Colonia Mirra Acqua di Parma 2017

'Oh you know...' a friend once said to me after her still fresh - quite sober, but not entirely tearless - breakup with a man, '...if someone had chosen a guy like him for me in the days of arranged marriages, I probably wouldn't have complained.' She seemed to search for words for a moment before continuing: 'He's a nice guy, looks quite good, and has manners, a good job, and reasonable views. Even my parents were thrilled when they met him.' She hesitated again. 'But he never made me laugh. And I didn't miss him when he wasn't around. And I don't think he missed me either.'

There are encounters - with people, but also with things - where you almost wish you were more enthusiastic. And you almost regret that you simply aren't. Because in your head, everything is perfect, and you can hardly explain why your heart doesn't want to go along. Why you're not satisfied with this lukewarm relationship with this lukewarm man who is nice, looks quite good, and is even liked by the parents. Or with this perfume that actually has everything you appreciate in other perfumes: Hesperidic notes, myrrh, nutmeg. And yet it fails to evoke anything more than: 'Nice.' And you don't understand it.

Acqua di Parma's Colonia Mirra is such a fragrance. Once again, I almost want to say, because I would actually like to like one of the Colonias in the brown bottles. They all read like fragrances I could enjoy - and in none have I found anything that truly bothers me. And yet none of them reach me. Hesperidic and cheerful is its opening, followed by the expected resinous notes - bitter, but not too bitter, sweet, but not too sweet. It's not even a pretender, because it actually delivers what it promises - although, like its brothers, the performance mostly occurs in the top notes - after ten minutes, the show is over. And I don't even feel sorry for it.

Conclusion: if I had to wear Colonia Mirra for a thousand days starting today, it would be bearable. But I don't have to.