Sirenis Liquides Imaginaires 2022

I would like to begin this review by distancing myself from those who describe this fragrance as smelling unpleasantly of fish or seaweed, sometimes even suggesting a sense of decay.

Not because such impressions are necessarily invalid, as olfactory perception is deeply subjective, but because I believe many negative assessments stem from an expectation that Sirenis should be a pleasant, comforting marine fragrance. Yet I do not think that is what this perfume is trying to be.

The fragrance reflects the very creature from which it draws its inspiration: the siren. And sirens are not simply the embodiment of salty air, exotic flowers, turquoise waters and idyllic seaside fantasies. They are creatures of contradiction, at once beautiful and monstrous.

Within the siren coexist seduction and horror. She enchants sailors with her song only to drag them beneath the waves. She captivates in order to destroy. There is something inherently unsettling about her nature, and any faithful interpretation of that myth should preserve at least a trace of that tension.

With this in mind, I could never have expected a fragrance built around starfish, tropical blossoms and a sanitized vision of the sea. What I expected was precisely what Sirenis delivers: an essence that arrives soft and alluring, like the song of a siren carried across the water, before gradually revealing something darker, saltier, more animalic and more authentically marine.

It was never meant to be an accommodating fragrance, and I believe anyone considering it should accept that possibility from the outset.

Moreover, I do not find it nearly as unpleasant as some reviews suggest. On the contrary, I find it fascinating how the marine accord intertwines with the floral and musky facets, eventually taking on nuances that feel almost animalic, scaled and faintly unsettling.

To me, this is the siren of myth made fragrance: as enchanting as she is fatal, as graceful as she is bestial.

And perhaps that is precisely why I find Sirenis so compelling. Many marine fragrances seek only to capture the beauty of the sea. Sirenis also captures its mystery, its danger, and the strange unease that has always accompanied humanity’s fascination with the ocean.

The mermaid is a fascinating myth. Today, she is associated with sensuality and lust — the siren luring men through her beauty and the promise of carnal pleasures, trapping them in the nets of their own bestiality. Yet once, she symbolized moral downfall and seduced through her voice, offering, above all, knowledge.

Sirenis is, in that sense, a surprise. While the femme fatale aspect appears at first — with marine notes, bergamot, and sage — it quickly, very quickly, drifts toward something many will find unsettling: seaweed, murky water, moss, and amber that only vaguely attempts to bring warmth to what should remain cool.

In short, the initial seduction doesn’t hide the monster for long.

It would be easy to dismiss this perfume. And yet, perfumers Sonia Constant and Marion Costero know exactly what they are doing. This is a deliberately destabilizing creation — deceptive even — where the message lies in the form itself.

We let ourselves be seduced by appearances… and it’s already too late.

But something strange happens after wearing this fragrance for a while. The seaweed base, reminiscent of a salt marsh, becomes endearing — even charming — through the play of memory and symbolic evocation.

Here too, we fall into another myth: the monster who appears as such… and yet manages to seduce us all the same.

Insta: switzer_scent

I think I can see why people are divided on this fragrance. It is primarily a rich, creamy floral with a heavy musk base and some supporting spices, and a slight weirdness that throws you off the expected evolution of a note pyramid like this one.

There is something reminiscent of a cleaning product in the heart of the fragrance, but since I haven't gotten that from spraying on clothes or paper, it might just be an interaction with my skin. I'm perfectly happy to let that slide, however, because the rest of the fragrance experience is delightful.

The drydown merges the heavy, slightly animalic musk with the moss and florals in a way that just transports you to that scene with the siren in the forest from the pirates of the caribbean movie.

It's not a cold ocean scent, it's very much warm and alive and a bit unsettling, but beautiful and beckoning.

Tomorrow is Halloween. The festival of horror has its origins in Ireland: In pre-Christian times, the Celts celebrated Samhain on October 31, one of their most important festivals. They celebrated their harvest, the beginning of the cold season, and the start of a new calendar year. The Celts also believed that on this day, contacts with the realm of the dead could occur. It is also simply called Reformation Day and is a public holiday in some federal states, as on October 31, 1517, old Luther nailed his 95 theses to the church door in Wittenberg. Of course, I know that Halloween and Reformation Day have as much in common as bats and flying ducks. Just in case there’s another explanation bear around here.
Back to Halloween and the truly terrible, disgusting things that happen.
A small town somewhere in the middle of nowhere. On the outskirts, single-family homes face a renatured swamp. At the edge of the swamp, boggy shores. Some of the residents compete every year on Halloween to see who has the spookiest decorations. Neighbor Meier has a lonely ghost climbing up the gutter. In the front yard stands a gallows, with a hanged man dangling from it. Miniature pinscher Zorro is dressed as Cerberus, the hellhound. This year, Meier is playing the Prince of Darkness, with his wife Lucretia Borgia. Müller next door has set up a guillotine. Under the wooden platform, there’s a bucket with a severed head that the St. Bernard Fiffi has already dragged away a few times. Müller is going as an alien this time. The night progresses. Gases rise from the swamp. Will-o'-the-wisps dance on the horizon. The thing floats closer, appearing beautifully in the darkness. It offers sea notes and noble flowers. The closer it flies, the more rotten notes reveal themselves, flowers from decaying water. The beauty was deceptive. An ugly monster emerges. It grins widely, can laugh around its head with black stumpy teeth and a moldy breath.
It calls out: “Musk, finest musk!” But it’s actually its earwax. Brown and already lumpy.
“Amber, creamy amber!” Actually, corpse wax from the dead who were brought up after the swamp was watered.
“Patchouli, cozy, earthy, velvety!” Earth from molehills, mixed with droppings and vomit.
Müller and Meier flee. In the distance, a tawny owl tucks will-o'-the-wisps under its wings and seeks the open. The hanged man laughs and laughs......

Could be the start of a bad joke, but unfortunately, this is no joke at all, but bitter reality. To be honest, I don’t even know what to say about this... olfactory experience. Musty, fishy, disgusting. Not quite at the level of Boris Becker's atrocities, but close.

There are some perfumes I don’t like, but I can certainly understand why others do. However, with Sirenis, I cannot for the life of me imagine anyone finding pleasure in this creation.

I’ll keep it brief and simply say that this doesn’t seem like a perfume to me at all. Not like something that should smell good and be pleasing, but rather a failed experiment to capture a mythological natural force in scent form. It might even have succeeded; it’s quite possible that the Sirens smelled like this when they hadn’t showered for a while.

Horrible, by Odysseus' beard.