Benzoin absolute
Opoponax
Frankincense
French lavender
Cashmeran
Italian iris absolute
Orange blossom absolute
Raspberry leaf
Virginia cedar
White musk
Vanilla04/07/2025
Marieposa
50 Reviews
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Marieposa
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35
My Coney Island Baby
I can feel the paper curling between my fingers, and I could probably stare at it for hours without words appearing on it or the Horizon disappearing that I so studiously ignore. From here, I don't even notice that the paint has chipped off the old Ferris wheel, even though it spins in stoic solitude in the corner of my eye. Sometimes the wind blows in the wisps of a melody, driving them before it like the drizzle and my ruffled hair.
... she's a rose, she's the pearl
she's the spin on my world ...
A memory bursts in my head like a bubblegum bubble. Blurred theatrical make-up. Dust like iris powder on fairground gondolas. A distant laugh. But today my lipstick has faded, will soon fade like those words that were never there.
... Hold on to the thought
Even if it's wrong, you're right ...
I could dissolve into oblivion, sneak away into oblivion - but I could also tilt my chin forward a little and crumple the paper in my hand. Because even if the rain erases footprints in the sand, there is the familiar sweetness of my own skin.
... she's a princess, in a red dress
she's the moon in the mist to me ...
I could get up and rub the traces of mascara under my eyes. And I could touch up my lipstick. I wouldn't even have to look in the mirror.
... And we think what we want
Because we know it's getting late
Ridiculous time passes ...
When I find myself drawing a star in the damp sand with my fingers, there is only sweet warmth
... she's my coney island baby
she's my coney island girl ...
Maybe it's time to get up.
... We are lost ...
**
I'm not a particularly visual person and when it comes to photography, you can't say I'm burdened with excess talent. Nevertheless, I own a small lomography camera with a shoddy plastic lens that never reliably reproduces what you see in the viewfinder, either exaggerates or washes out the colors and regularly gets stuck when you keep turning the film, so that the photos are sometimes intentionally, sometimes unintentionally exposed several times. Not a technique for perfectionists! But for me, it's a delightful attempt to turn a personal inability into something nostalgically beautiful (sometimes at least) - and to bring a certain element of surprise into my life when I have a film developed.
When I encountered Lyn Harris' Dust again recently, I suddenly had the same wistful tug in my heartstrings that I always feel when one of my countless failed Lomo photos unexpectedly turns out to be something. This delicate, transparent scent with its fluid transitions between lipstick, iris powder and raspberry bubblegum whispers of nostalgia and heartbreak as evocatively as the olfactory counterpart to lomographs of the Ferris wheel at Coney Island, where the color spectrum is shifted just the right amount.
Musk forms gentle clouds here, creating a diffuse atmosphere that takes away the heaviness of the vanilla-like benzoin, which becomes increasingly clear as the fragrance progresses, and embraces it with skin-warm opoponax. There is nothing bitter, heavy, stuffy or complicated here, even if a hint of iris melancholy balances the boundary between warm and cool notes.
Lyn Harris' olfactory whispers have once again enchanted me with a fragrance whose pleasing sweetness would certainly have overwhelmed me from another source. But Dust is now my first choice for days when the world is too loud, too harsh and too garish and I just want to sink into a soft, nostalgic cloud of powder and draw a raspberry-red line between myself and the minor or major turbulence of everyday life with a little lipstick.
Thank you very much for the letter, dear Jeob, which was followed by a bottle after a long time due to a surprising impulse.
You can listen to the songs quoted here, for example:
Coney Island Baby by Tom Waits https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=45YK2yvA3cg
We are lost by Wanda https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_vrRe4qbgZs
... she's a rose, she's the pearl
she's the spin on my world ...
A memory bursts in my head like a bubblegum bubble. Blurred theatrical make-up. Dust like iris powder on fairground gondolas. A distant laugh. But today my lipstick has faded, will soon fade like those words that were never there.
... Hold on to the thought
Even if it's wrong, you're right ...
I could dissolve into oblivion, sneak away into oblivion - but I could also tilt my chin forward a little and crumple the paper in my hand. Because even if the rain erases footprints in the sand, there is the familiar sweetness of my own skin.
... she's a princess, in a red dress
she's the moon in the mist to me ...
I could get up and rub the traces of mascara under my eyes. And I could touch up my lipstick. I wouldn't even have to look in the mirror.
... And we think what we want
Because we know it's getting late
Ridiculous time passes ...
When I find myself drawing a star in the damp sand with my fingers, there is only sweet warmth
... she's my coney island baby
she's my coney island girl ...
Maybe it's time to get up.
... We are lost ...
**
I'm not a particularly visual person and when it comes to photography, you can't say I'm burdened with excess talent. Nevertheless, I own a small lomography camera with a shoddy plastic lens that never reliably reproduces what you see in the viewfinder, either exaggerates or washes out the colors and regularly gets stuck when you keep turning the film, so that the photos are sometimes intentionally, sometimes unintentionally exposed several times. Not a technique for perfectionists! But for me, it's a delightful attempt to turn a personal inability into something nostalgically beautiful (sometimes at least) - and to bring a certain element of surprise into my life when I have a film developed.
When I encountered Lyn Harris' Dust again recently, I suddenly had the same wistful tug in my heartstrings that I always feel when one of my countless failed Lomo photos unexpectedly turns out to be something. This delicate, transparent scent with its fluid transitions between lipstick, iris powder and raspberry bubblegum whispers of nostalgia and heartbreak as evocatively as the olfactory counterpart to lomographs of the Ferris wheel at Coney Island, where the color spectrum is shifted just the right amount.
Musk forms gentle clouds here, creating a diffuse atmosphere that takes away the heaviness of the vanilla-like benzoin, which becomes increasingly clear as the fragrance progresses, and embraces it with skin-warm opoponax. There is nothing bitter, heavy, stuffy or complicated here, even if a hint of iris melancholy balances the boundary between warm and cool notes.
Lyn Harris' olfactory whispers have once again enchanted me with a fragrance whose pleasing sweetness would certainly have overwhelmed me from another source. But Dust is now my first choice for days when the world is too loud, too harsh and too garish and I just want to sink into a soft, nostalgic cloud of powder and draw a raspberry-red line between myself and the minor or major turbulence of everyday life with a little lipstick.
Thank you very much for the letter, dear Jeob, which was followed by a bottle after a long time due to a surprising impulse.
You can listen to the songs quoted here, for example:
Coney Island Baby by Tom Waits https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=45YK2yvA3cg
We are lost by Wanda https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_vrRe4qbgZs
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