
Ttfortwo
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Ttfortwo
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23
Of Scents and Dances
Surprise: I would have thought that significantly more fragrances would be named after dances.
After dances, especially partner dances, the most sensual of all movements tolerated in public according to general social standards, with the entire spectrum of courtship, controlled closeness, and controlled distance. I often saw heavyset people who knew how to float gracefully while dancing and suddenly appeared irresistibly sensual and joyfully captivating.
I would have therefore expected many more perfumes that take on and utilize the names of dances. Well, the 'Waltz' can be found three times, 'waltz' and 'valse' several more times, and the highly erotic 'Tango,' which translates the dialogue of dominance and submission into strictly structured and formal movements, appears a few times, as does the 'Samba.' The lascivious 'Rumba,' on the other hand, only shows up six times, perhaps because the dance is more sensual than its name suggests, but still.
A "Lambada," however, actually only appears once, namely in the version by Harry Lehmann. That's not entirely true; there is a second, somewhat crude entry about which almost nothing is known, in addition to a mysterious "Paolo Conti" - not "Conte" in the name. We can probably disregard that one.
Maybe that's for the best, as my memory of this dance is not entirely unclouded.
At some point - was it in the 90s? - we all suddenly danced Lambada, this closely held and almost stationary dance that was a completely unabashedly sensual display of sexuality; you had to somehow manage it back then, as a dancer and as the danced-upon. Woe betide you if you danced Lambada with the wrong partner; I remember situations of almost bottomless embarrassment, where I had to be jerked across the floor by (presumably equally desperate) stiff-hipped and helpless dance partners, or dance partners who found me quite obviously super sexy (and made no effort to let me feel otherwise) - but I did not feel the same about them. Ahhh, mental cinema!
The scent is not embarrassing. But it is also not highly erotic; it is much, much more harmless than the name would suggest. It belongs to the slightly sweeter and softer fragrances, and I am absolutely sure - due to its composition and not just because of the name - that it cannot be from the early days of the Lehmann house. The somewhat scruffy individuality and recognizability that characterized earlier fragrances is completely absent. I think "Lambada" is truly a child of its time, the 90s, perhaps even the earlier 00s.
Lehmann's Lambada starts with a soft, fizzy freshness, even a bit herbal. Lemon balm is listed, which fits, perhaps lemon balm, which often evokes a hint of lemon candy for me. Alongside this, almost from the beginning, there is a soft, cozy, and slightly sweet warmth.
This warmth (tonka? vanilla?) carries the scent for the longest time, along with a rather powerful floral note in the heart, which I cannot specify in more detail. The scent becomes more amber-like and also slightly spicier over time; I cannot identify powder as a dominant note, at least it does not dominate for me. The sweetness that becomes quite pronounced over time thankfully remains on the non-sticky side, which is also typical for the orientals of this time. The scent is harmoniously and roundly composed; the lemon balm top note might cause some confusion, but as it develops, it is carried by a certain reliability and friendliness that makes it quite wearable.
In this respect, I recommend this scent to friends of classic and contemporary orientals who are interested in a rather ideal-typical representative of its kind that is not too distinctive. Unisex, even though the scent was certainly composed for women at the time.
Lastly:
I do not know if Lambada had to be reformulated last year. My little bottle was acquired before that, in November 2018. H&S are - as always with Lehmann - very neat.
After dances, especially partner dances, the most sensual of all movements tolerated in public according to general social standards, with the entire spectrum of courtship, controlled closeness, and controlled distance. I often saw heavyset people who knew how to float gracefully while dancing and suddenly appeared irresistibly sensual and joyfully captivating.
I would have therefore expected many more perfumes that take on and utilize the names of dances. Well, the 'Waltz' can be found three times, 'waltz' and 'valse' several more times, and the highly erotic 'Tango,' which translates the dialogue of dominance and submission into strictly structured and formal movements, appears a few times, as does the 'Samba.' The lascivious 'Rumba,' on the other hand, only shows up six times, perhaps because the dance is more sensual than its name suggests, but still.
A "Lambada," however, actually only appears once, namely in the version by Harry Lehmann. That's not entirely true; there is a second, somewhat crude entry about which almost nothing is known, in addition to a mysterious "Paolo Conti" - not "Conte" in the name. We can probably disregard that one.
Maybe that's for the best, as my memory of this dance is not entirely unclouded.
At some point - was it in the 90s? - we all suddenly danced Lambada, this closely held and almost stationary dance that was a completely unabashedly sensual display of sexuality; you had to somehow manage it back then, as a dancer and as the danced-upon. Woe betide you if you danced Lambada with the wrong partner; I remember situations of almost bottomless embarrassment, where I had to be jerked across the floor by (presumably equally desperate) stiff-hipped and helpless dance partners, or dance partners who found me quite obviously super sexy (and made no effort to let me feel otherwise) - but I did not feel the same about them. Ahhh, mental cinema!
The scent is not embarrassing. But it is also not highly erotic; it is much, much more harmless than the name would suggest. It belongs to the slightly sweeter and softer fragrances, and I am absolutely sure - due to its composition and not just because of the name - that it cannot be from the early days of the Lehmann house. The somewhat scruffy individuality and recognizability that characterized earlier fragrances is completely absent. I think "Lambada" is truly a child of its time, the 90s, perhaps even the earlier 00s.
Lehmann's Lambada starts with a soft, fizzy freshness, even a bit herbal. Lemon balm is listed, which fits, perhaps lemon balm, which often evokes a hint of lemon candy for me. Alongside this, almost from the beginning, there is a soft, cozy, and slightly sweet warmth.
This warmth (tonka? vanilla?) carries the scent for the longest time, along with a rather powerful floral note in the heart, which I cannot specify in more detail. The scent becomes more amber-like and also slightly spicier over time; I cannot identify powder as a dominant note, at least it does not dominate for me. The sweetness that becomes quite pronounced over time thankfully remains on the non-sticky side, which is also typical for the orientals of this time. The scent is harmoniously and roundly composed; the lemon balm top note might cause some confusion, but as it develops, it is carried by a certain reliability and friendliness that makes it quite wearable.
In this respect, I recommend this scent to friends of classic and contemporary orientals who are interested in a rather ideal-typical representative of its kind that is not too distinctive. Unisex, even though the scent was certainly composed for women at the time.
Lastly:
I do not know if Lambada had to be reformulated last year. My little bottle was acquired before that, in November 2018. H&S are - as always with Lehmann - very neat.
Updated on 04/23/2020
19 Comments



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