Süsskind

The other day I came home from work, there was a white cardboard on the kitchen table with golden dots and the simple inscription "Carolina Herrera, New York, Eau de Parfum". My husband, who has been wearing Herreras 212 exclusively for almost two decades, which also suits him well, had ordered it for me; just like that, as a surprise, without knowing it himself. He usually always asks me what I have on my wish list, but because he thought that nothing wrong could come out of Herrera, this time he simply flew blind. I have to say that I didn't have the scent on my radar before - sometimes you just turn around your favourite scent locations, even if you run the risk of only being curious about scents that you can judge well. But dear heaven, one should be surprised much more often once!

What flies towards you from the plainly elegant bottle is incredibly beautiful. We are dealing here with a bombastic bouquet of flowers shimmering in all colours - orange blossom, fresh green, lily of the valley, narcissus, jasmine, hyacinth, ylang ylang, apricot, and oh my God... Tuberose. This wonder of fragrance, heavy and warm, sweet and sensual, the queen herself, the mistress of the night, as she is also called in India. All this is discreetly orchestrated by musk, amber, vetiver, cedar, rosewood and oakmoss, in order to at least partially ground you again a little, because one thing is clear: this scent pulls the ground away from under your feet, but you don't fall on your nose, but realize that you can fly.

The opening is a fabulously pure, opulent tone, as if by a large choir singing through the theme in one voice. Only after this opening do the individual voices break down and continue singing in perfect harmony; a full-sounding bass, a finely balanced tenor, a reliable alto - and above all, setting the tone and moving, the soprano, followed by all the others to form the basis for his refined flights of fancy. We are dealing here with intoxicating, sweet music, with grandeur, large orchestra and a gold-decorated music club hall. If Carolina Herrera's scent were music, then he would be an opera, at least by Verdi, and at least with the Callas in the female leading role. Certainly nothing for every day, but if you give yourself to it, it is a sensual, enchanting experience.

The shelf life is truly remarkable: with a gentle spray I get through the day and can still perceive the scent on me in the evening. By the way, if you dose it sparingly, it is not only suitable for everyday use, but also a wonderful, elegant and charming companion for all situations in life. However, one should proceed extremely cautiously with the dosage. I think that this scent quickly turns into an infernal stench when exaggerated; so it doesn't belong in children's hands, but wants to be carried by an adult personality who knows that less is sometimes actually more.

I'm surprised, by the way, that I can find so little about this scent here. Who does not know it yet and feels attracted to flowery, feminine scents should definitely try it out. And I'm grateful to my husband for showing it to me.

Everything has already been said about Trésor and about love, but not yet by everyone.

I wouldn't even call Trésor my favourite fragrance - I have more glamorous, more interesting, more beautiful, more splendid, more beguiling in my collection, all of which I like to wear and often wear - but, as I recently discovered full of surprise, I actually love him deeply and don't want to be without him anymore. And that's why I have to leave this comment. You stood so long faithfully in my cupboard in your beautiful bottle, always somehow perceived as a matter of course, now it is time to apologize for my arrogance and sprinkle you a few roses.

Trésor's architecture is classic, simple and noble, sublime in an unobtrusive way, graceful, simply timelessly beautiful, without being arrogant, cool or bold. The beautiful rose, the breeze of flowers (peach, apricot and lily of the valley), the most elegant vanilla I can think of (perhaps due to the heliotrope and the iris?), this foundation of sandalwood and musk like white stone. All this is simply there, from the spraying on to the end after many hours. The shelf life is really impressive, I can still perceive the scent, applied early in the morning, late in the evening. Trésor, however, does not undergo any notable development with me, he does not joke and does not surprise, he does not come around the corner in his course with flirtatious aromas; he is quietly straightforward, honest, yes - a strange word in this context: reliable - and in his presence of an unobtrusive clarity and at the same time unique delicacy that I know of no other fragrance. That makes it a real masterpiece for my nose.

I would also find it difficult to describe him as just flowery and sweet. It is creamy, warm, gentle, friendly, like a day in early summer, opaque and at the same time transparent, never heavy, but also no iridescent airtikus - it is simply perfectly balanced. It doesn't sparkle; it glows. Trésor is a soul mollycoddler who wraps and protects me, under whose wings I feel like a child at the hand of a gentle, beautiful mother. I find it kind of funny myself, but I like to wear it at night because it makes me feel so secure, and on Mondays or predictable stress days because it makes me more positive, calmer, more optimistic and prepared for the hectic working day.

