Misterioso Sospiro

It seems inevitable: The more acquaintances we have already made in the seemingly boundless universe of fragrances, the more often we are struck by a feeling of déjà vu upon first encountering a new candidate.
Then we think of a twin, triplet, or quadruplet of that scent which has imprinted itself in our olfactory memory, which made the synapses snap and seemingly says "Hello again!"
Seemingly - sometimes also apparently.
Then, when the "I know you!" applies to head, heart, and base, in the first test as well as in every subsequent one.
But in most cases, one will revise the impression, reducing it to a certain similarity that may confuse or irritate at first glance.
And just as not every blonde pouting mouth is named Brigitte Bardot and not every raspberry smoke is a "Tuscan Leather"...

...so "Misterioso" soon made it clear that there is more to it than just a smell-alike of "Treffpunkt 8 Uhr," Lengling's "Sekushi," and many other smoke-enshrouded fruits.
The similarity in the opening is very obvious, even though "Misterioso" does not list any fruits, and I cannot quite explain their sweetness on my skin.
Fearing it might once again be a Nasa Morgana, I extended the test over two weeks, to be greeted anew each day by dark, bitter smoke on finely sweetened fruit.
It is half-dried already and rich in sunlight, full of memories of its time on the tree, which bears apricots one day, plums the next, and on the third could very well be mango.
There is always a hint of resin and always dark smoke, yet transparent, not stuffy and not bitter, and certainly not necessarily feminine.

Within minutes, "Misterioso" loses all sweetness, becoming darker and darker, the smoke mingling with old wood and firm leather.
It feels very dry and very serious, yet not unfriendly, not distant or rejecting.
A man comes to mind, tall, dark, and taciturn, a bit gloomy, if you will: mysterious.
An aura of not only physical strength surrounds him - and powerful is also the scent: A single spray on neck and wrists shows sufficient presence to be noticed from three steps away.
Nevertheless, "Misterioso" does not rush ahead in this dose, does not fill the space, does not trail behind me, does not impose itself.

When it is cool outside the window, when my skin is not quite so well perfused, the dark man stays with me for a long time, even a bit gloomier, even a bit drier, then he does not leave my side for hours.
But day by day, he eventually withdraws, taking leather, wood, and smoke away and leaving instead a warm resin glowing, deep amber gold and terracotta red.
A warm coat, velvety, feather-light against my skin.
A hint of sandalwood, of fine powder - mother's comforting, holding arms.
They hold me, they guard me - I feel safe...

...and glide into a musky sandal bed with cashmere-light blankets, the light dimmed, the scent very soft, close to my skin.
Freshly bathed, gently creamed, a hint of sensuality, innocent and very, very pure.
Again and again, every day, for two whole weeks.
And again and again, I am fascinated by how multifaceted "Misterioso" is, how adaptable it presents itself to me, how sensitively it seemingly reacts to weather, temperature, perhaps to my mood.
Windy-cool days hold smoke and wood and leather firmly, slowing the transformation, while the sun soon lets "Misterioso" shine in a feminine-warm glow.
Very man, very woman - both and neither.
And very mysterious.