Pétales Euphorium Brooklyn 2015

It smells good... uh... or rather, it should smell good. What more can a perfume do? But "it smells delicious," (which, I admit, often makes someone like me blissfully happy),
doesn't do justice to many fragrances. It also doesn't do justice to Pétales. The "petals" fascinate, shower, and touch the head, heart, and nose not only on a sensory level. Here, a little work of art floats into the olfactory organ of the curious, inclined sniffer.
For some, this scent may be difficult, even repulsive, but I find this fragrance quite delightful, containing poetry and genius within.
When applied to the skin, the buds of wild flowers quietly open and reveal waxy soft, silky delicate, soapily shimmering leaves.
The scent takes us with its mysterious foreign charm into a nocturnal, forgotten, overgrown garden that nature has magnificently reclaimed in full bloom. Dewdrops on dark green underbrush, a blooming and wilting, becoming and passing away. We smell moss, flowers, both cultivated and wild. Fresh, dried, wilted, preserved in wax, all together. The garden pond, leaves, grass, stems, flower nectar... Everything is there, yet the impressions are muted, as if dipped in fog and moonlight.
This mystical wild growth soon encounters the familiar, subtly animalistic scents of warm, soft skin or a sleek, clean fur, spicy-waxy-woody-balsamic. We have company in the garden. A few sweat droplets, and simultaneously with these, plant sap bitterly oozes from the wounds of dark green leaves and stems. This connection of wild, exotic naturalness with the scent of warm familiarity of a beloved being is sensual.
The fragrance has a quietly herb-cream intensity, telling its story in a calm manner. It's not an exuberant spring frenzy, but rather a magical, gentle, soft play of contrasts in the moonlight. Ruthless wilderness and familiar warmth, still yet penetrating. Foreign yet familiar, unpretentious, yet shamelessly unique.
Art, poetry indeed.
To smell good, to smell good, and so much more.