Voilà l'été!
Alabaster bodies of Greek mass production are only too happy to populate trendy beaches, transforming palm-lined promenades into veritable pilgrimages of the nastiest hedonism.
Terrace cafés resemble control centers for tactical warfare; thanks to the algorithm, the enemy is cataloged in no time at all according to hair style, black pupil protection, textile selection, gold purity, reproductive potential and, above all, signaling exhalations.
It facilitates the strategic approach.
Sounds like a perfect dystopia, doesn't it?
If you want to score in this Summer Survival Camp, you can comfortably rely on Carven.
This intense little water is actually a spontaneous personality. That ironic direction that couldn't be more bitingly cool.
A kind of Kai-Hawaii-Destilat.
The guys from Rammstein should be sulking now.
Sorry but not sorry.
Quickly adjust the war uniform:
a) Black Porsche glasses model Schwabing-Kampen with three brilliants on the rim
b) Nostalgic lacötschen, white piqué, collar turned slightly upwards
c) Fiddly Bermudas by Paul Smith in innocent white - awaken the Anglais à la promenade
d) Matching, sockless Stan Smith Adidas make sneaking easier. Why are so many on the island called Smith?
e) Analog timekeeping from Helvetia, may it be the snoring gold-steel Datejust from Rolex
And, disgustingly noble enough?
Kot dasür, here I come!
Upsi, forgot the scent!
Hiss!
Boy oh boy, finally a hard-hitting mint without sugar.
The group-typical Hesperides (Groupe Bogart) whistle: Monsieur Lapidus hides behind white facade, the meanie.
Boy, keep the display cases in the lobby of the Carlton intact, kleptomania or not!
Yep, this mint is a cool way to check out the situation.
Grace wannabe and Cary wannabe follow inconspicuously in the direction of Plage privée.
Too bad, no camera flashes at the exit, but delicious differences of opinion on the Croisette.
British chassis in foggy gray with a funny figurine and French 75 license plate collided with a red 430 Scuderia, Swiss license plate from ZG.
Sophisticated verbal jokes even in dialect!
Cannes connects and builds bridges of understanding!
Fortunately, police officers know what to do because they have radio communication.
Wink smiley...
Well, well, let's leave the squabblers to let off steam under the palm trees and enjoy the perfect mint instead.
Mon vieux, back then there were these super-hot chewing gums from the States.
Freshen-Up.
Square hard outer shell, tangy mint gel inside.
If you bite it...
Désolé once again, I have to follow the forum guidelines here.
So, somewhat disguised, it was the little death in the mouth.
And the nose is correspondingly tantric this year. Perfect mint meets serene lavender of the hard variety.
Well, here's a petit rien of Andean snow, sorry, I mean dihydormyrcenol, in order to let the poisonous bending of the smirking lips to Menton cuddly arrogantly prevail.
Oh yes, in between lies a kind of Liechtenstein with a sea view on barren slopes and an extreme housing shortage.
From hearsay, it is possible to try your hand at being a charmeuse chanteuse there thanks to hired scribblers.
Ouragan blew and blows in the remix so characteristic of this azure coast.
Nobility obliges!
With a cacophonous rhythm in my ears, I let fate decide in front of the Carlton.
Head: right in the direction of the Martinez Hotel, past high-end boutiques. But the idleness is too short, too sedate.
Tails: The "birch leaf" of the rascal may flutter to the left in the direction of the Majestic Hotel. More seating, more attention. And there are boutiques here too.
I just have to make sure that Birk en Blatt behaves itself. Finnish hyper-masculine drawings have already been perfumed with it in the past, thanks to ELdO. Because of censorship, it's now
Clean Suede, tough times! Add to that this fleeting, humanizing cardamom, more at home in infamous Marseille than in Cannes. Sweetly coarse like Mr. Cocteau's nocturnal wishes.
And while the fragrance becomes noticeably black-humorous and dry, the perfect table en terrasse on the beach is already waiting for me.
Ethereal woody ginger, pretty casual urine yellow with a hint of ink vetiver, makes it easier to choke down the overpriced pastis.
A little side note.
Don't panic, the urinousness is only vaguely hinted at here in the manner of Mr. Kurkdijan.
After all, Carven gave him the task of recreating the esprit of the Côte d'Azur of the glorious 1920s.
However, the trained rogue allowed himself a tiny ironic joke in the fragrance base for the entertaining hiccup.
Everything quickly falls into place again and the fragrance says a skillfully woody goodbye.
But now on to the table with a view of the beach.
Intense conversations in an audible neighborhood trickle into my ears.
Distillates of high-flown civilization fill the magnificent white bottle, the emblematic nothingness behind it.
Silicone surgeons bewitch future bust sizes with unsettling charm.
Childlike joy at the exclusion of non-solvent classmates at the artisanal ice cream parlor.
Fundamental discussions about Dior per se, quite power-obsessed and renting the sovereignty of interpretation.
Carven, meanwhile, makes me smile with pleasure.
Dior in and of itself?
I can see that German idealism in the Mediterranean is likely to spoil the mood.
For the airheads at the other tables, I can only present the magnificent bottle as a mental exercise.
Idealism and realism synthesized?
Viewed from the front, the bottle evokes an old vial.
If you turn it over, the technical reality cannot be overlooked.
The rear facade is naked, the cannula made of plastic, the imaginary shape now unmasked in colorless glass, containing the juice that promises ideas.
Well, let's rock each other up until we "cancel out" the contradictions of being.
And you don't need the promenade on the Mediterranean for that.
Even at home, on thundery evenings with the intense water, we can ponder what imagination is.
Allez mes amis!
Top Notes 
Italian lemon
Grapefruit
Mint
Heart Notes 
Lavender
Birch leaf
Base Notes 
Cardamom
Cedarwood
Woods
Ginger
Equal
VinScent
