C₁₆H₂₆O CinisLabs

I don't wear fragrances to please other people. No, that's not quite right. I wear fragrances for myself, because I like them and because I like how they smell on me. If someone else happens to enjoy it on me, then great. If not, then so be it. But I also wear fragrances to drive other people crazy. Primarily when I have to sit in an office or a meeting with certain colleagues: Then I wear a selected scent to subtly assert my dominance over the other person. He/She already can't stand my scent anyway, and then I hit him/her with a slightly overdosed, maximally unpleasant fragrance right under their nose, ruining their day in a very sophisticated way. With most molecular scents, it's quite the opposite: I hardly smell anything on myself, and my surroundings perceive something subtly not unpleasant. No, I really can't use that; it has no value.

C₁₆H₂₆O comes without a box. That might be a bit sad. On the other hand, in times when perfumes from trendy brands seem to only be sold in shoeboxes, nothing takes up unnecessary space here, and what costs nothing can't drive up the price of the perfume senselessly. The bottle is a simple standard square from the wholesale shelf. Dark back, minimally designed simple label, and a lightweight, unembellished tin cap. The rather cheap sprayer doesn't distribute a mist but rather an annoying drizzle.

I can't for the life of me say what I smell in this perfume. But it is definitely not "Nothing!" as some other fragrance enthusiasts attest. It's something sweetly musty. A very watery light fruit spritzer that may have been forgotten for a few days in summer. A synthetic note of a well-ventilated solvent, like you find in cheap small furniture that you have to cobble together with the help of an instruction manual in Uzbek, Arabic, or Albanian. Or maybe it's slightly yellowed moving boxes that are becoming a bit crumbly, and I wouldn't bet a cent on their stability.

Molecular scents are supposedly perceived more strongly by the social environment than by the wearer themselves. Far from it: My floating peach blossom neither fell joyfully around my neck (2%), nor did it send me with a friendly nudge to the bathroom for an all-encompassing body care routine (97%). For the sake of completeness, I should mention that in about 1% of the cases, it would prefer to spray me in the garden in front of snickering neighbors with a C-hose (mental image: Pulp Fiction). With this scent, she only slightly wrinkled her nose and turned away bored. At least.

I don't like to rate fragrances with a single star, but this scent is quite insubstantial for me, and the little it has isn't even remotely "nice."

If you have the choice, then it's better to invest two minutes in front of any drugstore shelf and choose the least terrible deodorant spray for 2.99. You'll get more for yourself and the environment. Much more, in fact.