Red Door Elizabeth Arden 1989 Eau de Toilette

I was more apprehensive about no perfume than I was about Red Door!
For a long time, I thought - no, I don't want to put myself through that.

Then I saw a tester bottle in a perfume shop and, without thinking much, asked for a spritz. On the paper strip.

From the very first inhale, I knew it: YES! A big YES!

Oh, this scent is beautiful! And lush! And full!
Like a sea of flowers made up of carefully selected, perfectly coordinated blooms, all in full bloom. Depending on which direction the wind blows, a different nuance wafts over me.
On some days, the composition is soft and warm, a bit languid, as if it were a warm summer day, still and sleepy. On other days, like today, the lily of the valley with its slightly fresher, more robust scent is more dominant, and the sea of flowers sways under a gentle breeze.

The flowers are all very self-assured and incredibly erotic. Erotic in a completely different way than I have experienced so far. Normally, for me, eroticism is very subtle and dark, very lascivious and final. Best expressed with amber, incense, styrax, labdanum, leather, smoke, vanilla, woods. A woman reclining in candlelight and under the scent clouds of resin, rubbed with precious oils and adorned with jewels. One night with her, and a man is forever enchanted.

But in Red Door, all of that is missing, and yet the scent is so promising. Red Door is a woman in the midst of a field of flowers, with flowing, open hair, a sunny smile, and in a floral dress with a deep neckline. She moves quickly and nimbly, her mane and full breasts bouncing with every movement so seductively that a man cannot take his eyes off them.
That flowers can be sexy is my personal insight; flowers have always represented purity and elegance to me, actually asexual.

But one never stops learning, and our horizons expand daily - thank God! What a beautiful scent I would have otherwise missed! Smelling it on myself almost sends me into a trance; with every breath, I want to inhale even deeper.
I will not recite the fragrance pyramid now. I don't like that. Surely all the molecules are present that belong to the scent of one flower or another mentioned. Everyone will smell something different.
What is most important here is the art behind it.

Because: I actually don't like anise, tuberose, honey, heliotrope, or peach. I actually don't like floral scents that are so rich. Actually. But this scent here - I could smell it until I get dizzy, and I have to be careful not to hyperventilate :) I don't detect any honey (that would be the worst), nor any anise. Perhaps that is the true art - to use scents in such a way that they are not individually perceivable but perfect the effect of other scents. Like olfactory glutamate, so to speak.

I look up who the perfumers are that created this scent - and discover that I also quite like other fragrances of theirs - Jasmin Noir by Bvlgari, Tobacco Vanille by Tom Ford, all the Diana Vreeland fragrances, Saharienne by YSL, the scents from Shanghai Tang, Prada Tendre, and Prada Amber...
It becomes clear to me again that I simply love the artist's style and not necessarily the ingredients. Just as I love how Renoir paints and not necessarily WHAT he paints. Even a mundane or kitschy scene becomes art when a genius paints it. Even scents that I don't like create a wonderful whole when a master mixes them together.

The only downside is that the longevity of this scent is a bit short - after 2 hours, the orgasms are so exhausted that the "cigarette afterwards" can be lit among the blooming perennials. And after a longer, cozy, quiet nap on his shoulder, it will be time again 4-5 hours later - Adio, amore mio! The beauty briefly gazes at his sleep under the late afternoon sun. She smiles contentedly, gently frees herself from his embrace, lifts her crumpled floral dress with nimble fingers, and disappears, gently swaying her hips, from his life....