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Parfümlein
Helpful Review
4
Receive what cheer you may...
I was looking for a spring-like tuberose scent as a true tuberose pendant. Or rather: I actually knew from the start that I wanted Jo Malone when I entered the niche perfumery I trusted. But just to hear C. tell the story, I was at a loss. Tuberose for spring - is there such a thing as tuberose? Is not every tuberose so killing that it belongs in winter, on festive evenings with gifts and cream brulée? "No," C said. "Not at all." I was sniffing love tuberose. Unfortunately too expensive, but very interesting, about Oman. I sniffed at Jeueuse Tubereuse - cheerful, really, but somehow not spring green. "Then we still have," said C. enthusiastically, "an absolutely wonderful fragrance. The perfumer said she was at a rock concert. It had been so exciting - the music much too loud, the cables braised, everywhere stale beer and occasionally a breath of perfume in the air... That, she said, is what smells the best in the world. And so she created 'Sónar'." I was both curious and skeptical. Then I flinched right back. That's a perfume?, I asked unbelievingly. "Oh yes, and this is going really, really well!"
It was nice with C. I don't know any more gifted narrator than him, and basically it's a distortion of art when I quote him so prosaically. He loves the scents and the stories he associates with them. But Sónar? Do I have to admire this scent just because it's a niche scent?
Well, at least I found him fascinating. Imaginative. But also disgusting. Yes, quite frankly, I found him repulsively ugly.
A few days later I told a person who was very close to me about it, and today we went to C again during an Advent stroll in the hectic inner city. My companion sniffed long and quietly. Then her verdict: "I like him. He clearly smells good." You're young, I said; I'm not surprised you're open to this nerve-racking explosion. But I was very surprised. I was very surprised. And my astonishment finally found satisfaction: After a quarter of an hour, she said she was wrong. The car tyres were too strong, too coarse, like a wall that slides towards them.
I don't know what to say. I don't see much beer in the scent. I have a hunch about flowers, but I don't know which ones. Everything, every chance of a composition is superimposed by this incredibly hard smell of charred rubber. Just like a whole new car sometimes smells like a fast ride. I can't bear it.
For my part, I always have a lot to do with wine. I attended some sensory seminars until I was annoyed, no: I was disgusted by the empty talk, the bloated drivel. The incredible pride of having discovered a hint of honeysuckle in the Riesling Spätlese. I love wine, and I love high quality wine. But at a certain point of meticulous analysis, I'm simply too sorry to spend my time on superficialities that are constantly bouncing up and down, while the rest of the world is bombarded by bombs or a virus. I don't save the world by pouring wine into myself instead of adequately appreciating its craftsmanship. But I don't want to define myself about that either. I simply don't want to be ashamed of putting consumption above all reason and outing myself to be so hollow that I automatically worship any superficial nonsense because it is new and of celebrities. That's why I never drank orange wine. And that's why I not only don't like Sónar in any way. I refuse to spend even one more minute with fragrances of this kind, just because they carry the label "niche".
What can I say, I ask again. I have a Ph.D., like many here. And I'm wearing scandal right now, like very few here. Does that say anything about my intelligence or, more importantly, about my morals? To each his own. I just wanted to say that.
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