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Notes06/12/2021
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The principle of resonance
Surely you are familiar with the view that what comes at us from the outside is a mirror of our inside. There are also some sayings about this. One of the simplest and shortened to relationships would be, as one calls into the forest, so it resounds out. The idea of attracting things according to the resonance principle, however, goes as far as the idea of formulating one's own wishes to the universe so that they would then be fulfilled.
Sometimes, though, we seem to attract, without wishing to, a series of similar events that we would normally assume have nothing to do with us. Why, for example, has my mother given me at least every other piece of clothing in purple for the past 20 years or so? Purple doesn't suit me at all and I don't understand why she doesn't seem to see it too. Even after I must have mentioned 40 times that purple doesn't look good on me and besides that I don't like it that much, I keep getting purple clothes as gifts. Does my mother see something in me that I don't see in myself and that she translates into purple? At the latest the moment someone else gave me a purple silk scarf, specially designed for me with silk painting, I thought that was absurd, something couldn't be right. Do I have a blind spot? Do I represent the color purple? Or do I represent a lack of purple? You can really get into doubt!
But why the long preface?
Because it goes to me with rose fragrances - almost - the same. Unlike purple in clothing, I like the scent of roses in gardens and the great outdoors very much. In perfumes, however, it is already a little more difficult: Often I smell, if rose is indicated, not really rose, but only something unspecifically floral or rose geranium, which I often find unattractive and somewhat dreary old-fashioned. I dedicated a blog article to this phenomenon years ago. But there are also fragrances in which I smell rose as rose, where I like the fresh, citrusy roses best. But as beautiful as I find roses and their scent outside, in perfumes I tend to find them boring, especially when they go in the direction of soliflora.
But just like the color purple, rose scents steadily want to me. They are offered to me with striking frequency for exchange or sent along as freebies. With roses, however, I realize by now that I've probably been shouting "ROSES!" in woods without even realizing it.
While I quickly discarded countless rose scents, miraculously I now have four very different, almost-soliflors of them in my collection, starting with Valentino Donna Rosa Verde and Roses Elixir and ending with Secret Rose and Nin Shar. I treasure them very much and wouldn't want to miss all four of them. Sometime comes hopefully still number 5 to it, Rose Jam.
Now we would finally have landed at the fragrance description. Why can Rose Jam convince me?
Well, that wasn't so easy, because Rose Jam starts out sour and fermented. The comparison that others here drew to Sí, I can therefore very well understand. The impression that someone had accidentally poured their alcopop over my forearm was adhoc, just like with Sí. Fortunately, in contrast to Sí, this fermented note lasts much less long in Rose Jam and also decreases in intensity after a short time. On the other hand, Rose Jam has a strange undertone of old cooking oil in the opening. That is certainly the rose geranium, my old spoilsport, which shines through.
Behind that, to the rescue, a friendly, intense, yet transparent rose emerges in the very first minutes, which has neither the tendentially heavy, voluminous appearance of typical, Bulgarian roses, nor the citrusy lightness of what I imagine to be a bright, yellow rose. I imagine Rose Jam's rose to be red and unfilled, and in terms of fragrance character, in the middle of the two described above.
Rose Jam includes the word jam for a reason. The rose is cooked into fruity jam. What kind of fruit is it? The closest I could make out is a hint of strawberry jam. It is wonderfully sweet, just jam sweet, not grape sugar sweet, not burnt maltol sweet, not weird sugar substitute sweet. To the sweetness comes a good measure of musk of the pleasant kind, not stuffy, also not powdery and without plastic impression.
In the course Rose Jam I like better and better, because the fermented is after 20 minutes only fine fruit acid and after an hour completely disappeared. The rose geranium with its edible oil depression has already been put to flight at the very beginning.
A further course I can not recognize at first. Rose Jam remains over 5-6 hours just deliciously sweet rose jam with a fine proportion of strawberries and musk.
The next day, however, I discover that obviously some cinnamon was also involved. I get dressed and spontaneously think: Wow, did I eat French rolls yesterday? My blouse smells so delicious. I hadn't eaten a French roll, it must have been the leftover Rose Jam.
