Maybe you are like me and you actually had something else in mind. With this Pentecost. This summer. And in general.
But as it looks, the weather takes care of what Jens Spahn succeeds only so poorly, namely to keep us at home. The temperature remains stably below average, the mood also and the rain is falling incessantly like in the days when miracles still happened in Bern.
So if you - like me - have nothing better to do at the moment, I would like to extend an invitation to you: Why don't you make yourself comfortable, relax and take a cup of tea, preferably light, green and flowery, then you'll basically already be in the mood for the magic scent that I would like to recommend to you with missionary zeal: Welcome to a world where everything is light, warm, fragrant and delicate, to the world of White Magnolia.
The creator of the perfume, Olivier Cresp, is probably no stranger to you. He is responsible for mega-sellers like Angel by Mugler or Light Blue by Dolce & Gabbana, which I have already described with devotion, as well as for classics like Femme by Rochas and, unfortunately I have to admit it, also for the kitsch nightmare Black Opium by YSL. The success speaks for itself; the man obviously knows what pleases.
So now he's created a new fragrance in 2021, White Magnolia for Etro, a slender, no extravagance fragrance pyramid, light transparency, caught in the transparent bottle with paisley pattern, that just by looking at it seems like the vial of Galadriel, the light of the evening star, a glow in dark times... and if you now get the impression that I'm going into raptures, you're probably right. I can't even tell you why that is, actually, because the scent isn't that extraordinary. But it enchants.
I have to start with the base, and then consequently with the musk, because it's there from the beginning. Should you now stifle a yawn, you should think to yourself "Oh God, not such a clean musk fragrance again!": I understand. I feel the same way. After what feels like the hundredth time some resourceful perfumer has come around the corner with this all-purpose cuddly mace, this olfactory tranquilizer that gums up our judgment with globalid, ambretolide and muscenon in a cotton-soft feel-good cloud, I feel a distinct oversaturation where musk is concerned. Olivier Cresp seems to have understood this, because he doesn't let the musk just waft along, but he delimits it by having it accompanied by something warmly resinous that, minimally dosed, probably belongs to cedar, or to the white woods that create an image in our imagination rather than being real. Now this really doesn't make the fragrance edgy. But it does give it contour. It grounds it and gives it sensuality. And it creates a certain tension between soft and hard, fluff with edge.
On top of that, like a sparkling little crown, he puts the magnolia. And it's a particularly sly piece this time: namely, it doesn't just appear and then stay, which might make it annoying. Instead, it wanders through the fragrance, emerging, sparkling through the green foliage like a ray of sunshine or, oh come on, like the evening star of the fairy queen, only to quiet down again, disappear, and reappear a few minutes later behind a cloud of musk. Perhaps the magnolia is accompanied by some citrus, but it's minimal. It serves only to underscore its fresh sweetness, only to put exclamation points behind the elfin charm of the floral accord, another cheeky sparkle in this fragrance not lacking in highlights.
Can you understand why you have to love this perfume? That you put it on and smile? That it might just be the scent that fits this late Corona summer: Full of bravado flashing through our pandemic cocooning, full of delicate, irrepressible joie de vivre. A feathery caress on our senses. A scent of the soul. Check it out!
Top Notes 
Heart Notes 
Base Notes 
