Tiara House of Sillage 2011

"We know each other!" was my first thought - and still the second, third, fourth.
Every time I wore "Tiara," it felt as if we had already met, the fragrance and I.
Not in this time and not in this place, not under this name, but still - we knew each other, I knew her, I was sure of that.
But when and where we had met eluded me, hidden in the mists of the past, which grow denser year by year.
Only slowly did I manage to penetrate them, step by step, year by year, until I arrived in the last century, in the late eighties, the early nineties - in that time when the dove was young and life was easy and carefree.
Almost.
And there they were, the mothers and sisters, cousins and aunts of "Tiara."

They were called "Le Bain" and "Lancaster," "Roma" and "Tempore Donna" - they were big and strong and so very woman.
Not girls, not ladies, not vamps.
Woman, female - Eva.
They didn’t strut over the catwalks, they didn’t talk about diets, they didn’t torture themselves in the studio and had no idea how to spell Botox.
They loved red wine and red roses, velvet and silk, pasta and tiramisu.
Their bodies were soft and well-rounded, every pound and also the heart in the right place.
Their laughter bubbled from the depths of their bellies, their skin was sun-golden warm.
They smelled of summer-saturated flowers, ripe fruits, peach, plum, cinnamon, warm woods and softly creamed skin.
Children nestled in their arms, men in their soft laps.
Sensuality had a name, I found it in Simone's perfumery.
And twenty-five years later again in a small box, in "Tiara" from the House of Sillage.

Whatever the bottle suggests to me: It is wrong.
Nothing about "Tiara" is cool, is clear, is crystal-silver-blue - not on me, not on my skin.
From the very first moment, "Tiara" is spicy, soft and warm, a full-bodied late summer splendor on a balmy evening, an undertone of dried fruit, very sensual and very woman.
I had been cautious: I had only sprayed one spritz on my wrists, neck and hair - and that was more than enough, especially at twenty degrees and above.
Thus, a gentle yet perceptible aura surrounds me for many hours, shifting and faceted from nectar-sun-glass to powder-dust-on-wood, softly spiced dried fruit, delicate white musk bed, from here to there and back again.
Sometimes it steps forward, sometimes it retreats, is gentle and fine yet always present.
All day, all night.
And even longer.
Just one spritz...

PS: Franfan - thank you for this journey through time!