Tragician
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Tragician
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Of blue nights and old sandstone walls
I became aware of Diptyque through another scent - I was looking for a vanilla I could make friends with after a while and tested Eau Duelle - and stood in a well-known time-honoured department store in front of the marble counter with the beautiful oval bottles lined up. Eau Duelle was tasted and I was still not a glowing vanilla fan. And because I am curious, I took another bottle in my hand and sprayed some of it on a test strip.
Actually I don't believe in love at first sight and normally I have to get a little warm with scents. But what I smelled here was special. It is said that the olfactory sense is most strongly connected with memory, and that's exactly what Philosykos does with me: he evokes memories. I breathed in and I remembered: Rome in the summer a few years ago, the burning sun, a park on a hill high above the breathless city, where I lay reading and looking up at the sky. To roaming around in the dark blue nights, through ancient streets still warm from the relentless sunshine, to the warm walls of sandstone that seemed to glow under my hand. To getting lost in the foreign land and the very own silent adventures that result from it. It was all there, before my eyes, in the middle of the grey December.
In the radiant Rome of my memory, there is no fig to be found (at least not consciously); perhaps it is rather the lush green, as if one were to tear a leaf from the tree and grind it between one's fingers in the afternoon heat, or the fig tree wood, which smells soft and warm, that evokes these associations.
For me, Philosykos is not a fragrance but a feeling, overburdened and at the same time somewhat melancholic, a memory. And even though its durability is a little weak and even though I have to ask people to whom I want to introduce my great love of fragrance to come very close with their nose, I love it.
Actually I don't believe in love at first sight and normally I have to get a little warm with scents. But what I smelled here was special. It is said that the olfactory sense is most strongly connected with memory, and that's exactly what Philosykos does with me: he evokes memories. I breathed in and I remembered: Rome in the summer a few years ago, the burning sun, a park on a hill high above the breathless city, where I lay reading and looking up at the sky. To roaming around in the dark blue nights, through ancient streets still warm from the relentless sunshine, to the warm walls of sandstone that seemed to glow under my hand. To getting lost in the foreign land and the very own silent adventures that result from it. It was all there, before my eyes, in the middle of the grey December.
In the radiant Rome of my memory, there is no fig to be found (at least not consciously); perhaps it is rather the lush green, as if one were to tear a leaf from the tree and grind it between one's fingers in the afternoon heat, or the fig tree wood, which smells soft and warm, that evokes these associations.
For me, Philosykos is not a fragrance but a feeling, overburdened and at the same time somewhat melancholic, a memory. And even though its durability is a little weak and even though I have to ask people to whom I want to introduce my great love of fragrance to come very close with their nose, I love it.
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