Lys Noir Isabey 2014

"Narcissus, the son of the river god Cephissus and the water nymph Leiriope, was indescribably beautiful and was desired equally by both sexes. Out of sheer pride, Narcissus harshly rejected all suitors. To one particularly persistent admirer, Ameinios, he sent a sword so that he would take his own life and no longer bother Narcissus with his courtship. Ameinios, in utter despair, plunged the sword into his chest, but in the hour of his death, he called upon the gods to avenge his rejection and his death.

Nemesis (in other tales it was Artemis) heard the plea and punished Narcissus with endless self-love. When Narcissus saw his reflection in the water at a spring, he was so captivated by it that he lingered there until he died. In place of his corpse, a daffodil then grew."

This is - told in short form - the Greek myth of Narcissus. - The word daffodil derives from the Greek word ("narkein") and means "to numb." The word "anesthesia" has the same origin. Narcissus was thus literally "numbed by himself." And yes, the scent of daffodils is truly enchanting!

Daffodils, along with lilies and calla lilies, are among my absolute favorite flowers, especially when they are white. However, in perfumes, I prefer the "magically dark blooms" over the overly bright, airy ones. Now, this fragrance has a black lily in its name, and the pepper in the top note, which I already love in the two Guerlains "Angélique Noire" and "Spiritueuse Double Vanille," piqued my curiosity. At this point, a heartfelt thanks to Lotti for sharing!

Last night, I tested "Lys Noir" for the first time. And yes, the pepper note is noticeable, but (to my dismay) not quite as pronounced as I had hoped. Lily and daffodil quickly push to the forefront and dominate the scent for about a good hour with a floral accord. It becomes almost a bit too floral for me, but just before I could get a headache and feel like I’m in general anesthesia, the tuberose sneaks in and gives the fragrance a truly divine creamy note. One could almost call it soapy, which I do not like at all - but fortunately, this boundary is never crossed, and the scent masterfully navigates the narrow path between sensual creaminess and clinical soap. I can't keep my wrist away from my nose!

About three hours after application, the fragrance gradually becomes darker and warmer and gains depth. Again: Divine! I can gradually recognize woods and musk, while patchouli remains very much in the background, which I personally appreciate. For me, patchouli should always only underline or soften other notes, not play the leading role itself.

What I unfortunately miss throughout the entire fragrance journey are edges and corners, that "certain something." It's like in the legend: This Narcissus is beautiful, yet no one can have him... And as is often the case with overly beautiful people (and fragrances!), perfection tends to become a bit boring over time.

Perhaps a little something about the "external effect": Normally, I am a "light sprayer" and get by with two, at most three sprays. Somehow, Lys Noir is a bit "weak on the chest," I needed five sprays to perceive anything at all. The sillage is very close to the body and is hardly noticeable at arm's length, which personally suits me. The longevity is good; Lys Noir lasts about seven hours - which I find quite surprising since the scent itself is not strong.

All in all, "Lys Noir" is a very pleasant, relatively inconspicuous fragrance that envelops the wearer in a warm but unobtrusive sea of flowers for a workday. A successful "office scent" that could certainly also serve as a signature scent for its admirers.