Jasmin de Nuit The Different Company 2005

It's always a bad sign when you look forward to the disappearance from your skin of the scent you are currently wearing. Alas, this is the case with EPICES DE NUIT, er, JASMIN DE NUIT by The Different Company.

Well, this one is different: no argument there, and some wearers will delight in this mélange of star anise, cinnamon, cardamom, and probably everything else in the spice drawer, along with a few jasmine petals. My impression is that perfumer was trying to plump up the indolic facet of the jasmine through the skillful use of hard-hitting spices. The effect, to my nose, is rather like the athlete who plies himself with hormones in order to win the race, but later is exposed, forced to retreat from public life in ignominy.

In perfect comformity with Murphy's law of perfume (according to which everything I love is discontinued and everything I hate has infinite longevity) this composition is so tenacious that I fear only a long, hot bath will relieve my body of the smell. On a positive note: anyone who likes this sort of thing will be happy to learn that even a couple of drops of this parfum masquerading as an edt packs a powerful punch. Although I am trapped in a fog of spice emanations, my sample "cube" is nearly full.

To reiterate: definitely not for me.

Sometimes it happens that you have to search for a head. For example, when waking my children, I often have to pry the respective head out from under pillows, blankets, and stuffed animals. With JdN, I find myself in a similar situation. From the listed top note, I can only barely perceive a minimal, herbaceous hint behind and under the other stuff, and even that only directly on the skin.

So I somewhat headlessly dive straight into a brew of jasmine, spiced with a touch of cardamom, which occasionally drifts by in a slightly more intense cloud, and above all cinnamon, which contributes not only its special note but particularly sweetness. I find this delicious. Apparently, I have a weakness for this peculiar scent, which - although somewhat bizarrely synthetic - corresponds well to the corporeal jasmine smell. It smells similarly strong as if artificial. However, my recently discovered preference (No. 1 Extreme also sends its regards) applies only to the non-soapy and sweet-mixed variants. Despite the breathtaking intensity, there is nothing soapy about the jasmine note here, as is often the case.

This questionable mixture then spreads out beautifully. For some, this may provoke criticism, possibly even nausea, because it is simply too much for them. I can understand that, although I cannot empathize. I can hardly get enough of it and enjoy it as a proper portion with several helpings. It is not uncommon for it to be the other way around: you try to pick the last molecules of a much too short fragrance phase with tweezers-like sniffing cells. This time, that is not necessary. I don’t find it too sweet either, as Madame Ellena thankfully spares us from the usual suspects in such cases - she has only shown us a vanilla pod in the first hours of this mixture (see below). Moreover, the bitter twist of the jasmine note ensures that nothing goes off the rails.

After about one and a half hours, more spice stops by: I fancy I can detect a tiny bit of black pepper. The mandarin also makes its debut for me now. With a lot of imagination, it lies somewhere - regarding the top note - right at the bottom and gasps for air. Shortly thereafter, a first amber sparkle sneaks into the scent. It is quite possible that this impression also comes from a remnant of anise, which I could not perceive earlier. This mixes surprisingly well with the jasmine and makes it milder and rounder. Something herbal, a hint of sourness joins in, for which the pyramid gives no clues. At best, a somewhat earthy patchouli could be considered, but that doesn’t seem to fit quite right. The closest thing that comes to mind is a trace, really just a tiny trace of vetiver.

Towards the end of the third hour, the fragrance timidly attempts to let in an ambery-vanilla sweetness. Such inclinations are nipped in the bud by a few strong slaps on the back of the hand, and the scent obediently retreats a step. With hearty applause, the jasmine, which had already tried a sneaky farewell, can be brought back out from behind the curtain. No joke, it actually feels like it is becoming stronger again and regaining its old form.

After four to five hours, the scent pulls back a bit onto the skin but retains its character, especially the bitter-musty-sweet and simply stunning jasmine note. During the eighth hour, it breathes its last with the same note, now accompanied by a bit more ambery vanilla. What a pity (*tweezers-like-snapping-with-the-smelling-cells*).

Do I find the scent unisex? No, I definitely find it feminine. But I don’t care. Maybe I should wear it as a partner scent with my wife.

Conclusion: JdN is definitely not for tough guys who worry that it might be doubted. For the more mature or self-assured: Give it a try! For the ladies, who can spare themselves such silly thoughts: Give it a try! Everyone else just try it out.

My brother and I each had a Pez dispenser when we were younger. It was so long ago and we were so small that I can't even remember if I had Donald Duck and he had Mickey Mouse or vice versa. You would press the head of the dispenser and a small Pez candy would pop out. Well, it wasn't really a candy, more like a rectangular tablet with raised edges. They all started out fizzy like effervescent powder, and I remember that the "Cola" flavor was my favorite. Cola was always the first to be gone, because my brother liked it best too.

When I sprayed on Jasmin de Nuit, those Pez dispensers came rushing back to my memory, along with that fizzy beginning when you put the tablets on your tongue. Jasmin de Nuit starts off just as fizzy, as if effervescent powder is involved. I also find that slight citrus note, which gives the cola flavor a certain freshness, in Jasmin de Nuit.

