Violett
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Nose feast
I am a woman and I have always loved being one. I've never struggled with being one. But I do struggle with the role models, clichés and injustices that come with it, but that's a whole other story. In any case, I like my scents to be floral, sweet, romantic, powdery, soapy, creamy and even make-upy. The whole bathroom range of fragrances plus a flower garden and greenhouse of Christmas spices - bring it on!
And yet: there's also a nerdy little guy in me who insists on his right to olfactory appreciation. Who wants his Tabac deodorant every morning, yes.
So it's really wonderful when a wonderful unisex fragrance like this suddenly comes trundling into your home. Smelling it for the first time was an aha moment. A fresh, androgynous fragrance that I immediately enjoyed all round.
I am now hopefully pushing the pretty bottle a little more into the middle of the bathroom shelf. Just in case my husband wants to return the favor for all the liters of stolen deodorant I've stolen from him over the years
( I probably used up his "Terre d'Hermès (Eau de Toilette) | Hermès" all by myself...
"Cuir de Russie (2016) | Le Jardin Retrouvé" suits everyone.
Women, men and, of course, nerdy guys.
And yet: there's also a nerdy little guy in me who insists on his right to olfactory appreciation. Who wants his Tabac deodorant every morning, yes.
So it's really wonderful when a wonderful unisex fragrance like this suddenly comes trundling into your home. Smelling it for the first time was an aha moment. A fresh, androgynous fragrance that I immediately enjoyed all round.
*
The violet immediately dominates my nose. But what a one! A cool, sunglasses-wearing one, wrapped in cool dark blue. Nothing with powder or pastilles here. The little flower comes wafting along arm in arm with its buddy juniper, a combination that smells wonderfully spicy and flowery, with the violet and juniper's prickly branches, berries and all the trimmings. But before the whole thing gradually drifts into a dream fragrance for unshaven rough legs, a soft, conciliatory sweetness makes itself heard, no doubt due to the ylang-ylang. However, its sunny creaminess only softly underlines the cool, spicy beauty of the violet-juniper melange, eliciting a small, reserved smile, so to speak, and otherwise remaining completely in the background. Just like the cinnamon, which almost imperceptibly adds a very small hint of spicy, woody, tingling warmth. I can detect slightly smoky nuances, but I can't smell patchouli at all. Leather ?
No, no leather.
And hasn't "Russian leather" as a fragrance always been designed to scent leather gloves anyway?
Well, in the absence of leather gloves, I also like to scent myself with this wonderful cologne, this herbaceous, spicy violet nose treat.
There is one fly in the ointment. The sillage and longevity could be a little better or more intense. Nevertheless, the fragrance is beautifully made and smells high quality.
The price-performance ratio is excellent.
*The violet immediately dominates my nose. But what a one! A cool, sunglasses-wearing one, wrapped in cool dark blue. Nothing with powder or pastilles here. The little flower comes wafting along arm in arm with its buddy juniper, a combination that smells wonderfully spicy and flowery, with the violet and juniper's prickly branches, berries and all the trimmings. But before the whole thing gradually drifts into a dream fragrance for unshaven rough legs, a soft, conciliatory sweetness makes itself heard, no doubt due to the ylang-ylang. However, its sunny creaminess only softly underlines the cool, spicy beauty of the violet-juniper melange, eliciting a small, reserved smile, so to speak, and otherwise remaining completely in the background. Just like the cinnamon, which almost imperceptibly adds a very small hint of spicy, woody, tingling warmth. I can detect slightly smoky nuances, but I can't smell patchouli at all. Leather ?
No, no leather.
And hasn't "Russian leather" as a fragrance always been designed to scent leather gloves anyway?
Well, in the absence of leather gloves, I also like to scent myself with this wonderful cologne, this herbaceous, spicy violet nose treat.
There is one fly in the ointment. The sillage and longevity could be a little better or more intense. Nevertheless, the fragrance is beautifully made and smells high quality.
The price-performance ratio is excellent.
