Cristobal Balenciaga 1998

"Fenjala!"
I can hardly believe what my nose and my scent memory are telling me, but this fragrance immediately catapults me back to the seventies, back to a bath oil and bath pearls, whose scent has been indelibly etched in my memory and which are probably not entirely innocent of my olfactory passion.
"Fenjala" appeared innocently blue and silky shimmering like an Aquate that had been washed, but behind this facade lay the most irresistible seduction: warm and soft and a little sweet like a cake just out of the oven, sensual and caressing like a cape made of heavy velvet, yet gentle and floating and only sticky in the sense that the nose could not possibly detach itself from the fragrant skin.
"Fenjala" became "Fenjal," the fragrance composition completely revamped, and nostalgia remained paired with hope and yearning to someday find a perfume among the thousands that might, just might, come a little close to that magical elixir.
One day, in some perfumery, without any thought of the past, I encountered "Cristobal."
Its bottle as well as the name Balenciaga made me think of flowing gowns, of florid opulence and great drama, which is not really my style - no idea why I still took the sprayed test strip and suddenly became the little girl who never wanted to leave the blue bathwater with the wonderful mountains of foam.
"Cristobal" is a dream we all dream - the dream of being protected, of security and warmth, of being accepted and loved, and of a future that is so vast and radiant that it exceeds all our imagination.
The dream of tomorrow.