Ofrésia Diptyque 1999

This is what the - loosely translated - 'bloomed' awarded municipalities of France call themselves. The coveted titles - always visibly placed at the entrance of the town - are awarded by the 'Comité national pour le fleurissement de la France' or, more recently, the 'Conseil national des villes et villages fleuris' - in France, titles and flowers are taken seriously! And so every village and town from the Pyrenees to Flanders, from the Lake Alps to Brittany strives for hanging flower baskets from lanterns, brightly planted roundabout islands, and blooming pots in front of the Hôtel de Ville. Even in the darkest mining village, a bit of friendliness and serenity can still be found.

Friendly and serene - that is also Ofrésia, Diptyque's tribute to the freesia, this often somewhat neglected flower - for too long it has been (in yellow) offered for sale in conjunction with baby’s breath (white) and carnations (pink) wrapped in plastic in front of fully automated gas station doors. Yet freesias are wonderful - their scent is spring-blooming-fresh and unmistakable, without the attention-seeking overpowering nature of rose or lily, and there is something almost musical in the delicate, flirtatious inclination of their flower spike. This musicality, this delicate freshness has been captured by Diptyque in this beautiful, small fragrance. Pepper is hardly noticeable, and the woods only give the central freesia a shy accompaniment - because floral notes in the base can sometimes smell a bit peculiar. This is not a grand fragrance and not one for lingering too long, but rather a magical moment of spring cheerfulness in a small, poetically charming bottle.

Ofrésia, this is the scent of a small flower shop, with Art Deco windows and a bell above the door - perhaps - after all, this is a scent from Diptyque - on the left bank of the Seine, in a side street of Boulevard Saint-Germain. Inside, a charming young lady (perhaps she looks a bit like Audrey Tautou) with a green apron stands behind an old softwood table, on which rests a slightly chipped marble slab, where she cuts flowers, branches, and green leaves. She brushes a strand of hair from her face and hums softly to herself while arranging freesias and colorful spring flowers in a zinc bucket, and as she places the bucket in front of her little shop in the morning sun, the postman arrives on his old bicycle, and she greets him warmly with: 'Bonjour Monsieur!'

Conclusion: it is spring in Saint Germain-des-Prés, and Paris is a place full of light, friendliness, and beauty. Ville Fleurie.