I am now hopefully pushing the pretty bottle a little more into the middle of the bathroom shelf. Just in case my husband wants to return the favor for all the liters of stolen deodorant I've stolen from him over the years
( I probably used up his "Terre d'Hermès (Eau de Toilette) | Hermès" all by myself...
"Cuir de Russie (2016) | Le Jardin Retrouvé" suits everyone.
Women, men and, of course, nerdy guys.
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Connected with migratory birds
I swear that was her scent.
Strictly braided bun.
The brown fur cap always had to sit at an angle on Her Highness's head when she was taken out in her turtleneck. The scent hung in her coat, the white blouses, the fabric pants. Yes, even in her breathtaking jewelry: the necklace made of light silver, filigree flowers. Beautiful to kneel down to. And then there was the particularly extravagant one with the many large, blackened spiders crawling between shimmering gold amber stones. It takes courage to wear something like that.
That's what she used to wear.
Her long, white-grey hair, so beautiful when it hung loose in a hundred little waves down her back.
"You're just as pretty as your grandmother," they said to me. Yes, of course that was exactly what a young girl wanted to hear. To be as beautiful as an 80-year-old. Maybe the silly uncles and aunts just liked the way my jaw dropped at this compliment. It always made me feel unspeakably old - at least as old as them.
At least we had the melancholy in common back then.
In the 1920s, she was a member of the Wandervögeln, a youth movement that was close to nature and wanted to break out of the constraints of middle-class life, driven by the desire for freedom and naturalness. So you were a kind of early hippie, Grandma?
She loved telling fairy tales to the children from the neighborhood on the street in front of the house.
She was cruel. Nothing and no one could ever live up to her expectations.
Two husbands, two wars, 6 children... She experienced so much. So little was left of her when she lived with us. Her lack of interest in us children was boundless. Nobody built the bridge. We never got to know each other again.
She remains unknown to me, a mystery.
Mitsouko is a melancholy fragrance. But it also provides comfort. The good friend, mother, grandmother who takes you in her arms, who knows life. With all its ups and downs.
Mitsouko smells close to nature, above all spicy and mossy, delicate and soft. Apart.
The subtle peach note lends it a light sweetness and friendliness. Flowers quietly and creamily subordinate themselves to the fragrance.
Green, blurred gardens at the edge of the forest at dusk, my nose tells me.
Memories of the past.
But there is also elegance, sophistication, even a certain solemnity in the fragrance.
Mitsouko, where haven't you been? At countless theatrical performances, in circle circles, at funerals, at social gatherings, serious conversations, lonely walks...Yes, even at the film shoot with Charlie Chaplin...
When the going gets tough, when things get serious, or when I just want to feel connected to the past and to nature,
also with the generation of our grandmothers, who lived so differently from us, had so many exciting, amazing stories to tell, or could have told, and in the end were people and women just like us...
So if I want to feel connected, then it has to be Mitsouko.
With Mitsouko, I am an adult, a child of nature and yet at home in urban life, protected by the good spirits of the past.
Mitsouko, the "child of light" is the art of fragrance,
Fragrance magic that you don't often find.
Strictly braided bun.
The brown fur cap always had to sit at an angle on Her Highness's head when she was taken out in her turtleneck. The scent hung in her coat, the white blouses, the fabric pants. Yes, even in her breathtaking jewelry: the necklace made of light silver, filigree flowers. Beautiful to kneel down to. And then there was the particularly extravagant one with the many large, blackened spiders crawling between shimmering gold amber stones. It takes courage to wear something like that.
That's what she used to wear.
Her long, white-grey hair, so beautiful when it hung loose in a hundred little waves down her back.
"You're just as pretty as your grandmother," they said to me. Yes, of course that was exactly what a young girl wanted to hear. To be as beautiful as an 80-year-old. Maybe the silly uncles and aunts just liked the way my jaw dropped at this compliment. It always made me feel unspeakably old - at least as old as them.
At least we had the melancholy in common back then.
In the 1920s, she was a member of the Wandervögeln, a youth movement that was close to nature and wanted to break out of the constraints of middle-class life, driven by the desire for freedom and naturalness. So you were a kind of early hippie, Grandma?
