Palonera
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Palonera
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21
...what you want...
Cool. Clear. Clean.
Distant, with edges and contours.
A hint of arrogance perhaps, of cool nobility, emphasized in a matter-of-fact, almost businesslike way.
These were my associations when I first discovered this fragrance on the shelf - tall and seemingly aloof in its square frosted glass bottle, the black-and-white packaging behind it, illuminated by the bright light of the lamps.
It was November, it was cold and gray and wet outside on the street, my soul danced the blues and my skin was covered in goosebumps.
"Try this one!" said Simone, the owner of the perfumery, grinning at my incredulous expression: "I know what you're thinking. And I know what you want. This one."
She was right.
Once again.
Rarely have I encountered a fragrance whose character differs so much from its outer facade as "Toni Gard femme."
And rarely is such a great mystery made of fragrance notes as in this case.
Wherever I searched, I found no official information about the pyramid.
And yet "Toni Gard femme" should not remain uncommented any longer; I wanted to take on the challenge of describing a fragrance solely based on my own perception.
Perhaps I will embarrass myself thoroughly, lose all the hard-earned reputation I've sniffed out, and no one will ever read another comment from me again.
Perhaps.
Terrible prospects.
And yet, I want to dare it.
Because Toni deserves it.
Early summer bright flowers and green leaves immediately waft from my skin after spraying and blend within seconds with tender, tart blackcurrant, weaving fruit, leaf, and shrub into the floral crown and seemingly confirming the impression of cool freshness.
But soon, radiant Ylang-Ylang and a softly sweet, creamy unknown appear on the scene, turning the temperature dial up and calling forth a hint of bitter almond.
For a long time, I ponder the identity of the unknown - its presence is very delicate, a hint of honey seems to belong to it, and I briefly think of linden blossoms, but I abandon that thought.
Meanwhile, Toni has made itself at home on my skin, cuddling up and gaining a bit of sweetness - the berries have ripened and left the bush, all the brightness and green recedes, until after a good half hour, Ylang-Ylang finally makes its top position clear.
Radiating pleasant warmth, without becoming overwhelming in its intensity, a down-to-earth, warm companion now guides me through the cold November day, supported by subtly used dark vanilla, which adds a touch of spice to the warmth.
A good while later, I think I sense dry-soft sandalwood, faintly only, but strong enough to ground and solidify the fragrance, so that I wake up with it on my pillow the following morning.
And I am glad that we met, back then at Simone's.
Who knew exactly what I wanted.
Distant, with edges and contours.
A hint of arrogance perhaps, of cool nobility, emphasized in a matter-of-fact, almost businesslike way.
These were my associations when I first discovered this fragrance on the shelf - tall and seemingly aloof in its square frosted glass bottle, the black-and-white packaging behind it, illuminated by the bright light of the lamps.
It was November, it was cold and gray and wet outside on the street, my soul danced the blues and my skin was covered in goosebumps.
"Try this one!" said Simone, the owner of the perfumery, grinning at my incredulous expression: "I know what you're thinking. And I know what you want. This one."
She was right.
Once again.
Rarely have I encountered a fragrance whose character differs so much from its outer facade as "Toni Gard femme."
And rarely is such a great mystery made of fragrance notes as in this case.
Wherever I searched, I found no official information about the pyramid.
And yet "Toni Gard femme" should not remain uncommented any longer; I wanted to take on the challenge of describing a fragrance solely based on my own perception.
Perhaps I will embarrass myself thoroughly, lose all the hard-earned reputation I've sniffed out, and no one will ever read another comment from me again.
Perhaps.
Terrible prospects.
And yet, I want to dare it.
Because Toni deserves it.
Early summer bright flowers and green leaves immediately waft from my skin after spraying and blend within seconds with tender, tart blackcurrant, weaving fruit, leaf, and shrub into the floral crown and seemingly confirming the impression of cool freshness.
But soon, radiant Ylang-Ylang and a softly sweet, creamy unknown appear on the scene, turning the temperature dial up and calling forth a hint of bitter almond.
For a long time, I ponder the identity of the unknown - its presence is very delicate, a hint of honey seems to belong to it, and I briefly think of linden blossoms, but I abandon that thought.
Meanwhile, Toni has made itself at home on my skin, cuddling up and gaining a bit of sweetness - the berries have ripened and left the bush, all the brightness and green recedes, until after a good half hour, Ylang-Ylang finally makes its top position clear.
Radiating pleasant warmth, without becoming overwhelming in its intensity, a down-to-earth, warm companion now guides me through the cold November day, supported by subtly used dark vanilla, which adds a touch of spice to the warmth.
A good while later, I think I sense dry-soft sandalwood, faintly only, but strong enough to ground and solidify the fragrance, so that I wake up with it on my pillow the following morning.
And I am glad that we met, back then at Simone's.
Who knew exactly what I wanted.
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