Le Bain Joop! 1988 Eau de Parfum

...and I had one of those cheap little cherry lollipops in my mouth...
Then "Le Bain" would come alive just like my grandma.

Background:
My grandma passed away a few years ago. I can't ask her if she really wore this scent.
But I currently wear it on my wrist and can clearly see and smell her before me. Her, as she looked in my early childhood, in the late nineties and early 2000s.
Her, who always smelled like a flower meadow. Looked like a flower and whose hug made me happier than any sugary cherry lollipop ever could.
Her, whose smile was so sweet and pure and, in retrospect, always radiated a childlike innocence.

How I came to this scent:
My statement perfume, sinfully expensive vanilla from Guerlain (Cuir Beluga), was once again nearing its end. I, a student, notoriously broke. Something cheaper had to come in for the transition. I searched for samples in classifieds.
My nose is sensitive, which means for me: I can't smell many things.
Thus, I ended up with about 30 perfume samples, some spilled, some horrendous, some... surprisingly good.

What I can say about this scent:
At the first test on my skin, a powdery-sticky sweet hint greeted me.
“Oh dear, what will this be like when it’s finished? Smells pretty artificial.”
After a few seconds, I perceive an artificially, chemically?, floral hint. Violet?
A glance at the fragrance pyramid: “Oh, must be the aldehydes? And orange blossom, yes, that fits.”
I clear away the laundry mountain from yesterday. My room is, as often, chaotic.
I leave the room, come back. And suddenly this strange sadness hits me, I think I'm getting my (emotional) five minutes. I'm confused.
What is this?! I smell my “grandma”.
Every day I wear a golden bracelet on my wrist that she gave me when I was about 15. I don't take it off, even though it feels way too big for me now, just like it did back then. Not a day goes by that I don't think of my grandma.
But how does she come into my NOSE now, damn it?
Roses... I don't like the smell of roses in skincare products, and I'm not particularly convinced by it in perfume either. In Bulgaria, for example, you get overwhelmed by it, in every souvenir shop and twenty meters before that. But real roses smell so pleasant.
Even more flowers. Violets? Maybe. I smell many things but can't always name them.
However, I can definitely identify the scent of sandalwood, thanks to the incense sticks that “grandma's” daughter liked to use (way too) often.
Here are so many scents that I have become accustomed to, united, but in a dose that makes them not only bearable but wonderfully pleasant.
I, procrastinating as always, sit down, turn off the music, smell my wrist, in the air, let the scents wash over me.
And I see in my mind's eye how my grandma, who once again comes home with bloody knees, hands me one of those sticky little cherry lollipops and kisses me on the forehead.
(I smell cherry, even though it’s not mentioned anywhere, a lot of it!)
How she hugs me but doesn’t lift me up because I’m too heavy for her now. And she has “back problems”.
Grandma has bathed. Maybe in “Le Bain”.
Maybe my grandma really bathed and then rolled around in a flower meadow, with the cherry lollipops she bought for me somehow sticking to her.
That’s exactly how "Le Bain" smells to me.
Comforting, cozy, with a lot of security and a little bit of vanilla - or rather the vanillin in sugar. Very light, chemical, but not unpleasant, rather reminiscent of Christmas baking.
That’s good, because it keeps me from comparing this vanilla with Guerlain's and allows me to genuinely love it.
That’s why this scent will also be one for the cold days for me.
Maybe I'm too young for this scent; I need to hear my friends' opinions on it.
After all, I don’t want to smell like some grandma. If I do, I’ll stay home with this perfume and enjoy it for myself.
Whenever I miss my grandma - and want to at least smell the comfort of her hugs.