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orage de chanel
Deep, dense and insatiable; unyielding - absolutely irresistible to me.
Chanel aptly advertised such violence in 1992 with a thunderstorm over Paris.
As beautiful as Vanessa P. - the face of the campaign - swings and whistles in it as a canary - her lightness and youthful beauty fail the actual path to Coco.
Gabrielle's self-chosen name Coco probably represents a more personal approach to an eau de Chanel and, without much conjecture, should probably also make the person Chanel more approachable - after the mistress of the house numbered almost all her fragrances with strict distance throughout her life.
But I think that the distance of the numbers is more fitting for Madame Chanel's stringent and ambitious nature - that the name Coco in its cheeky and brisk charm was actually chosen inappropriately for the lady of the house ... even if it undoubtedly has an iconic effect(s).
Above all, however, the name does not suit me for a perfume of this type.
The power that makes me smell my sprayed wrist; the sweet and spicy undertow that simultaneously combines thicket and golden glow; the baroque warmth of this perfume, which remains inviting, embracing and yet not harmlessly close - speaks for my taste for another name ... if not for a number.
The aforementioned advertisement for the perfume nevertheless captures Esprit Cocos perfectly - in its overall impression of playfulness and dark elegance. The twitching of the lightning that illuminates the Place Vendôme also illuminates a sumptuously morbid ambience: Chanel's apartment at 31 Rue Cambon. A grotesque, almost ghostly place - magnificent, dusty, gloomy. Just as a thunderstorm darkens the sky, Chanel's apartment is depicted in contrast. Gloomy marble and textiles are broken up by a radiant bottle of Coco, a white Persian cat and Madame Chanel herself, leaning against the window in a white tweed, surveying the weather situation.
Wetted with a drop or two of Coco, she blurs in the shot; blurs in this scene of sublimity and solitude.
I've always loved thunderstorms; loved witnessing their violence in safety, making me feel even more secure. You couldn't have chosen more appropriate weather for Coco.
Chanel aptly advertised such violence in 1992 with a thunderstorm over Paris.
As beautiful as Vanessa P. - the face of the campaign - swings and whistles in it as a canary - her lightness and youthful beauty fail the actual path to Coco.
Gabrielle's self-chosen name Coco probably represents a more personal approach to an eau de Chanel and, without much conjecture, should probably also make the person Chanel more approachable - after the mistress of the house numbered almost all her fragrances with strict distance throughout her life.
But I think that the distance of the numbers is more fitting for Madame Chanel's stringent and ambitious nature - that the name Coco in its cheeky and brisk charm was actually chosen inappropriately for the lady of the house ... even if it undoubtedly has an iconic effect(s).
Above all, however, the name does not suit me for a perfume of this type.
The power that makes me smell my sprayed wrist; the sweet and spicy undertow that simultaneously combines thicket and golden glow; the baroque warmth of this perfume, which remains inviting, embracing and yet not harmlessly close - speaks for my taste for another name ... if not for a number.
The aforementioned advertisement for the perfume nevertheless captures Esprit Cocos perfectly - in its overall impression of playfulness and dark elegance. The twitching of the lightning that illuminates the Place Vendôme also illuminates a sumptuously morbid ambience: Chanel's apartment at 31 Rue Cambon. A grotesque, almost ghostly place - magnificent, dusty, gloomy. Just as a thunderstorm darkens the sky, Chanel's apartment is depicted in contrast. Gloomy marble and textiles are broken up by a radiant bottle of Coco, a white Persian cat and Madame Chanel herself, leaning against the window in a white tweed, surveying the weather situation.
Wetted with a drop or two of Coco, she blurs in the shot; blurs in this scene of sublimity and solitude.
I've always loved thunderstorms; loved witnessing their violence in safety, making me feel even more secure. You couldn't have chosen more appropriate weather for Coco.
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