Elemi resin
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loewenherz
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loewenherz
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15
Too much of a good thing...
...is said to be wonderful - and who wouldn't want to agree with that? The quote goes back to actress Mae West, one of the first and most iconic femmes fatales that Hollywood has ever produced, who reached the peak of her career in the 1920s and 30s. 'Too much of a good thing' - that sounds delightful at first. But sometimes, too much is simply too much.
Many of the fragrances that enjoy a large following here can be considered somewhat difficult or challenging, some even cumbersome. One must gradually make these fragrances their own, tame them, conquer them - and love them all the more than those that lure with an overly pleasing top note like a courtesan with a fan made of marabou feathers. Difficult fragrances often reveal their beauty only upon closer inspection.
Euphorium Brooklyn's Cilice, on the other hand, is so overt, so deliberately and exaggeratedly challenging and difficult, that it seems exhausting. Because it lacks irony and humor. Because it combines a lot of incense with a lot of amber and a lot of everything. Because its proximity demands continuous engagement with it. Because everything about it seems so dense and impenetrable that despite this closeness, it remains foreign and aloof.
Cilice means 'hair shirt', and yes, it seems as if it puts the full weight of its theatrical name into every minute of its existence. Nothing is light, nothing is playful - everything is cultivated, difficult, heavy, demanding, must be earned - at times it almost has a punishing quality - in this respect, its name is well chosen. Bitter phases alternate with biting, symbol-laden with dramatic. Some, no: many of these phases are very beautiful - the waxy moment, for instance, when suddenly honeyed warmth breaks through, or the fractured animalistic quality that gently rises between the resin and the flickering fire - or the faint hint of liqueur. But none of this is simply given, nothing is friendly, sweet, or soft. It is not loud, not for a moment - yet precisely its closeness and intimacy give it something almost oppressive at times - like a guilty conscience that won't let you sleep. Again, its name fits well here. If Cilice were just a phase in a fragrance - with a bit of mischief in the top note perhaps or some reconciliation at the end - it would be magnificent. As it stands, it feels like sitting too close to a fire for too long.
Conclusion: a fragrance like an oil painting, depicting people being burned at the stake. Like Clytemnestra with a bloody dagger. Too forcedly difficult and just a bit too much of everything.
Many of the fragrances that enjoy a large following here can be considered somewhat difficult or challenging, some even cumbersome. One must gradually make these fragrances their own, tame them, conquer them - and love them all the more than those that lure with an overly pleasing top note like a courtesan with a fan made of marabou feathers. Difficult fragrances often reveal their beauty only upon closer inspection.
Euphorium Brooklyn's Cilice, on the other hand, is so overt, so deliberately and exaggeratedly challenging and difficult, that it seems exhausting. Because it lacks irony and humor. Because it combines a lot of incense with a lot of amber and a lot of everything. Because its proximity demands continuous engagement with it. Because everything about it seems so dense and impenetrable that despite this closeness, it remains foreign and aloof.
Cilice means 'hair shirt', and yes, it seems as if it puts the full weight of its theatrical name into every minute of its existence. Nothing is light, nothing is playful - everything is cultivated, difficult, heavy, demanding, must be earned - at times it almost has a punishing quality - in this respect, its name is well chosen. Bitter phases alternate with biting, symbol-laden with dramatic. Some, no: many of these phases are very beautiful - the waxy moment, for instance, when suddenly honeyed warmth breaks through, or the fractured animalistic quality that gently rises between the resin and the flickering fire - or the faint hint of liqueur. But none of this is simply given, nothing is friendly, sweet, or soft. It is not loud, not for a moment - yet precisely its closeness and intimacy give it something almost oppressive at times - like a guilty conscience that won't let you sleep. Again, its name fits well here. If Cilice were just a phase in a fragrance - with a bit of mischief in the top note perhaps or some reconciliation at the end - it would be magnificent. As it stands, it feels like sitting too close to a fire for too long.
Conclusion: a fragrance like an oil painting, depicting people being burned at the stake. Like Clytemnestra with a bloody dagger. Too forcedly difficult and just a bit too much of everything.
4 Comments
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