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10/09/2018
Meggi
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Meggi
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Sir Cadogan with the lollipop
Doesn't sauvage mean wild? The opening friendly fruit candy rose makes me think rather of a wildness à la Sir Cadogan. The Lord is a knight from the Harry Potter Heptalogy, who lives in one of the many pictures in Hogwarts Castle and whose audacity or just wild belligerence suffers from silly behaviour and inadequate equipment. Above all, his unruly pony simply doesn't want to be a warhorse and the sword is terribly heavy and unwieldy.
Back to the fragrance: A few seconds pass before an iron-(herb)-reinforced rose geranium rolls up and wants to eat the rose. However, she only succeeds in wringing the sole supremacy from them. The rose gets help from a candy relative, the Kojak cherry lollipop; I deny cherry blossom at first.
To call the counterpart "balance of terror" certainly leads too far, the individual parts are...well...not "wild" enough. It was therefore simply described as unround or even unpleasant. I don't know for whom such a fragrance is intended. Lollideuft-Girlies will be disturbed by the scratching. And guys on candy, because it looks as pithy as a Sir Cadogan who stumbles into battle with a lollipop in his hand.
In the course of the morning I am suddenly at the cherry blossom, when a strong floral scent develops, which consistently has little in common with the fruit - that might fit, I should smell again next spring. When it comes to force or opulence, however, 'Bergamote & Rose Sauvage' can't compete with the floral crackers from the conventional field - and of course it shouldn't, after all, a fragrance in whose name the bergamot is in front points in a completely different direction.
This flower now blends peacefully with the rose. A bright florality with a dash of candy. Any contrariness or attempted scratchiness, as harmless and cute as it may have turned out in the end, has disappeared. Apart from perhaps a hint of bitterness, more a hunch than certainty, which leads me away from the above even a bit into the early flowering stink corner.
However, the flowery round dance becomes so harmonious around noon that it almost dances its name. I actually think now - about six hours have passed - despite the remaining flowery ambitions - first and foremost of dextrose wristbands, which, by means of different colours, are able to convince consumers, who are mostly in single digits, of something like variations of fruit.
Conclusion: This is all too close to one or the other candy for me. Not to mention the oddly uneven behavior in front. Nothing for me and I wouldn't know who to recommend the fragrance to.
I'd like to thank Bellemorte for the rehearsal.
Back to the fragrance: A few seconds pass before an iron-(herb)-reinforced rose geranium rolls up and wants to eat the rose. However, she only succeeds in wringing the sole supremacy from them. The rose gets help from a candy relative, the Kojak cherry lollipop; I deny cherry blossom at first.
To call the counterpart "balance of terror" certainly leads too far, the individual parts are...well...not "wild" enough. It was therefore simply described as unround or even unpleasant. I don't know for whom such a fragrance is intended. Lollideuft-Girlies will be disturbed by the scratching. And guys on candy, because it looks as pithy as a Sir Cadogan who stumbles into battle with a lollipop in his hand.
In the course of the morning I am suddenly at the cherry blossom, when a strong floral scent develops, which consistently has little in common with the fruit - that might fit, I should smell again next spring. When it comes to force or opulence, however, 'Bergamote & Rose Sauvage' can't compete with the floral crackers from the conventional field - and of course it shouldn't, after all, a fragrance in whose name the bergamot is in front points in a completely different direction.
This flower now blends peacefully with the rose. A bright florality with a dash of candy. Any contrariness or attempted scratchiness, as harmless and cute as it may have turned out in the end, has disappeared. Apart from perhaps a hint of bitterness, more a hunch than certainty, which leads me away from the above even a bit into the early flowering stink corner.
However, the flowery round dance becomes so harmonious around noon that it almost dances its name. I actually think now - about six hours have passed - despite the remaining flowery ambitions - first and foremost of dextrose wristbands, which, by means of different colours, are able to convince consumers, who are mostly in single digits, of something like variations of fruit.
Conclusion: This is all too close to one or the other candy for me. Not to mention the oddly uneven behavior in front. Nothing for me and I wouldn't know who to recommend the fragrance to.
I'd like to thank Bellemorte for the rehearsal.
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