. God oh God - Jasmine. Pooh and tobacco WITH jasmine. Oh you Ka** - Elemiharz!
I regularly pollute my house with my Arabic incense pots and have small incense resin packages sent to me from Morocco, behind whose sonorous names one or two surprises lie dormant. And I'd already been hit by the full booming of Elemiharz: herbaceous, stinging, medical, greenish smelly, strange, so strange that I poured the resin and burning coal into the toilet within a minute with horror. Elemi oil was used by the ancient Egyptians for embalming and is still used today for smoking against pests, which seems absolutely obvious to me in view of the smell.
I watched as the sharing slowly filled up and first called up the perfume page every morning in the hope that someone would leave a description of the scent to calm my nerves.
Amourage then appeared with her statement like the shining archangel herself and dried my fear sweat: "Clean-Flower-Fresh-Wascheduft". That changed EVERYTHING. From "saddened to death" my mood swung to breathlessly enthusiastic anticipation.
In my beloved "Bracken" there are echoes that show that AMOUAGE can also be used in fabric softener and fresh. The jasmine and vanilla gave hope that the stone-cold, absurd freshness of "Bracken" could be translated into a more socially acceptable friendliness.
I've never transferred money with so much momentum before! And then I waited... and waited... and then he was DA!
A thousand thanks to dear IrinaBerlin for this great opportunity! A revelation! With Amouage I tend to talk about fragrances a little bit beautifully - with "Portrayal" everything fitted from the first moment on.
For me it's not a fragrance that you have to smell into as a carrier, but it seems to be a fragrance that the others all around have to smell into. My "scent observers" only gave out cries of delight after a few days. Since I suffer from too much self-confidence, I smiled at them indulgently like small, stupid children and patted myself on the shoulder from all sides to admire my incomparable taste.
The jasmine of the top note is reminiscent of the radiant acacia blossom. Vanilla smoothes the scent and cannot be scented individually, just as tobacco only functions as a frame.
A light, muted sweetness seems to me like a hint of a finger that Amouage is simply hiding fragrances here: the top note contains components that can also be found in the complicated "Vepres Siciliennes": Magnolia? Oakmoss? Perhaps the elemi resin only plays different roles here, as it can be very multifaceted: woody, lemony-tough, dull-green, refreshing, with facets of fennel.
All this makes the fragrance stand out far from the little girl's corner and from the age of 20 it appears ageless. Feminine, after all, is the nicer word for madamig.
Another positive aspect is that if you 'accidentally' pour the fragrance over yourself with enthusiasm, it will not cause you to suffocate, the Sillage remains the same, strong and persevering, but without burning eyes or olfactory tinnitus.
"Portrayal" plays with expectations at a high level here: it's definitely NOT THAT what you expected and a lot of what you'd get from EVERY perfume!
I regularly pollute my house with my Arabic incense pots and have small incense resin packages sent to me from Morocco, behind whose sonorous names one or two surprises lie dormant. And I'd already been hit by the full booming of Elemiharz: herbaceous, stinging, medical, greenish smelly, strange, so strange that I poured the resin and burning coal into the toilet within a minute with horror. Elemi oil was used by the ancient Egyptians for embalming and is still used today for smoking against pests, which seems absolutely obvious to me in view of the smell.
I watched as the sharing slowly filled up and first called up the perfume page every morning in the hope that someone would leave a description of the scent to calm my nerves.
Amourage then appeared with her statement like the shining archangel herself and dried my fear sweat: "Clean-Flower-Fresh-Wascheduft". That changed EVERYTHING. From "saddened to death" my mood swung to breathlessly enthusiastic anticipation.
In my beloved "Bracken" there are echoes that show that AMOUAGE can also be used in fabric softener and fresh. The jasmine and vanilla gave hope that the stone-cold, absurd freshness of "Bracken" could be translated into a more socially acceptable friendliness.
I've never transferred money with so much momentum before! And then I waited... and waited... and then he was DA!
A thousand thanks to dear IrinaBerlin for this great opportunity! A revelation! With Amouage I tend to talk about fragrances a little bit beautifully - with "Portrayal" everything fitted from the first moment on.
For me it's not a fragrance that you have to smell into as a carrier, but it seems to be a fragrance that the others all around have to smell into. My "scent observers" only gave out cries of delight after a few days. Since I suffer from too much self-confidence, I smiled at them indulgently like small, stupid children and patted myself on the shoulder from all sides to admire my incomparable taste.
The jasmine of the top note is reminiscent of the radiant acacia blossom. Vanilla smoothes the scent and cannot be scented individually, just as tobacco only functions as a frame.
