10/27/2018
IamCraving
7 Reviews
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IamCraving
7
Delice Infini
The location of this charming rarity could no longer contrast with its character. In the desert of Albuquerque under the absurd blue sky of New Mexico a small white caravan stands between flea market stalls, streetfood stands and rummage tables.
It contains not only a curious collection of fragrances rich in versatility and quality - the storage space resembles Mary Poppins' handbag - but also two charming young gentlemen who dedicate themselves "only" part-time to their passion for the conscious, enjoyable and curious smell. I am immediately welcomed warmly, unobtrusively, but with a knowing smile, the suggestions are all an aha-experience, almost all a hit. In addition to a number of private Tom Ford fragrances, all of which can be filled in 10ml vaporizers, I was particularly impressed by the French fragrance "Delice Infini" from La Bouquetière. I'm being warned. Not from a wandering in the infinity of indulgence, but from the glittering, shimmering layer that the delicacy brings with it. It is not advisable to apply to textiles, but the velvety flicker does not cause any discomfort to the skin; on the contrary, it guarantees a longer presence of the bouquet.
So now one travels to the new world, dwells between the old hunting grounds of the Navajos and the new American weapons fools, crumpled by the non-existent humidity, is raised through the vastness of the sky and the desert and then suddenly transferred to a Paris salon, equipped with pompous canapés and simple lily arrangements. The ceilings are high, as are the arched windows, the air is cool, as are the glances of the young French women who sip on their cream, play Rommee, look at the accompaniment of Mademoiselle Z and take it apart. They float upright in their cloud of infantile arrogance, reflected in their scent, their distance has something stabbing about it, but it stings so sweet, a little acidic, like the pearls in cold sparkling wine. The longer we stay in the dignified, but lurking atmosphere of the salon, the slower our minds become. We allow ourselves to sink into the too soft back of the canapé, the fragrant radiance of the room becomes warmer, enveloping us in a touch of youthful patchouli, white flowers and noble sweat. Outside it is 20 degrees warmer than in the old venerable vault, where lime sorbet and sponge cake are now served. Observe, be observed, in vigilant excitement, in the knowledge of one's own noblesse. In another world people sweat, one can guess it, one is part of the season, carries the sticky summer in the heart, the coolness in the head and in the chest.
Back in Albuquerque I spend the rest of the day with Delice Infini on the collarbone at the Rio Grande. Even at 35 degrees this unique storyteller scent works, underlines and contrasts the heat. A Parisian in America.
It contains not only a curious collection of fragrances rich in versatility and quality - the storage space resembles Mary Poppins' handbag - but also two charming young gentlemen who dedicate themselves "only" part-time to their passion for the conscious, enjoyable and curious smell. I am immediately welcomed warmly, unobtrusively, but with a knowing smile, the suggestions are all an aha-experience, almost all a hit. In addition to a number of private Tom Ford fragrances, all of which can be filled in 10ml vaporizers, I was particularly impressed by the French fragrance "Delice Infini" from La Bouquetière. I'm being warned. Not from a wandering in the infinity of indulgence, but from the glittering, shimmering layer that the delicacy brings with it. It is not advisable to apply to textiles, but the velvety flicker does not cause any discomfort to the skin; on the contrary, it guarantees a longer presence of the bouquet.
So now one travels to the new world, dwells between the old hunting grounds of the Navajos and the new American weapons fools, crumpled by the non-existent humidity, is raised through the vastness of the sky and the desert and then suddenly transferred to a Paris salon, equipped with pompous canapés and simple lily arrangements. The ceilings are high, as are the arched windows, the air is cool, as are the glances of the young French women who sip on their cream, play Rommee, look at the accompaniment of Mademoiselle Z and take it apart. They float upright in their cloud of infantile arrogance, reflected in their scent, their distance has something stabbing about it, but it stings so sweet, a little acidic, like the pearls in cold sparkling wine. The longer we stay in the dignified, but lurking atmosphere of the salon, the slower our minds become. We allow ourselves to sink into the too soft back of the canapé, the fragrant radiance of the room becomes warmer, enveloping us in a touch of youthful patchouli, white flowers and noble sweat. Outside it is 20 degrees warmer than in the old venerable vault, where lime sorbet and sponge cake are now served. Observe, be observed, in vigilant excitement, in the knowledge of one's own noblesse. In another world people sweat, one can guess it, one is part of the season, carries the sticky summer in the heart, the coolness in the head and in the chest.
Back in Albuquerque I spend the rest of the day with Delice Infini on the collarbone at the Rio Grande. Even at 35 degrees this unique storyteller scent works, underlines and contrasts the heat. A Parisian in America.
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