She loved telling fairy tales to the children from the neighborhood on the street in front of the house.
She was cruel. Nothing and no one could ever live up to her expectations.
Two husbands, two wars, 6 children... She experienced so much. So little was left of her when she lived with us. Her lack of interest in us children was boundless. Nobody built the bridge. We never got to know each other again.
She remains unknown to me, a mystery.
Mitsouko is a melancholy fragrance. But it also provides comfort. The good friend, mother, grandmother who takes you in her arms, who knows life. With all its ups and downs.
Mitsouko smells close to nature, above all spicy and mossy, delicate and soft. Apart.
The subtle peach note lends it a light sweetness and friendliness. Flowers quietly and creamily subordinate themselves to the fragrance.
Green, blurred gardens at the edge of the forest at dusk, my nose tells me.
Memories of the past.
But there is also elegance, sophistication, even a certain solemnity in the fragrance.
Mitsouko, where haven't you been? At countless theatrical performances, in circle circles, at funerals, at social gatherings, serious conversations, lonely walks...Yes, even at the film shoot with Charlie Chaplin...
When the going gets tough, when things get serious, or when I just want to feel connected to the past and to nature,
also with the generation of our grandmothers, who lived so differently from us, had so many exciting, amazing stories to tell, or could have told, and in the end were people and women just like us...
So if I want to feel connected, then it has to be Mitsouko.
With Mitsouko, I am an adult, a child of nature and yet at home in urban life, protected by the good spirits of the past.
Mitsouko, the "child of light" is the art of fragrance,
Fragrance magic that you don't often find.
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I find myself again
For me, Nahema feels like coming home to a place that was previously unfamiliar. The more I wear the fragrance, the more facets I discover, the more familiar it becomes to me.
When I was nine years old, we moved into a new house. There were a few roses of different colors in the garden. I spent some time sniffing them all and letting them have an effect on me. None smelled like the others. A dark red one smelled sweet, fruity and somehow sad. A pink one smelled light and spicy, fresh and cool. And then there was this one, the most beautiful of all: bright pastel yellow-orange, pink shimmering through the green and its upper leaf edges were a slightly darker reddish-orange. It bloomed in the colors of a beautiful sunset - or rather sunrise. Its scent was warm, friendly and comforting and soft and beautiful. My Nahema rose. I find myself with Nahema in that childlike, unagitated and wide-awake feeling of having endless time and perceiving the world and nature that surrounds me with all my senses. I smell the rose petals of my sunrise rose, along with a drop of flower nectar and, very quietly, the bright green of the leaves.
In the feeling of coming home and being welcomed and protected, I find myself with Nahema.
The scent of peach blends perceptibly with the rose. But it is a subtle, distinguished, I would like to say guerlain peach, with delicately fruity-scented skin. Only slightly sweet.
Ylang ylang lets the sun shine discreetly in the background, together with a hint of unsweet vanilla, and tells of a South Sea feeling and summery serenity.
I do not perceive the listed spring blossoms in detail, but they certainly lend the rose fresh, floral facets and take away some of its dominance. As you can already tell, Nahema is a relaxed fragrance in which the main protagonist does not push herself under the nostrils like an opera diva who fills the hall with her voice. Rather, she is one who is fully satisfied with her own beauty. It is a mature fragrance, but not an old-fashioned one.
In the feeling of being grown up, of not having to chase fashion, of not having to draw attention to myself by shouting, of being enough for myself, of being beautiful enough with legs down to the ground, I find myself with Nahema. Ever since I have known the fragrance, and actually even before that, it has been a natural part of me. Now I have found it. It is wonderful. A great fragrance that celebrates life and beauty in its own way. And as a bottling, Nahema is one of the very few fragrances in a stupidly large collection that I wouldn't want to be without.
(PS:Please also read the beautiful statement on the fragrance by Flacon11e!)
