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07/31/2018
Palonera
42 Reviews
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Palonera
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26
Cate Blanchett
Here we go again.
Who's Mary Greenwell?
Pop diva, style icon, niche perfumer?
It happens again and again that brands come onto my screen that I am not familiar with - be it because they come from the world of sounds, which touches me rather peripherally as a dove, because I am not (anymore) their target group in terms of age, or because their existence lies on the dark side of my moon.
Sometimes they are allowed to stay there, but often it is worth it to pull them out into the light, to take a closer look at them, to sniff them - that's how it was, that's how it is this time.
Mary Greenwell makes no music, no fashion - she gives faces a more beautiful face.
Faces called Naomi, Claudia and Christy, who strolled on catwalks and looked out of glossy covers, sometimes smiling and sometimes serious, but always dressed in haute couture and made up like gods by Greenwell.
Even Cate Blanchett, Uma Thurman and the "Queen of Hearts" shone under Mary Greenwell's hands, her tubes, pots and pens.
And at some point, it seems, all the people should not only be more beautiful than they already were, but also smell even better - and so Mary Greenwell launched "Plum".
The fact that "Plum", despite its name suggesting exactly this, is not a monothematic scent, is already revealed by a first glance at the pyramid - and at the perfumer.
Francois Robert is responsible for many creations of the perfumes Rosine and shows how his little hand here for only seemingly opulent flower scents, which, classically arranged, but never appear heavy, slaying, pompous, but preserve a remarkable transparency and lightness despite all the richness, all the density, which, it seems to me, is Robert's special handwriting
To put on a scent like "Plum" at temperatures around 30°C and higher requires courage, I thought - and was glad about the tube with the stick, which let its contents dab and spread, but not spray.
That should help to prevent too much, too dense clouds, which would take my breath away, the people around me certainly as well.
So I thought, pyramid-dazzled - but I didn't have to worry, not on the first day, not on anybody who followed him.
"Plum" opens aldehyde warm on my skin - this is different from most fragrances where I experience aldehydes cool, and aldehydes are not listed here.
And yet my nose thinks it smells them, day after day, for moments only.
A bouquet of classic flowers, as we still know them from the seventies and eighties, develops immediately, also from "Enlèvement au Sérail" - it may be due to the combination of bergamot, jasmine, tuberose, patchouli and sandalwood, which were gladly added to the fragrances of that time and gave them that opulence and density, which is often too much for modern, young noses.
In "Plum", however, there is a veil over all the blossoms, which lifts the density, gives lightness and lightness instead of force and heaviness.
Fruits, blossoms, woods are so finely woven that it is impossible for me to separate them - impossible to deny them too, because whatever the pyramid says here, it seems quite plausible.
I wouldn't swear by lemon, nor would I swear by currants - but a ripe plum would do, and a ripe peach could be as well.
And the rest I'll sign blindly.
Fragrances such as those quoting Mary Greenwell with "Plum" and Francis Kurkdjian with his "Sérail" now seem nostalgic and as if they had fallen from time, associated with old ladies, large robes, pearl necklaces, real fur.
But women like Cate Blanchett, idiosyncratic beauties whose elegance has a crease, a fibrous crack, I could well think of Mary's "Plum" with its hint of morbidity and almost fragile transparency.
On ultra-modern women, like fallen from time.
Who's Mary Greenwell?
Pop diva, style icon, niche perfumer?
It happens again and again that brands come onto my screen that I am not familiar with - be it because they come from the world of sounds, which touches me rather peripherally as a dove, because I am not (anymore) their target group in terms of age, or because their existence lies on the dark side of my moon.
Sometimes they are allowed to stay there, but often it is worth it to pull them out into the light, to take a closer look at them, to sniff them - that's how it was, that's how it is this time.
Mary Greenwell makes no music, no fashion - she gives faces a more beautiful face.
Faces called Naomi, Claudia and Christy, who strolled on catwalks and looked out of glossy covers, sometimes smiling and sometimes serious, but always dressed in haute couture and made up like gods by Greenwell.
Even Cate Blanchett, Uma Thurman and the "Queen of Hearts" shone under Mary Greenwell's hands, her tubes, pots and pens.
And at some point, it seems, all the people should not only be more beautiful than they already were, but also smell even better - and so Mary Greenwell launched "Plum".
The fact that "Plum", despite its name suggesting exactly this, is not a monothematic scent, is already revealed by a first glance at the pyramid - and at the perfumer.
Francois Robert is responsible for many creations of the perfumes Rosine and shows how his little hand here for only seemingly opulent flower scents, which, classically arranged, but never appear heavy, slaying, pompous, but preserve a remarkable transparency and lightness despite all the richness, all the density, which, it seems to me, is Robert's special handwriting
To put on a scent like "Plum" at temperatures around 30°C and higher requires courage, I thought - and was glad about the tube with the stick, which let its contents dab and spread, but not spray.
That should help to prevent too much, too dense clouds, which would take my breath away, the people around me certainly as well.
So I thought, pyramid-dazzled - but I didn't have to worry, not on the first day, not on anybody who followed him.
"Plum" opens aldehyde warm on my skin - this is different from most fragrances where I experience aldehydes cool, and aldehydes are not listed here.
And yet my nose thinks it smells them, day after day, for moments only.
A bouquet of classic flowers, as we still know them from the seventies and eighties, develops immediately, also from "Enlèvement au Sérail" - it may be due to the combination of bergamot, jasmine, tuberose, patchouli and sandalwood, which were gladly added to the fragrances of that time and gave them that opulence and density, which is often too much for modern, young noses.
In "Plum", however, there is a veil over all the blossoms, which lifts the density, gives lightness and lightness instead of force and heaviness.
Fruits, blossoms, woods are so finely woven that it is impossible for me to separate them - impossible to deny them too, because whatever the pyramid says here, it seems quite plausible.
I wouldn't swear by lemon, nor would I swear by currants - but a ripe plum would do, and a ripe peach could be as well.
And the rest I'll sign blindly.
Fragrances such as those quoting Mary Greenwell with "Plum" and Francis Kurkdjian with his "Sérail" now seem nostalgic and as if they had fallen from time, associated with old ladies, large robes, pearl necklaces, real fur.
But women like Cate Blanchett, idiosyncratic beauties whose elegance has a crease, a fibrous crack, I could well think of Mary's "Plum" with its hint of morbidity and almost fragile transparency.
On ultra-modern women, like fallen from time.
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DorothyGrace
