Heures d'Absence Louis Vuitton 2020

Oh no, the salesperson at the LV shop packed the wrong fragrance for me… My first thought when I wear the scent for the first time at home the next day. I must have been, quite literally, mentally “absent”… I miss the just-bloomed and wonderfully fresh-smelling lily of the valley sea that I smelled and loved in the shop, and now I realize: there is no lily of the valley included. Could I have been so wrong? Where has my fresh spring full of lilies of the valley gone? It is absent - unfortunately. The disappointment weighs heavily. I want to sell the fragrance. Preferably immediately. But I remember that I tested the scent in the shop on my left wrist, as all other spots were already occupied by three other fragrances. Unfortunately, I decided in the shop under time pressure based on the exclusion principle and ultimately stuck with the left wrist, where I fell in love with my lily of the valley. The salesperson was sure it was THIS scent. I’m not so sure… At home, I first sprayed it on my left elbow. Hmmm… Let’s see what happens when I spray it on my left wrist? And lo and behold: the scent comes across a bit differently now. It becomes more interesting. Unfortunately, still no lily of the valley in sight. At least I can sniff a little spring. I’m drinking my green tea at my desk as usual and I’m just wondering: is the scent coming from the cup or from my wrist? Together, it creates a very successful harmony. The green tea and my hand. I imagine being in Japan during cherry blossom season, drinking high-quality green tea. Next to me sit elegant and well-dressed Japanese ladies in traditional garments, in high-quality kimonos. A very aesthetic and so far unknown sight for me as a German. Yet I somehow feel like I belong and would now also like to wear a kimono. Preferably in gold. The delicate jasmine scent on my hand goes wonderfully with the served green tea, maybe jasmine tea, since I can’t read the Japanese menu and trust the server. I take a sip and I’m sure it’s jasmine tea. In a quality I haven’t tasted in Germany yet. And the price per pot seems quite high. I am a stranger in this country, have no idea about the culture. Yet no one recognizes me as a foreigner. It’s as if the Japanese women don’t even notice me. As if I have been silently integrated. And I somehow perceive that as a compliment. I don’t like intrusiveness, no wrinkled noses, no elephants in the porcelain shop. Not even in the form of a perfume. I am an absolute scent person and despite my sensitive nose, I can hardly tell the difference between the surely very different perfumes in the room. As if they all have the same notes. Flowers, tea, musk… As if I don’t stand out particularly from the Japanese women. It feels good, to be honest. There and yet “absent” among the locals. While I sit for a while, the jasmine tea scent becomes more subdued. It becomes fruitier, fresher, wildly blooming from several corners and yet coherent within itself. I cannot distinguish the nuances. When I finally pay the bill, the powdery pure scent clings to me. Like a very expensive cream that I brought back as a souvenir from Japan. On the recommendation of the salesperson. Suitable for the golden kimono that I’m going to get. However, I could also wear the combination of this scent and the golden kimono in one of the outrageously overpriced rooms at the Burj al Arab. There, Terre de Hermes is included in the room price. Just as well, they could offer LV Heures d‘Absence there.

Conclusion: Should suit many, doesn’t scream, the powdery note lasts all day (at least on me). Wearable for all occasions and, as the name suggests, somehow absent for the proud price. Maybe I’ll keep it after all and use it up. Would I repurchase it? I think not.