Baudelaire Byredo 2009

Baudelaire should really only be worn by someone who is in a good mood, because in rather melancholic times, the scent, at least for me, is prone to slip from melancholy into depression. Perhaps I simply tested the perfume at the wrong time. Therefore, my comment may say much less about the scent than about me. Please do not see my description as a harsh criticism, as it is certainly not.

The pyramid sounds enticing to me at first, as juniper, incense, patchouli, these are the ingredients from which dreams are sometimes made for me, but with this perfume, it is just too much of everything. Perhaps it is simply too complicated and serious for my taste. And when Immel brings Alban Berg, Stravinsky, and Hindemith into play, I agree with him, because I cannot make anything of these composers either; this music has not yet revealed itself to me. However, I have nothing against scents that do not come across as cheerful and friendly. It can certainly be olfactorily contemplative, and a bit of drama can sometimes benefit a fragrance. But to stick with music, in such a situation, I would still prefer Beethoven.

That Baudelaire is a dark scent that does not change in character even down to the base must be assumed based on the pyramid. Those who can engage with it may still, like me, regret that the heart note has hardly any chance to truly shine against the all-dominating base. Perhaps a splash of strong dark rose would have done well here. As it stands, it remains delicately floral for a moment before the hyacinth is once again overshadowed. The incense could also have been more pronounced and cooler for me, and the leather is not soft enough. All these beautiful accords, in themselves, are covered by dusty dry papyrus and a scratchy musty patchouli base. Patchouli has many manifestations, from soft and caressing to earthy and moist, to scratchy and herbaceous like in Baudelaire. This base endures even washing and 8 hours of sleep and does not convey the joy of a new day upon waking, but rather a sense of smallness.

Dead serious, just like Louce, I perceive the scent, but beauty and death are not related for me in this fragrance; one cannot die beautifully here, but rather in resignation. I would have wished for a bit of a wink, a small glimmer of light, a spark of hope for this perfume.

And yet, I am not angry with the scent, because while I only knew "The Flowers of Evil" by hearsay until now, my interest is now piqued, and I will read Baudelaire soon, if not wear it as a fragrance. Perhaps I would associate the mood of the poetry with a completely different scent.