Trésor, even if you come through the door in jeans, T-shirt and Converse, ensures that you sit a little more upright and move a little more smoothly, ladylike and with a smile, and somehow I sometimes have the impression that this cheerful calmness spreads out around you, the friendliness increases by two or three steps, wherever you go with it. Even a pensive "here it smells so good..." I have often heard when I wear it.

So, Trésor, let me say this quite frankly: yes, I love you and I hope that you will always be a part of my life. I'm glad you exist.

Last but not least, inspired by the many scent descriptions worth reading here and knowing that this scent falls exactly into my hive scheme, I recently also bought Cašmir - especially since it is offered at a price at which one cannot say no, and I occasionally simply like to be surprised.

Now it is generally the case that I (Nick-nomen est omen) am completely at home in the land of the Orientals and Gourmands and surround myself with great pleasure with heavy calibres. Vanilla always works for me, fruity or floral, and I'm also very fond of woods and resins.

Curiously I spent the loot in the bathroom, grabbed, not without marvelling at its extraordinary sight, the pretty little boy from his red box and ventured in anticipation of an oriental-sweet scent explosion a careful sprayer on my wrist. Coconut, mango and peach... very cute? I couldn't believe my nose, but I couldn't see anything of it. Just nothing at all. Just a delicate, spicy, almost tangy vanilla scent. Maybe I just didn't get enough perfume on my wrist. So spray again. And again. And - again. With the same effect: no fruit. No coconut. No jasmine or lily of the valley either. Yes, I do notice the rose geranium, which I like to use in homemade cosmetics. And sandalwood (probably Amyris?), amber, musk. That too. I imagine I can smell a trace of rosewood, too, and something fresh and green flashes in the background like a hint of freshly cut grass. Vanilla, but not a sweet, light one, as one associates it with grannies delicious biscuits, but a dark, warm, very earthy vanilla. Quiet and spicy, that's how I would describe my impression.

That was really the opposite of what I had expected, but I was - and still am - taken with this fragrance. It is fascinating how differently people perceive such a composition; it is as if Cašmir was music, and I would not be able to perceive the higher frequencies; as if head notes and large parts of the heart note were simply unscented for me.

The most apt association I can find with Cašmir is the smell of a bathing jetty on a hot summer day, when you just get out of the water, lay on the warm wood and let it dry in the sun. That evening I went to bed with a hint of cašmir on my skin (which I always do with new scents) and looked for the hidden fruits and flowers while falling asleep. They had to be there somewhere, right in front of me! I didn't find it. But I dreamed of a day at the lake with its sweet, deep secrets...

The next day (a Saturday) I wanted to find out if I had become just nose-blind in the end (a horrible performance!), fogged me properly with Cašmir and held out my wrists to my husband who was waiting for me downstairs (we were just about to go shopping). As I am, as I have said, a fan of heavy fragrances, but in order not to disturb my environment, we have an agreement that he must warn me at all costs should I overdo it. I also like to play the "What am I wearing today?" game. He sniffed. "Hm" he did and buried his nose in my throat and in my hair. "Hmmm." He looked at me. "That's a trick question! You're not wearing anything today, right?" it came out triumphant. "But your new cream smells really nice. Do you make me one of those?"

Cašmir is not only so inconspicuous in my nose that one could safely go on a coffee ride with strict monastery sisters without even risking a raised eyebrow. But the big end, ladies and gentlemen, is yet to come. Cašmir is a real noble wood vanilla stealth bomber, with which you can get under the radar of any internal and external chaperones directly to this place of magic beyond the everyday life. Just let it work a little. My husband looked at me as if we had just met, buried his nose in my throat and hair again, the mild morning autumn sun was shining outside, and the Saturday shopping was waiting for us. But we, we were suddenly disinterested in shopping, autumn sun, apartment cleaning and Saturday business as usual, the door to everyday duties closed gently, and what remained were dark, earthy vanilla and fine woods and a rather unusual weekend.

By the way, we did all the shopping that day with barely any effort. A few days later I repeated the experiment (scientifically speaking, an experiment must be repeatable so that one can speak of a non-random result, hihi), and my respectful conclusion is: I will never wear Cašmir in the office - and certainly not if I ever take part in such a thing, on a coffee ride in a bus full of nuns. :)