09/22/2018

Konsalik
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Konsalik
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23
The man needs three things: fire, whistling... um: lemon, pine, pepper
I only write more detailed comments for fragrances that I find very good, good or at least "exciting" (impossible word). My time is almost always too precious for me - I'm sure many people here feel that way. A statement for the private campaign against nasal offenders is usually sufficient. And so grandiosely and gloriously failed that he deserved a comment is for me so far only Lagerfeld "Classic". But I'd have to put it on my skin again. No tempting thought.
Be that as it may: In my case there are quite a few "simple" fragrances to be found among these perfumes, which have already been found to be good in a certain sense through a commentary: Two tones, simple chords, but self-contained and exquisitely harmonious. Besides a delight in French charm (the more perfumes I get to know, the greater my admiration for Carons "pour un homme"...), there are of course also English classics on the agenda. On the surface, deeply stacked "functional scents", without the romantic, emotional joy of association of colleagues on the other side of the English Channel. Consciously arranged simply from high-quality components, but with a clear goal in mind: What should the fragrance do for its wearer?
"Blenheim Bouquet" now appears on paper as an archetype of the British scent type - at least if you follow my simplistic confrontation for reasons of illustration. He has no heart. That means no heart note. But indeed, this (formal) "heartlessness" really creates a smooth, professional-friendly, somehow "liveried" scent: The fullness of lemons at the beginning refreshes. And how! Good morning! A sparkling-slashy smack in the face. So direct that our modern nose, which actually only knows lemons and limes in artificially accompanied, sugary-warmed form, can be tempted to the wrong inversion conclusion to have to do it just in the case of Blenheim Bouquet with artificial lemon (hard to put it: cleaning agent). And I also had to readjust my nose in this respect, which is why my review was written many weeks after the purchase, contrary to my habit. There are forms of simplicity that must first be understood.
The result is a moderately balsamic pine and (even more) black pepper. That's it (nothing musk). And basically it almost seems as if these two components are primarily there to prolong the citrus fruits of the start by... imitate? Let me explain: Although the top note should have long since vanished, I still imagine a somewhat shy, but still fresh, crisp lemon after hours. Or a memory of her. Nevertheless (or just because of that) the drydown seems so interesting and unique. As said: Such compact, clear fragrances can hardly be found today.
This fragrance is the old English interpretation of the always popular and yet so rarely stylishly varied freshness theme. "L'Instant de Guerlain" I described in my comment as the fine service provider of the evening. "Blenheim Bouquet" could be seen as a counterpart to the day, and it is quite conceivable that a gentleman who only wants to have two good fragrances in his closet and values a certain courtesy in the matter of olfactory accompaniment, will get through the year well with these two.
Be that as it may: In my case there are quite a few "simple" fragrances to be found among these perfumes, which have already been found to be good in a certain sense through a commentary: Two tones, simple chords, but self-contained and exquisitely harmonious. Besides a delight in French charm (the more perfumes I get to know, the greater my admiration for Carons "pour un homme"...), there are of course also English classics on the agenda. On the surface, deeply stacked "functional scents", without the romantic, emotional joy of association of colleagues on the other side of the English Channel. Consciously arranged simply from high-quality components, but with a clear goal in mind: What should the fragrance do for its wearer?
"Blenheim Bouquet" now appears on paper as an archetype of the British scent type - at least if you follow my simplistic confrontation for reasons of illustration. He has no heart. That means no heart note. But indeed, this (formal) "heartlessness" really creates a smooth, professional-friendly, somehow "liveried" scent: The fullness of lemons at the beginning refreshes. And how! Good morning! A sparkling-slashy smack in the face. So direct that our modern nose, which actually only knows lemons and limes in artificially accompanied, sugary-warmed form, can be tempted to the wrong inversion conclusion to have to do it just in the case of Blenheim Bouquet with artificial lemon (hard to put it: cleaning agent). And I also had to readjust my nose in this respect, which is why my review was written many weeks after the purchase, contrary to my habit. There are forms of simplicity that must first be understood.
The result is a moderately balsamic pine and (even more) black pepper. That's it (nothing musk). And basically it almost seems as if these two components are primarily there to prolong the citrus fruits of the start by... imitate? Let me explain: Although the top note should have long since vanished, I still imagine a somewhat shy, but still fresh, crisp lemon after hours. Or a memory of her. Nevertheless (or just because of that) the drydown seems so interesting and unique. As said: Such compact, clear fragrances can hardly be found today.
This fragrance is the old English interpretation of the always popular and yet so rarely stylishly varied freshness theme. "L'Instant de Guerlain" I described in my comment as the fine service provider of the evening. "Blenheim Bouquet" could be seen as a counterpart to the day, and it is quite conceivable that a gentleman who only wants to have two good fragrances in his closet and values a certain courtesy in the matter of olfactory accompaniment, will get through the year well with these two.
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