When I was nine years old, we moved into a new house. There were a few roses of different colors in the garden. I spent some time sniffing them all and letting them have an effect on me. None smelled like the others. A dark red one smelled sweet, fruity and somehow sad. A pink one smelled light and spicy, fresh and cool. And then there was this one, the most beautiful of all: bright pastel yellow-orange, pink shimmering through the green and its upper leaf edges were a slightly darker reddish-orange. It bloomed in the colors of a beautiful sunset - or rather sunrise. Its scent was warm, friendly and comforting and soft and beautiful. My Nahema rose. I find myself with Nahema in that childlike, unagitated and wide-awake feeling of having endless time and perceiving the world and nature that surrounds me with all my senses. I smell the rose petals of my sunrise rose, along with a drop of flower nectar and, very quietly, the bright green of the leaves.
In the feeling of coming home and being welcomed and protected, I find myself with Nahema.
The scent of peach blends perceptibly with the rose. But it is a subtle, distinguished, I would like to say guerlain peach, with delicately fruity-scented skin. Only slightly sweet.
Ylang ylang lets the sun shine discreetly in the background, together with a hint of unsweet vanilla, and tells of a South Sea feeling and summery serenity.
I do not perceive the listed spring blossoms in detail, but they certainly lend the rose fresh, floral facets and take away some of its dominance. As you can already tell, Nahema is a relaxed fragrance in which the main protagonist does not push herself under the nostrils like an opera diva who fills the hall with her voice. Rather, she is one who is fully satisfied with her own beauty. It is a mature fragrance, but not an old-fashioned one.
In the feeling of being grown up, of not having to chase fashion, of not having to draw attention to myself by shouting, of being enough for myself, of being beautiful enough with legs down to the ground, I find myself with Nahema. Ever since I have known the fragrance, and actually even before that, it has been a natural part of me. Now I have found it. It is wonderful. A great fragrance that celebrates life and beauty in its own way. And as a bottling, Nahema is one of the very few fragrances in a stupidly large collection that I wouldn't want to be without.
(PS:Please also read the beautiful statement on the fragrance by Flacon11e!)
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Too late ?
Rostracto is a crook. A bitterly evil, dark rose chypre that certainly doesn't exist a second time.
The fragrance is better suited to Halloween than spring.
So we are late in two respects.
Also here in the fragrance. Because the complete destruction has already taken place.
We find ourselves again in the gloom
of a deep pine forest, in the midst of wild, thorny undergrowth. A place where people generally don't stray. Cold sleet pelting down on long-burnt, black tree skeletons and dark earth. Some pines are still standing. They have withstood the devastating fire. Rostracto is at home here. Smoke from the fire in his tattered clothes Bitter herbs in his pockets. Raw and hard is his life in the depths of the forest.
Sometimes the soft mist of roses wafts from somewhere, a distant memory. A soft glow, immortal in his heart, day and night.
Indifferent.
For it is too late, as I said. The complete destruction has already taken place.
And life goes on.
Rostracto shows us the way into the darkness, a place we would not have sought and found without him. The deepest, darkest forest, in which an irritating rose either slowly struggles to the surface and quietly unfurls its leaves with a dark red shimmer, or at least shyly reveals itself as a
Mirage, a memory of another time, another past life.
The fragrance tells of opposites.
Dark, indifferent, progressing ruin and at the same time the constantly increasing, gentle glow of a glimmer of hope.
Is the impossible happening? Is the once flourishing life returning to this hard, cold, herbaceous world of fragrance?
Depending on the condition of our skin, the fragrance either leaves us in the dark,
or finally gives the rose the space to blossom in this inhospitable place, to go from premonition to reality.
There is certainly no lack of drama and tension in this fragrance.
However, it is also demanding and not very pleasing overall.
I see it as a perfume for the masculine, if not rugged, even broody lone fighter, who nevertheless appreciates a gentle rose scent.
The fragrance is better suited to Halloween than spring.
So we are late in two respects.
Also here in the fragrance. Because the complete destruction has already taken place.
We find ourselves again in the gloom
of a deep pine forest, in the midst of wild, thorny undergrowth. A place where people generally don't stray. Cold sleet pelting down on long-burnt, black tree skeletons and dark earth. Some pines are still standing. They have withstood the devastating fire. Rostracto is at home here. Smoke from the fire in his tattered clothes Bitter herbs in his pockets. Raw and hard is his life in the depths of the forest.