A light, muted sweetness seems to me like a hint of a finger that Amouage is simply hiding fragrances here: the top note contains components that can also be found in the complicated "Vepres Siciliennes": Magnolia? Oakmoss? Perhaps the elemi resin only plays different roles here, as it can be very multifaceted: woody, lemony-tough, dull-green, refreshing, with facets of fennel.
All this makes the fragrance stand out far from the little girl's corner and from the age of 20 it appears ageless. Feminine, after all, is the nicer word for madamig.
Another positive aspect is that if you 'accidentally' pour the fragrance over yourself with enthusiasm, it will not cause you to suffocate, the Sillage remains the same, strong and persevering, but without burning eyes or olfactory tinnitus.
"Portrayal" plays with expectations at a high level here: it's definitely NOT THAT what you expected and a lot of what you'd get from EVERY perfume!
10 Comments
Translated
Show original
"The laws of imitation"
The English word 'imitation' is ambiguous, beyond that inaccurate. It is not to be equated with 'imitation' i.S.v. 'fake', it can also be called 'imitation' or 'following'.
So Amouage covers herself with this name, mysterious. And above all he thought about whether the word itself had a nice sound (which was not so successful with 'Bräkkn', 'Müffs' or 'Fikmänt').
The concept of the fragrance once again follows completely independent paths; somehow Amouage's corporate philosophy is not in the mood for corporate philosophy: neither do the perfumes have to be oriental or show their geographical origin, nor do they have a consistent signature or motto. Although "Lilac Love" and "Love Tuberose" are based on the impression of complacency, since "Beach Hut", "Bracken" and the unspeakable "Myths" we know that creative perfumers can just let their hair down. There's no other way to explain this!
If the last six Amouage perfumes are juxtaposed, it almost borders on foolishness, which Amouage takes the liberty of doing.
As a disdainful business economist, I find that strategically very courageous and positive. But in the nature of most humans it lies also not to find so much change well and to oil around that the "new" Amouages are not at all "correct" Amouages.
For people like me, this is a stroke of luck - none of the "old" ones would ever have managed to land with me.
That's exactly why I ordered a bottle from IMITATION: the grotesque rating of 6.7 seemed to me to offer the greatest potential for surprise.
I already have a 'number-sure-compliment-hasher-smell' for people who don't want to step on anyone's toes: the LILAC LOVE. It's so mass compatible, I'm always a little ashamed to wear it.
IMITATION is certainly not mass compatible! Imitation has nothing to do with 'fake' - I haven't smelled anything like it yet. He also doesn't shock like "Myths" or the torched Indian beach hut and he isn't as brittle as "Bracken", yet he polarizes more than he should please.
Already with "Blossom Love" Amouage has shown that they are not afraid of cheap chewing gum notes. What is cheesy there is a sour-fruity chewy candy note at IMITATION. A very ambivalent note: on the one hand a natural black currant is still half green (berry, NO blossom!), on the other hand it has a touch of toilet stone: artificial, squeaky, inedible. The liquorice has partially fallen out of the Katjestüte.
The fragrance begins with the volume of a starting airplane: the 3 K chewy candy, toilet stone and Katjes, the heart notes dominate, none of the indicated top notes is perceptible. Maybe it contains rose, ylang, jasmine and orange blossoms - you don't know. Aldehydes give the whole thing a proletarian twist.
We have had a widespread party custom since our youth: you put several bags of sour apple rings in vodka, that's eaten. And if this is not eaten up, after 24 hours a uniform, poison-green, sweet-sour jelly has formed. There are people who are really wild about it and actually I was always convinced: if you like something like that, you're not completely dense.
Now the heart note in the Sillage is an exact copy of this jelly, which I find really horny and now the question: WHAT am I when I want to smell like that??
I don't find the given base notes either, the jelly note becomes more dark-fruity, adult and in a more noble way (=unproletenhaft) sweet, the toilet disappears and fruit flies can no longer be caught and killed with the scent.
The vanished head notes can now be guessed and save their reputation with tough longevity.
Whew. Let's start all over again I'll find the IRRE TOLL! But I am also one of those people who have no problem busting other people's balls. This may be falsifying my judgment here. Imitation is sheer odor nuisance and the opposite of sexy. (I thought so, but EVERY man questioned in the area hates the stuff)
Nevertheless, I think it would be great to take this smell of winter in a fully occupied bus with the windows closed. This will be a fitting revenge for all the stinking I've suffered. (the midsummer version already exists with Coeur de Desert).
Or wear it to the office for a week...
Or to force my husband to go through a romantic evening with me and this fragrance!