Two things remain to be said: thank you MelOn for the compelling sample. And - the blouse was not purple, of course.
Sometimes, though, we seem to attract, without wishing to, a series of similar events that we would normally assume have nothing to do with us. Why, for example, has my mother given me at least every other piece of clothing in purple for the past 20 years or so? Purple doesn't suit me at all and I don't understand why she doesn't seem to see it too. Even after I must have mentioned 40 times that purple doesn't look good on me and besides that I don't like it that much, I keep getting purple clothes as gifts. Does my mother see something in me that I don't see in myself and that she translates into purple? At the latest the moment someone else gave me a purple silk scarf, specially designed for me with silk painting, I thought that was absurd, something couldn't be right. Do I have a blind spot? Do I represent the color purple? Or do I represent a lack of purple? You can really get into doubt!
But why the long preface?
Because it goes to me with rose fragrances - almost - the same. Unlike purple in clothing, I like the scent of roses in gardens and the great outdoors very much. In perfumes, however, it is already a little more difficult: Often I smell, if rose is indicated, not really rose, but only something unspecifically floral or rose geranium, which I often find unattractive and somewhat dreary old-fashioned. I dedicated a blog article to this phenomenon years ago. But there are also fragrances in which I smell rose as rose, where I like the fresh, citrusy roses best. But as beautiful as I find roses and their scent outside, in perfumes I tend to find them boring, especially when they go in the direction of soliflora.
But just like the color purple, rose scents steadily want to me. They are offered to me with striking frequency for exchange or sent along as freebies. With roses, however, I realize by now that I've probably been shouting "ROSES!" in woods without even realizing it.
While I quickly discarded countless rose scents, miraculously I now have four very different, almost-soliflors of them in my collection, starting with Valentino Donna Rosa Verde and Roses Elixir and ending with Secret Rose and Nin Shar. I treasure them very much and wouldn't want to miss all four of them. Sometime comes hopefully still number 5 to it, Rose Jam.
Now we would finally have landed at the fragrance description. Why can Rose Jam convince me?
Well, that wasn't so easy, because Rose Jam starts out sour and fermented. The comparison that others here drew to Sí, I can therefore very well understand. The impression that someone had accidentally poured their alcopop over my forearm was adhoc, just like with Sí. Fortunately, in contrast to Sí, this fermented note lasts much less long in Rose Jam and also decreases in intensity after a short time. On the other hand, Rose Jam has a strange undertone of old cooking oil in the opening. That is certainly the rose geranium, my old spoilsport, which shines through.
Behind that, to the rescue, a friendly, intense, yet transparent rose emerges in the very first minutes, which has neither the tendentially heavy, voluminous appearance of typical, Bulgarian roses, nor the citrusy lightness of what I imagine to be a bright, yellow rose. I imagine Rose Jam's rose to be red and unfilled, and in terms of fragrance character, in the middle of the two described above.
Rose Jam includes the word jam for a reason. The rose is cooked into fruity jam. What kind of fruit is it? The closest I could make out is a hint of strawberry jam. It is wonderfully sweet, just jam sweet, not grape sugar sweet, not burnt maltol sweet, not weird sugar substitute sweet. To the sweetness comes a good measure of musk of the pleasant kind, not stuffy, also not powdery and without plastic impression.
In the course Rose Jam I like better and better, because the fermented is after 20 minutes only fine fruit acid and after an hour completely disappeared. The rose geranium with its edible oil depression has already been put to flight at the very beginning.
A further course I can not recognize at first. Rose Jam remains over 5-6 hours just deliciously sweet rose jam with a fine proportion of strawberries and musk.
The next day, however, I discover that obviously some cinnamon was also involved. I get dressed and spontaneously think: Wow, did I eat French rolls yesterday? My blouse smells so delicious. I hadn't eaten a French roll, it must have been the leftover Rose Jam.
Two things remain to be said: thank you MelOn for the compelling sample. And - the blouse was not purple, of course.
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BertolucciK
