Top Notes 
Bergamot
Key lime
Heart Notes 
Citrus notes
Base Notes 
Kashmiri musk
Aolani
17 Reviews
Translated · Show original
Aolani
Top Review
19
Daisy Magic
I had to have the bottle! It comes packaged in a sunny yellow box with a dark yellow flower and a gold rim. The glass takes on the pattern of the petals, the liquid glows warm yellow, and the cap is adorned with a yellow plastic flower.
Daisy comes from the Old English word Daegeseage, meaning day eye. This term colloquially refers to various daisy-like flowers such as daisies and marguerites. Every child knows them, perhaps under different names - lawn daisies, Mary flowers, sky flowers, moonlight flowers, or thousand beauties. They bloom in almost every meadow, inviting bees, bumblebees, and hoverflies to visit and showing everyone their brightly smiling face.
The most famous Daisy is Donald Duck's fashion-conscious girlfriend with the colorful bow in her hair and matching shoes. Some may remember her as the dog of a Munich fashion czar. Or Daisy Miller - a literary character. Not to forget Princess Daisy - the first lady of the high society, who hosted her invitations not far from my favorite city W.
I bought the fragrance in W. From the shopping gallery, I strolled a few steps to a square next to a former monastery. A few streets away, traffic rushes by. Pedestrians rarely pass through here, which is unusual since most people take shortcuts. Tourists hurry to a nearby attraction, but no one notices the obvious. The square almost feels like fallow land, which I love so much. Somehow deserted. Grass sprouts through the cracks of the pavement, and dandelions and daisies bloom in the meadow.
I like these untamed last corners of our otherwise so neatly groomed cities. They still exist here, right in the city. Next to the church lie large rock boulders. I feel like an archaeologist as I examine them. Next to them are strange figures, relics of a church column with figures and masks. They just stand there, unnoticed.
When you see something every day, you don't really see it. That might be how the daisy feels.
The scent starts with a bee sting - something pricks my nose, feels synthetic, even though the citrus notes quickly follow. It sparkles a bit; I think of sparkling wine, and that's how it smells. I perceive lime only as gentle background music. It adds a youthful touch, something sparkling, adventurous. The scent of summer when there was nothing better than lemonade to quench thirst.
Enter Aunt Bergamot. For my nose, once again, she appears as an elderly aunt, wiping a child's face with a damp handkerchief, but this one is friendly. She smiles. There’s something a bit cloying as well, but what? The aunt is okay with a glass of sparkling wine, which no longer sparkles, rather has gone a bit stale. Happily, she rests on the sofa and lets herself be refilled. Bubbling, overflowing.
After half an hour, the scent becomes milder, soft like the light of the evening sun. It still smells citrusy. A hint of orange, even though that’s not listed. And still, there’s this light note of the sparkling bubbles of champagne. It makes me a bit tipsy. And then I get a slight headache and feel nauseous. Ugh. I really feel like throwing up. Maybe it’s not the scent. I just looked too much into the past. Stirred too much in the family soup.
The heart is citrusy and too cold for me. The base consists of cashmere musk. The culprit transforms the daisy into marguerites, which smell like cheese to my nose.
Daisies have magic. They remind us of our childhood when we surrendered to moments, to those endless summers. Picking daisies in the meadows, weaving them into a chain, or giving them to Mom as a bouquet, the stems warm from a child's hand. How proud we were when she placed the daisies in a small vase.
Today, like most adults, we chase tomorrow, or a part of our selves wanders through the past. No matter what storms rage in life, what humans cause, the daisies are already there and will come back.
Childhood does not return (in many cases, that’s probably a good thing). The vanished land - that’s what Astrid Lindgren called the closed gate to childhood. When one morning she woke up and could no longer play. Something was lost forever.
Back at the hotel, I wash off the scent, which proves to be quite persistent. In my desperation, I smear toothpaste on the back of my hand and let it dry. That helps.
In the meantime, I’m back from W. and the bottle beautifies my desk. If any of my colleagues want to test Daisy, they are welcome. As long as I don’t have to water her. And if I’m ever in a bad mood, the bottle will bring sunshine to my face.
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
You make me happy when days are blue
No matter what storms rage in life, what humans cause, the daisies will come back. I wouldn’t want to live in a land without daisies.
The bottle will remind me of W., where life began for me. W. is a vanished land, but without that vanished place, I wouldn’t exist. What am I looking for there? That’s another story. And Daisy reminds me of all those past moments.