I'm sure I'll remember even more nasty things, I like IMITATION very much and his penetrance suits me. Imitation is young, cheeky, bitchy and impertinent. To wear it you need strong nerves, courage and a very elegant appearance (that covers the riotous effect).
And it's only for women. Absolute men's exclusion zone! Or to use the subtle words of my husband: "Don't spray the devil's stuff on me! I'm sure my balls will fall off!"
There's nothing like a romantic ending!
PS: When I have the bottle, I put it on one of my favourite books ("The Laws of Imitation" by Gabriel Tarde) and take a nice photo of them
So Amouage covers herself with this name, mysterious. And above all he thought about whether the word itself had a nice sound (which was not so successful with 'Bräkkn', 'Müffs' or 'Fikmänt').
The concept of the fragrance once again follows completely independent paths; somehow Amouage's corporate philosophy is not in the mood for corporate philosophy: neither do the perfumes have to be oriental or show their geographical origin, nor do they have a consistent signature or motto. Although "Lilac Love" and "Love Tuberose" are based on the impression of complacency, since "Beach Hut", "Bracken" and the unspeakable "Myths" we know that creative perfumers can just let their hair down. There's no other way to explain this!
If the last six Amouage perfumes are juxtaposed, it almost borders on foolishness, which Amouage takes the liberty of doing.
As a disdainful business economist, I find that strategically very courageous and positive. But in the nature of most humans it lies also not to find so much change well and to oil around that the "new" Amouages are not at all "correct" Amouages.
For people like me, this is a stroke of luck - none of the "old" ones would ever have managed to land with me.
That's exactly why I ordered a bottle from IMITATION: the grotesque rating of 6.7 seemed to me to offer the greatest potential for surprise.
I already have a 'number-sure-compliment-hasher-smell' for people who don't want to step on anyone's toes: the LILAC LOVE. It's so mass compatible, I'm always a little ashamed to wear it.
IMITATION is certainly not mass compatible! Imitation has nothing to do with 'fake' - I haven't smelled anything like it yet. He also doesn't shock like "Myths" or the torched Indian beach hut and he isn't as brittle as "Bracken", yet he polarizes more than he should please.
Already with "Blossom Love" Amouage has shown that they are not afraid of cheap chewing gum notes. What is cheesy there is a sour-fruity chewy candy note at IMITATION. A very ambivalent note: on the one hand a natural black currant is still half green (berry, NO blossom!), on the other hand it has a touch of toilet stone: artificial, squeaky, inedible. The liquorice has partially fallen out of the Katjestüte.
The fragrance begins with the volume of a starting airplane: the 3 K chewy candy, toilet stone and Katjes, the heart notes dominate, none of the indicated top notes is perceptible. Maybe it contains rose, ylang, jasmine and orange blossoms - you don't know. Aldehydes give the whole thing a proletarian twist.
We have had a widespread party custom since our youth: you put several bags of sour apple rings in vodka, that's eaten. And if this is not eaten up, after 24 hours a uniform, poison-green, sweet-sour jelly has formed. There are people who are really wild about it and actually I was always convinced: if you like something like that, you're not completely dense.
Now the heart note in the Sillage is an exact copy of this jelly, which I find really horny and now the question: WHAT am I when I want to smell like that??
I don't find the given base notes either, the jelly note becomes more dark-fruity, adult and in a more noble way (=unproletenhaft) sweet, the toilet disappears and fruit flies can no longer be caught and killed with the scent.
The vanished head notes can now be guessed and save their reputation with tough longevity.
Whew. Let's start all over again I'll find the IRRE TOLL! But I am also one of those people who have no problem busting other people's balls. This may be falsifying my judgment here. Imitation is sheer odor nuisance and the opposite of sexy. (I thought so, but EVERY man questioned in the area hates the stuff)
Nevertheless, I think it would be great to take this smell of winter in a fully occupied bus with the windows closed. This will be a fitting revenge for all the stinking I've suffered. (the midsummer version already exists with Coeur de Desert).
Or wear it to the office for a week...
Or to force my husband to go through a romantic evening with me and this fragrance!
I'm sure I'll remember even more nasty things, I like IMITATION very much and his penetrance suits me. Imitation is young, cheeky, bitchy and impertinent. To wear it you need strong nerves, courage and a very elegant appearance (that covers the riotous effect).
And it's only for women. Absolute men's exclusion zone! Or to use the subtle words of my husband: "Don't spray the devil's stuff on me! I'm sure my balls will fall off!"
There's nothing like a romantic ending!
PS: When I have the bottle, I put it on one of my favourite books ("The Laws of Imitation" by Gabriel Tarde) and take a nice photo of them
11 Comments