Sometimes the soft mist of roses wafts from somewhere, a distant memory. A soft glow, immortal in his heart, day and night.
Indifferent.
For it is too late, as I said. The complete destruction has already taken place.
And life goes on.
Rostracto shows us the way into the darkness, a place we would not have sought and found without him. The deepest, darkest forest, in which an irritating rose either slowly struggles to the surface and quietly unfurls its leaves with a dark red shimmer, or at least shyly reveals itself as a
Mirage, a memory of another time, another past life.
The fragrance tells of opposites.
Dark, indifferent, progressing ruin and at the same time the constantly increasing, gentle glow of a glimmer of hope.
Is the impossible happening? Is the once flourishing life returning to this hard, cold, herbaceous world of fragrance?
Depending on the condition of our skin, the fragrance either leaves us in the dark,
or finally gives the rose the space to blossom in this inhospitable place, to go from premonition to reality.
There is certainly no lack of drama and tension in this fragrance.
However, it is also demanding and not very pleasing overall.
I see it as a perfume for the masculine, if not rugged, even broody lone fighter, who nevertheless appreciates a gentle rose scent.
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Standing blues on the volcano
I was immediately in love with his looks, yes. But it was the inner values that made me fall in love with him. I wanted him at all costs. And when it arrived, I was so despondent as I crept around it, literally pushing past it, always taking care to avert my eyes from the splendor of the flacon. Worried about the contradictions raging beneath the golden pebble and whether I was up to them, intimidated by the natural energy and self-contained passion of this fragrance.
The dark, smouldering depths, the destruction of fire, hot ashes and embers that eventually turn into dark warmth. And then, soon enough, the world melts into dark chocolate and wraps itself in soft, black velvet.
SHE grows and thrives on this soil in cool, distant beauty. The infamous lover and hated one.
Defies all the laws of nature and bears fresh rosebuds wet with dew on lava that has just solidified. Gradually, the surrounding warmth also takes possession of her.
Pale, uninvolved light pink gradually turns into a softly glowing, pulsating dark red. Dewdrops become rose-red, spicy tears. Then rivulets, finally rivulets of red rose wine on whose shimmering surface thousands of rose petals glide in the dawn.
Dionysus invites us to dance on the volcano.
And I let myself in for it.
And if at first I was afraid to let the scent touch my skin, I suddenly realize with amazement: we seem made for each other, we fit together. We literally merge into one. He withdraws elegantly, I hardly notice him. But when things get tight, he's there. Dark and sensual, sweet and tasty, warm and cuddly. Noble and never too sweet.
Even if this is his time: I don't want to banish him to the night hours. Especially during the day, such a dark companion can provide the necessary spice.
And if you love roses like I do, you should give it a try.
The dark, smouldering depths, the destruction of fire, hot ashes and embers that eventually turn into dark warmth. And then, soon enough, the world melts into dark chocolate and wraps itself in soft, black velvet.
SHE grows and thrives on this soil in cool, distant beauty. The infamous lover and hated one.
Defies all the laws of nature and bears fresh rosebuds wet with dew on lava that has just solidified. Gradually, the surrounding warmth also takes possession of her.
Pale, uninvolved light pink gradually turns into a softly glowing, pulsating dark red. Dewdrops become rose-red, spicy tears. Then rivulets, finally rivulets of red rose wine on whose shimmering surface thousands of rose petals glide in the dawn.
Dionysus invites us to dance on the volcano.
And I let myself in for it.
And if at first I was afraid to let the scent touch my skin, I suddenly realize with amazement: we seem made for each other, we fit together. We literally merge into one. He withdraws elegantly, I hardly notice him. But when things get tight, he's there. Dark and sensual, sweet and tasty, warm and cuddly. Noble and never too sweet.
Even if this is his time: I don't want to banish him to the night hours. Especially during the day, such a dark companion can provide the necessary spice.
And if you love roses like I do, you should give it a try.
24 Comments