After this quirky start, I notice a note that reminds me of the body oils from Aura Soma. The body oils from Aura Soma smell different, but they all share a common base of refined olive oil and jojoba oil, and in some that I have used, there is also a hint of ylang-ylang, although very subtle, without me being able to directly identify it. The scent present in Jasmin de Nuit is soft, warm, and creamy, without even the slightest hint of musk. Very soothing and calming.

So, the very beginning of Jasmin de Nuit plunges me into an intense chain of associations, and at the same time, I am pleased that the fragrance does not, as I feared, develop into a nasty, piercing synthetic jasmine monster, but instead has a very unusual, yet pleasant and interesting opening.

Already happy and full of enthusiasm, something suddenly makes me furrow my brow: What is that? What is pushing itself to the forefront? Ugh, a strange, piercing, musty smell of artificial citrus cleaner. Oh no, is the feeling of well-being already over? Luckily not. The impression disappears as quickly as it came. Apparently, bergamot and mandarin had to rearrange and connect with the cardamom first.

The further development is a continuous delight: I can smell all the ingredients listed in the pyramid without any one standing out particularly. Together, they smell incredibly soft, warm, and spicy, calming and just slightly sweet. The citrus components remain present for many hours and prevent the scent from becoming dull, heavy, or musty. I perceive Jasmin de Nuit as very natural. It is the softest jasmine I have ever smelled, and it integrates wonderfully, so it never stands out too much.

The sillage is quite decent, and the longevity is also impressive. Applied in the morning, I have no desire to reapply until late in the evening.

In a Pez dispenser, Jasmin de Nuit would probably have topped the cola flavor for me.

One must like jasmine, I really agree with Yatagan on that.
And this strongly spiced jasmine scent is indeed something special, certainly also a bit of an acquired taste.
I was immediately delighted by "Jasmin de Nuit," even though I had some initial concerns about the star anise.
It has ruined many a fragrance for me. Therefore, I am always a bit cautious.

However, here this special Christmas spice remains pleasantly subdued; it only briefly brushes against my nose before disappearing.
A not-so-synthetic mandarin, as often encountered in fragrance compositions, forms a winter-fruity opening together with a pleasant dose of bergamot.
Then, for a brief moment, star anise crosses my path.
But jasmine, as I love it, heavy white intensely fragrant flowers, quickly dominates. It forms the strong heart of this creation.
Its special, sometimes really slightly decaying aroma is accompanied by surprising companions: cardamom and cinnamon.
After a brief "battle of the notes," jasmine takes back the "pole position" for me.
A magical night is now coming true: strong sandalwood (also not everybody's darling) spices this fragrance fabric in its own way.
This is interwoven with rich, glowing strands of patchouli before amber ultimately generously distributes star gold!
A special, sensual fragrance carpet on which jasmine and company luxuriate.

Under appropriate warmth, this mélange rises like a yeast dumpling: it demands space and attention, but is also very loyal!
Even for me, "fish blood," a fascinating scent development unfolds: whether this corresponds exactly to what the perfumer envisioned, I of course do not know.

I really like "Jasmin de Nuit." Perhaps it is precisely the winter spices that provide the special charm here.
It could be that the jasmine does not dominate evenly flowing. The rebellion of its spicy, fragrant companions does this aromatic creation good, making it lively.

"Jasmin de Nuit" is an interesting change in the parade of many jasmine scents. It dances to its own rhythm.
It is worth engaging with it, for "Some enchanted Evening, you may see a Stranger ..."

I like the word "Plätzchen," even though I generally dislike using "foreign words" in the Austrian language. It can be pronounced much sweeter and even with a fun lisp; with the word "Kekse," it doesn't work as well.
Why this confusing introduction?
Because the scent could just as well be called "Cookies of the Night," and for the following reasons:

Right from the first spray, the perfume leaves an oily orange-brown "stain" on the skin that reminds me of cinnamon. It already smells like (Christmas) baked goods. Until now, I always found this scent too spicy and cloying; in general, I can't deal with cinnamon and similar notes in perfumes, but today - today is a good day, I can tolerate the scent and even like it!

As it develops, the fragrance remains festive-spicy-cinnamony. I don't really notice jasmine; if anything, it helps keep the spices from becoming too bittersweet.

Fortunately, the scent stays quite linear and gradually becomes "skinnier"; now - a few hours later - it smells pleasantly lightly sweet at the sprayed spots, reminding me of Christmas time when Grandma and Mom would bake cookies in the evening, and the oven was left slightly open to cool them down, spreading the aroma throughout the whole apartment.

For me, the scent fits well on cooler, but not too cold days - like today: the sun is shining, but long pants and boots are already necessary!
On warm days, I can't stand this cloying, almost overly sweet scent. It becomes unbearable for me and sits uncomfortably in my stomach. But who eats cinnamon cookies in the summer anyway?! ;)