Top Notes 
Lavender
Bergamot
Spices
Heart Notes 
Floral notes
Base Notes 
Patchouli
Sandalwood07/30/2024
Marieposa
50 Reviews
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Marieposa
Top Review
34
Homage to Venus
Venus with the violet eyes.
How luxuriantly
your cornucopia pours out Your cornucopia
Over your daughters
Dark flower buds sprout
Under our fingers
Venus in the mirror
Wrapped in sandal smoke
Let my bittersweet smile
Sink
In the leopard's skin
Like honey tears
Under the iris shadows of the blue hour
Venus in fur.
Venus of flesh and blood.
Because it is our mortality
Which the gods envy
Our stories
The hoping
Our right to fail
The new beginning of finiteness
**
Wearing Secret de Vénus is an experience, and I wonder if I feel a bit like Josephine Baker when she walks through Paris with her tame leopard. However, you have to be a lucky girl like me to get the opportunity to test the Huile pour le bain. The perfume version seems to be a little different, at least that's what I conclude from the clever, insightful descriptions of my previous commentators, and I have found that even online research will only get you so far if you want to find out the secret of this Venus. There is too much confusing and contradictory information circulating on the net. The most plausible explanation seems to be that Secret de Vénus in oil form from the 1930s is the reincarnation of "Zibeline (1927) | Weil" from 1927. A fragrance that Weil originally intended not as a perfume for human skin, but to scent furs.
The two versions of Zibeline that I was able to get to know (presumably both parfums de toilette with half-evaporated top notes) are very different at the beginning and even have a very different character until they converge as far as possible in the base. Sometimes dark florals predominate, sometimes herbaceous notes alongside present honeyed civet over an ambery base of sandalwood and smoky vetiver with musk and creamy tonka bean.
Secret de Vénus follows on from this structure, but is lovelier, softer and more supple from the start, becoming almost identical in the base and only slightly lighter. At the beginning, I perceive a light peach note (a reminder of aldehydes that have already faded?) and velvety flowers. I can't say what they are, but I think I can smell ionones and would have guessed violets and orange blossom with a pinch of cinnamon and clove powder dusted on the petals. Green accents light up in between - perhaps hyacinth, perhaps lily of the valley or something else entirely, before incense-like sandalwood wraps delicate threads of smoke around the flowers.
It doesn't take long for a civet note to purr awake from its slumber and lick honey pearls from its fur to become ever more tonka-creamy on the way to the base. I would also like to bet that iris is involved.
What's interesting about this progression is that the fragrance seems to have a different effect when projected than it does up close. I was lucky enough not to test it alone, but to be surrounded by a formidable group of super-noses who supported me in my pyramid-less leg-stomping in a vacuum. Although my initial violet-orange blossom association was met with a shake of the head, an hour or two later someone a good meter away thought they detected a hint of L'Heure Bleue Extrait coming from my direction, when I myself had long since arrived at the cat-purring tonka-honey-sandal finale of the fragrance.
Incidentally, with a little patience and imagination, I can still smell this base very delicately almost 48 hours after I have kneaded a drop of oil into my hair and will probably reluctantly go to sleep again tonight because I don't want the wonderful scent to have evaporated by the time I wake up in the morning.
Dear Gandix, guardian of the most exquisite olfactory treasures, thank you from the bottom of my heart for anointing me Venus for a few days.
How luxuriantly
your cornucopia pours out Your cornucopia
Over your daughters
Dark flower buds sprout
Under our fingers
Venus in the mirror
Wrapped in sandal smoke
Let my bittersweet smile
Sink
In the leopard's skin
Like honey tears
Under the iris shadows of the blue hour
Venus in fur.
Venus of flesh and blood.
Because it is our mortality
Which the gods envy
Our stories
The hoping
Our right to fail
The new beginning of finiteness
**
Wearing Secret de Vénus is an experience, and I wonder if I feel a bit like Josephine Baker when she walks through Paris with her tame leopard. However, you have to be a lucky girl like me to get the opportunity to test the Huile pour le bain. The perfume version seems to be a little different, at least that's what I conclude from the clever, insightful descriptions of my previous commentators, and I have found that even online research will only get you so far if you want to find out the secret of this Venus. There is too much confusing and contradictory information circulating on the net. The most plausible explanation seems to be that Secret de Vénus in oil form from the 1930s is the reincarnation of "Zibeline (1927) | Weil" from 1927. A fragrance that Weil originally intended not as a perfume for human skin, but to scent furs.
The two versions of Zibeline that I was able to get to know (presumably both parfums de toilette with half-evaporated top notes) are very different at the beginning and even have a very different character until they converge as far as possible in the base. Sometimes dark florals predominate, sometimes herbaceous notes alongside present honeyed civet over an ambery base of sandalwood and smoky vetiver with musk and creamy tonka bean.
Secret de Vénus follows on from this structure, but is lovelier, softer and more supple from the start, becoming almost identical in the base and only slightly lighter. At the beginning, I perceive a light peach note (a reminder of aldehydes that have already faded?) and velvety flowers. I can't say what they are, but I think I can smell ionones and would have guessed violets and orange blossom with a pinch of cinnamon and clove powder dusted on the petals. Green accents light up in between - perhaps hyacinth, perhaps lily of the valley or something else entirely, before incense-like sandalwood wraps delicate threads of smoke around the flowers.
It doesn't take long for a civet note to purr awake from its slumber and lick honey pearls from its fur to become ever more tonka-creamy on the way to the base. I would also like to bet that iris is involved.
What's interesting about this progression is that the fragrance seems to have a different effect when projected than it does up close. I was lucky enough not to test it alone, but to be surrounded by a formidable group of super-noses who supported me in my pyramid-less leg-stomping in a vacuum. Although my initial violet-orange blossom association was met with a shake of the head, an hour or two later someone a good meter away thought they detected a hint of L'Heure Bleue Extrait coming from my direction, when I myself had long since arrived at the cat-purring tonka-honey-sandal finale of the fragrance.
Incidentally, with a little patience and imagination, I can still smell this base very delicately almost 48 hours after I have kneaded a drop of oil into my hair and will probably reluctantly go to sleep again tonight because I don't want the wonderful scent to have evaporated by the time I wake up in the morning.
Dear Gandix, guardian of the most exquisite olfactory treasures, thank you from the bottom of my heart for anointing me Venus for a few days.
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