1889 - Moulin Rouge Histoires de Parfums 2010

"Lipstick, Powder and Paint..."
So warbled already Shakin' Stevens in 1985 and exactly this song title came to my mind when spraying 1889 - Moulin Rouge.
Especially with "Lipstick" I get stuck, so strong is this note to sniff out of all the others.
And so it goes to me like many others: I put my story there, where I just this "Lipstick" - fragrance most likely to perceive.
And so be forgiven me some and of course entirely unintentional similarities or possible whole matches in the choice of words.

If you want to bypass the following story, please scroll down to the short review.
The door slams shut behind Candice LaRose.

Briefly, she still leans against the smooth wood separating her from the hungry mob at the stage and her dressing room, and takes a long, deep breath.
With a little jerk, she sets off and walks slowly and lithely like a cat to her dressing table.
The pink velvet chair in front of it catches her elf-like body, once shaped by ballet.
Her gaze goes up to the mirror over jars, brushes, and bottles, and she looks at herself for a long time until she says to herself, "You've gotten pretty old, girl."

The shows are draining. The audience demands a lot.
Showing weakness is not an option. Too quickly you become a sinking star, if you show the crowd the vulnerable person behind the facade.
They want to see the sparkling, radiantly beautiful and desirable Candice and they want to get her, no matter how she feels about it.

She has been completing this program for many years. But more and more, the party life after the show replaces a completely different ritual.
Escape to the dressing room, drop into the chair, pour a glass of absinthe, sip a sip, and then search the delivered bouquets of flowers for little cards from admirers.

Usually it is always the same senders and the choice of flowers often gives them away even without a card. But also new ones come to it, as on this evening.
An unusually arranged lush bouquet of pink roses and blue-violet iris flowers has never been there before.
The scent emanating from it is intense and engaging, mixing with the cloud of absinthe in the room.
Candice would like to know who sent it to her, but the attached card is empty, except for a question mark.

It knocks five times in particular sequence.
Candice knows exactly who it is and her gaze becomes bright and gentle.

Sally, the cleaning lady arrives as she does every night Candice makes an appearance.
None of the ladies are bothered by the presence of the others. On the contrary. They have become good friends over the years, even close confidants.
They talk about every evening and every performance, about the audience and the very special guests who grace the establishment.
Of course, the unusual bouquet is also a topic.
Too gladly the ladies would like to know who the sender is and in Candice stirs a feeling that she has not allowed for so long. A flare-up of hope and longing. Are there possibly serious intentions behind this unusual floral splendor?
Why else would such meaningful flowers mixed together, if not a message behind it?
Your little heart begins to beat faster with these thoughts.

Candice lives alone in a small penthouse and in the shadow of the city. She has always kept her admirers at a distance, shown none of her true self. Too big is her fear that
one breaks her tender heart.
The short acquaintances have already shown her anyway, how her admirers see her. And none of them wants the real Candice. And none would notice her on the street when she is out as herself, without makeup, in the loose dresses, the low-slung caps or hats, and the flat shoes.
She is lost in the hustle and bustle of the city, like a single pixel in the resolution of a giant image.
She is only seen when she is in the spotlight of the stage in glittery dresses and high heels, giving the audience what they pay for.

While Candice removes her makeup, Sally creates order among the dresses that have been hastily thrown somewhere during the costume change. The shoes are placed in pairs under the dresses draped again in order and subsequently she still puts Candice's home clothes ready.
A pair of jeans, a blouse, a scarf, a pair of trampled ballerinas and a gray coat will be the accompaniment on the way home.

A little later, Sally has already left, Candice still reaches for her small handbag.
A bulge can be seen under the open coat.
She has hidden a very special bouquet of flowers in it, which she presses almost tenderly.
At the door, she pulls the scarf still high on her face and carefully places the coat against the bouquet.
Then she extinguishes the light and goes out through the side exit into the night.

Barely audible, the soles of the little shoes scurry across the cobblestones. The petite shadow is almost immediately engulfed by the darkness of the alleys and the oblivion waiting there.

Tomorrow night, however, the woman will once again become Candice LaRose, the shining object of desire and the star in the small luminous show sky of the vaudeville.
And that same evening, she will also once again become the loneliest heart in town.
Short assessment:
Already at the spray head, I can make out the lipstick note without even doing it.
Pressed briefly and she rides the air around my face, as if she were on the run!
Quite clearly, I can also make out ripe plum and the absinthe. The roses are the hedge, which let the lipstick note run up and slow down a bit.
A wonderful team becomes from all the notes, which I have never sniffed so.
From my skin, which I also provide with the fragrance, a pleasant warmth rises up, which makes these notes even softer and deeper at the same time.
I find the fragrance adult and mature, at the same time elegant and slightly melancholic, somehow cuddly soft and erotic, but at the same time very valuable and always perfectly balanced.