Pas de Velours Les Néréides 2020
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Simply knit
Since I've noticed more and more often lately that people obviously assume they can adequately describe and appreciate a fragrance in 50 to 60 words, I'll divide the following review into two parts: Part 1 tells you everything you need to know about the fragrance, Part 2 is aimed at people with too much free time in the day.
Part 1: Awesome juice, really cuddly and also a bit sexy, decent performance, completely underrated. Price-performance cracker. An absolute must-buy for vanilla and incense fans.
Part 2:
How I came across this fragrance is easy to explain: Read "Pas de Velours" somewhere on this site, visited the fragrance page, read the pyramid and statements, ordered a bottle.
Well, and at some point the bottle arrived, was sprayed on the back of my hand and approved. No, I'm flirting with Nordic restraint here. Ever since I smelled "Pas de Velours" for the first time, I have been addicted to this fragrance.
"Pas de Velours" ... oh, how nice it sounds. Très français! But what does that actually mean? My school French immediately tells me "no velvet". Hello, no velvet? Nope. That can't be serious. How can such a wonderfully warm and truly velvety-soft fragrance be so explicitly denied any velvety quality in its name? So there must be more to it than that. The word "pas" is a very sneaky contemporary; it can not only be used as a building block for the French negation, but also as a multi-purpose noun meaning, among other things, step, dance step, gait, road or soles. And "pas de velours" in France are what Germans commonly refer to as velvet paws. Cat's feet. I see. Yes, I'm complètement d'accord with the name.
Because "Pas de Velours" snuggles up to its wearer as smoothly as a purring cat on a cuddle course. Mind you, a clawless feline. The incense, which undoubtedly dominates this fragrance, is not scratchy and cool here, but is surrounded by a fluffy, light cloud of vanilla that makes it warm and inviting. And admittedly: There's not much more going on here. The pyramid leaves no doubt that "Pas de Velours" is rather simple in its conception. Ylang-ylang in the head, incense in the heart, vanilla in the base. It could be more complex. And the combination of tropical ylang-ylang and incense also sounds somehow grotesque. About as harmonious as a caramel cake accord with civet and castoreum. But to make a long story short: This strange combination manages to take the sacral teeth out of incense and lend it an approachable, optimistic aura. Pas de Velours" reveals its flattering and bright side right from the top note, which is flanked by a pleasant sweetness reminiscent of powdered sugar. As the pyramid suggests, the rest of the fragrance is not particularly spectacular. But it doesn't have to be, because this sweet, smoky, warm cocoon of well-being is allowed to remain exactly as it is. Over time, however, the fragrance settles a little, the vanilla comes more to the fore and relegates ylang-ylang to the ranks. Here, the fragrance finally becomes darker, more intimate and more ambery.
I love the smell of incense and was looking for a long time for a wearable fragrance that would clearly emphasize this note without drifting off in a strained avant-garde direction of "olfactory performance art". I tested a lot of things, many of which smelled like incense (and some of which smelled like Hulle), but very few of them were really wearable in the sense of my antiquated dogma "perfume as a flattering fragrance".
With "Pas de Velours", I now have a really fine incense companion at my side that I am completely enthusiastic about. I am fascinated by how skillfully the three fragrance notes have been woven into a magical unity that caresses me all day long like a silvery golden veil. Sometimes less is more. Sometimes it is enough for perfumers to simply knit.
Part 1: Awesome juice, really cuddly and also a bit sexy, decent performance, completely underrated. Price-performance cracker. An absolute must-buy for vanilla and incense fans.
Part 2:
How I came across this fragrance is easy to explain: Read "Pas de Velours" somewhere on this site, visited the fragrance page, read the pyramid and statements, ordered a bottle.
Well, and at some point the bottle arrived, was sprayed on the back of my hand and approved. No, I'm flirting with Nordic restraint here. Ever since I smelled "Pas de Velours" for the first time, I have been addicted to this fragrance.
"Pas de Velours" ... oh, how nice it sounds. Très français! But what does that actually mean? My school French immediately tells me "no velvet". Hello, no velvet? Nope. That can't be serious. How can such a wonderfully warm and truly velvety-soft fragrance be so explicitly denied any velvety quality in its name? So there must be more to it than that. The word "pas" is a very sneaky contemporary; it can not only be used as a building block for the French negation, but also as a multi-purpose noun meaning, among other things, step, dance step, gait, road or soles. And "pas de velours" in France are what Germans commonly refer to as velvet paws. Cat's feet. I see. Yes, I'm complètement d'accord with the name.
Because "Pas de Velours" snuggles up to its wearer as smoothly as a purring cat on a cuddle course. Mind you, a clawless feline. The incense, which undoubtedly dominates this fragrance, is not scratchy and cool here, but is surrounded by a fluffy, light cloud of vanilla that makes it warm and inviting. And admittedly: There's not much more going on here. The pyramid leaves no doubt that "Pas de Velours" is rather simple in its conception. Ylang-ylang in the head, incense in the heart, vanilla in the base. It could be more complex. And the combination of tropical ylang-ylang and incense also sounds somehow grotesque. About as harmonious as a caramel cake accord with civet and castoreum. But to make a long story short: This strange combination manages to take the sacral teeth out of incense and lend it an approachable, optimistic aura. Pas de Velours" reveals its flattering and bright side right from the top note, which is flanked by a pleasant sweetness reminiscent of powdered sugar. As the pyramid suggests, the rest of the fragrance is not particularly spectacular. But it doesn't have to be, because this sweet, smoky, warm cocoon of well-being is allowed to remain exactly as it is. Over time, however, the fragrance settles a little, the vanilla comes more to the fore and relegates ylang-ylang to the ranks. Here, the fragrance finally becomes darker, more intimate and more ambery.
I love the smell of incense and was looking for a long time for a wearable fragrance that would clearly emphasize this note without drifting off in a strained avant-garde direction of "olfactory performance art". I tested a lot of things, many of which smelled like incense (and some of which smelled like Hulle), but very few of them were really wearable in the sense of my antiquated dogma "perfume as a flattering fragrance".
With "Pas de Velours", I now have a really fine incense companion at my side that I am completely enthusiastic about. I am fascinated by how skillfully the three fragrance notes have been woven into a magical unity that caresses me all day long like a silvery golden veil. Sometimes less is more. Sometimes it is enough for perfumers to simply knit.
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