By the way - today I could have used an aunt with a handkerchief. I was smeared with chocolate ice cream around my mouth. Oh well. I have Daisy.
Daisy comes from the Old English word Daegeseage, meaning day eye. This term colloquially refers to various daisy-like flowers such as daisies and marguerites. Every child knows them, perhaps under different names - lawn daisies, Mary flowers, sky flowers, moonlight flowers, or thousand beauties. They bloom in almost every meadow, inviting bees, bumblebees, and hoverflies to visit and showing everyone their brightly smiling face.
The most famous Daisy is Donald Duck's fashion-conscious girlfriend with the colorful bow in her hair and matching shoes. Some may remember her as the dog of a Munich fashion czar. Or Daisy Miller - a literary character. Not to forget Princess Daisy - the first lady of the high society, who hosted her invitations not far from my favorite city W.
I bought the fragrance in W. From the shopping gallery, I strolled a few steps to a square next to a former monastery. A few streets away, traffic rushes by. Pedestrians rarely pass through here, which is unusual since most people take shortcuts. Tourists hurry to a nearby attraction, but no one notices the obvious. The square almost feels like fallow land, which I love so much. Somehow deserted. Grass sprouts through the cracks of the pavement, and dandelions and daisies bloom in the meadow.
I like these untamed last corners of our otherwise so neatly groomed cities. They still exist here, right in the city. Next to the church lie large rock boulders. I feel like an archaeologist as I examine them. Next to them are strange figures, relics of a church column with figures and masks. They just stand there, unnoticed.
When you see something every day, you don't really see it. That might be how the daisy feels.
The scent starts with a bee sting - something pricks my nose, feels synthetic, even though the citrus notes quickly follow. It sparkles a bit; I think of sparkling wine, and that's how it smells. I perceive lime only as gentle background music. It adds a youthful touch, something sparkling, adventurous. The scent of summer when there was nothing better than lemonade to quench thirst.
Enter Aunt Bergamot. For my nose, once again, she appears as an elderly aunt, wiping a child's face with a damp handkerchief, but this one is friendly. She smiles. There’s something a bit cloying as well, but what? The aunt is okay with a glass of sparkling wine, which no longer sparkles, rather has gone a bit stale. Happily, she rests on the sofa and lets herself be refilled. Bubbling, overflowing.
After half an hour, the scent becomes milder, soft like the light of the evening sun. It still smells citrusy. A hint of orange, even though that’s not listed. And still, there’s this light note of the sparkling bubbles of champagne. It makes me a bit tipsy. And then I get a slight headache and feel nauseous. Ugh. I really feel like throwing up. Maybe it’s not the scent. I just looked too much into the past. Stirred too much in the family soup.
The heart is citrusy and too cold for me. The base consists of cashmere musk. The culprit transforms the daisy into marguerites, which smell like cheese to my nose.
Daisies have magic. They remind us of our childhood when we surrendered to moments, to those endless summers. Picking daisies in the meadows, weaving them into a chain, or giving them to Mom as a bouquet, the stems warm from a child's hand. How proud we were when she placed the daisies in a small vase.
Today, like most adults, we chase tomorrow, or a part of our selves wanders through the past. No matter what storms rage in life, what humans cause, the daisies are already there and will come back.
Childhood does not return (in many cases, that’s probably a good thing). The vanished land - that’s what Astrid Lindgren called the closed gate to childhood. When one morning she woke up and could no longer play. Something was lost forever.
Back at the hotel, I wash off the scent, which proves to be quite persistent. In my desperation, I smear toothpaste on the back of my hand and let it dry. That helps.
In the meantime, I’m back from W. and the bottle beautifies my desk. If any of my colleagues want to test Daisy, they are welcome. As long as I don’t have to water her. And if I’m ever in a bad mood, the bottle will bring sunshine to my face.
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
You make me happy when days are blue
No matter what storms rage in life, what humans cause, the daisies will come back. I wouldn’t want to live in a land without daisies.
The bottle will remind me of W., where life began for me. W. is a vanished land, but without that vanished place, I wouldn’t exist. What am I looking for there? That’s another story. And Daisy reminds me of all those past moments.
By the way - today I could have used an aunt with a handkerchief. I was smeared with chocolate ice cream around my mouth. Oh well. I have Daisy.
12 Comments
Ariellah
Sweetsmell75
