Dark Amber & Ginger Lily Jo Malone 2008

Sometimes strange things happen on my skin.
Then a designated macho turns into a purring kitten, cucumbers grow on a tennis court, Mr. Spock splashes in my grandmother's bathtub, or the riddle of the scent in the stable of Bethlehem is even solved.
Nothing seems impossible, and some scent journeys entertain better than a crime scene investigation.
However, experiencing a fragrance on my skin that presents itself so completely differently than the pyramid would suggest, making me think of involuntary label deception, is something I encounter for the first time with "Dark Amber & Ginger Lily."

It has been in my possession for quite a while now, the sample in the brown Apo bottle with its careful labeling - its exact origin can no longer be reconstructed, and it is assumed that after a first superficial sniff, it wandered to join its many brothers and sisters in the cupboard, only to see the light of day again yesterday.
Pandora's comment had made me crave a bit of the Far East, for a somewhat brighter incense against a spicy-elegant background, which would provide a contrast to the many aquatic and fruity-floral scents I have been encountering since the beginning of summer.
I looked forward to my journey to the land of the rising sun, dripped a little on my wrists -

and found myself under a fig tree.
Under many dark green leaves, a bit damp from the recent rain, the wood of the bark at my back and the ripening fruits above my head.
Somewhere nearby, lemon trees seemed to be standing, their scent carried over by a gentle breeze, mingling with the various fig aromas.
It was very beautiful, very soft, transparent, and a little spicy - yet not at all what I had expected, no Japanese incense ceremony and nothing that would fit the pyramid in any way.
Confused, I eyed my bottle - could it possibly contain a completely different scent than the one it was labeled as?

I decided to get to the bottom of it and wrote to some owners of the fragrance: Was there anyone else whose nose conveyed figs to them like mine did?
The reactions were quick and varied: While one experienced a fresh ginger-cardamom opening followed by a creamy interlude with a softly spicy, slightly dusty finish, the second found patchouli already dominating the top notes, pushing the actual protagonists to the side, soon connecting with incense and amber while almost completely avoiding all flowers.
A third explained my fig association as stemming from the combination of ginger and patchouli, and even the husband of a fourth complained to her that she smelled like fig when she wore "Dark Amber & Ginger Lily."
So I seemed not to be the only one smelling figs where there shouldn't be any, and apparently, my bottle also contained the right scent.
That was reassuring but also fascinating - perhaps my own impressions would change the following day?!
Yet even in the second and very careful daytime test, a non-sweet, woody-leafy fig dominates on my skin, giving no other component a real chance to unfold.
It is by no means loud or even brash - the scent stays very close to the skin for only a few hours, delicate to the point of fragility, and I have to sniff very closely to not lose it.
One could almost think it is a bit cowardly...