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The Signature of Happiness
Sometimes you encounter happiness. Good, true happiness that announces itself very quietly. Happiness that you have to listen for when it only whispers, yet it remains when you give it as you receive it. It stays from the first happy moment when you place your hand on another heart and recognize each other, and then for a lifetime. Together with love. Rock solid.
Quiet yet rock solid. This is also how L’Antimatière from the small Swiss perfume manufacturer LesNez-Parfums d'Auteurs is, whose extraordinary, sometimes slightly avant-garde fragrances are hardly found in any of the exclusive perfumeries around the world. LesNez, just like its very special scent masterpieces, is not a loud, clattering house, but rather a small and unexcited yet very fine fragrance house that is run with heart. They do not want to be more than they are, do not make a big fuss about their perfumes, yet they offer not only very fine quality but also great artistry in fragrance, passion for the material, and authenticity in being and products. For this, they collaborate with renowned perfumers who, similar to the original approach at Frédéric Malle, are allowed to dedicate themselves not only as craftsmen but also as artists, composers, even as authors to the realization of their scent visions. There is a sense of connection at LesNez, where they appreciate each other, just as they are connected to their perfumes.
And L’Antimatière, this delicate, seemingly unremarkable and often underestimated yet truly extraordinary scent creation, reflects exactly all of that. A uniqueness that does not need to be loud, that works from within itself and has something magical about it, without wanting to be consciously so. It is what it is. And L’Antimatière is actually a "non-perfume." Antimatter, an airless space, intangible yet existent. A quasi scent experiment, created by Isabelle Doyen, the house perfumer of Goutal. It plays with the senses of the other, does not impose itself, but rather seeps into consciousness, "like traces of a script written with invisible ink. More felt than smelled, insistently whispered. Like the scent of the morning bed that hovers on the skin." Like happiness that comes whispered quietly, very unobtrusively yet equally unsustainably pushes into consciousness and then changes everything. Changes life and fills it.
Indeed, L’Antimatière initially comes across as artificial when first sprayed. A slight glue note that always reminds me of the chemical body of Molecule 01, of ISO E Super. But somehow not so angular, rather softer, fuller, even more subtle, more feminine. The first spray does not reveal this for a long time. And on paper, even less so. L’Antimatière is a skin scent, belongs there, and only unfolds its full warmth there. And while I often believe I need to reapply because L’Antimatière is only subtly perceptible to me as a wearer, it is nonetheless filling the space. Rarely have I received so many compliments for a scent, even when it only hovers very discreetly in the office and wafts over for the rest of the day. And yet, L’Antimatière is really not a complex fragrance that needs to be analyzed long and hard. The base is musk. One of the good kind. And Isabelle Doyen knows musk. The Goutal "Musc Nomade" also comes from her hand, and this musk is one of the most beautiful for me. Skin-like, creamy, perhaps a bit dirty but always also light and airy. And perhaps the musk note in L’Antimatière owes its initial slight glue impression to this, yet this musk is also one of the otherwise clean, very translucent, bright, warm, and soft kinds. Nothing stings or burns, but in combination with a completely unobtrusive amber note, this musk warms and protects. It connects with my skin as if it were my own scent. My body, my home, my image of myself. At most, a slightly medicinal-woody note can still be sensed, ensuring that the scent on my skin does not merge and flatten out. Whether there is a large portion of Ambroxan or the suspected ISO E Super or perhaps even both at play, I find it hard to distinguish. What is certain for me, however, is that it must be one or both, which, alongside all the warmth, also provides hold and a certain angularity. L’Antimatière retains its own body on my skin, alongside all warmth and softness, has contour and elegance, is entirely itself, just as I am allowed to be myself while wearing it.
And so this extraordinary perfume, which radiates its very own whispering magic, has now also become my signature. This perfume that is actually not a perfume. That plays with perception and sneaks in. That makes you question whether it really is as it seems. Whether you see what you believe you see. Hear what you only perceive quietly and feel what you dare not feel. Like happiness that quietly announces itself and that you must recognize. And just as the signature of such happiness is love, L’Antimatière has now become mine. My signature, my scent that expresses me, fits me, and accompanies me through the happy moments of my life:
I wore L’Antimatière when we kissed for the first time. And also when we got married. And soon our child will be born. The signature of our happiness.
Quiet yet rock solid. This is also how L’Antimatière from the small Swiss perfume manufacturer LesNez-Parfums d'Auteurs is, whose extraordinary, sometimes slightly avant-garde fragrances are hardly found in any of the exclusive perfumeries around the world. LesNez, just like its very special scent masterpieces, is not a loud, clattering house, but rather a small and unexcited yet very fine fragrance house that is run with heart. They do not want to be more than they are, do not make a big fuss about their perfumes, yet they offer not only very fine quality but also great artistry in fragrance, passion for the material, and authenticity in being and products. For this, they collaborate with renowned perfumers who, similar to the original approach at Frédéric Malle, are allowed to dedicate themselves not only as craftsmen but also as artists, composers, even as authors to the realization of their scent visions. There is a sense of connection at LesNez, where they appreciate each other, just as they are connected to their perfumes.
And L’Antimatière, this delicate, seemingly unremarkable and often underestimated yet truly extraordinary scent creation, reflects exactly all of that. A uniqueness that does not need to be loud, that works from within itself and has something magical about it, without wanting to be consciously so. It is what it is. And L’Antimatière is actually a "non-perfume." Antimatter, an airless space, intangible yet existent. A quasi scent experiment, created by Isabelle Doyen, the house perfumer of Goutal. It plays with the senses of the other, does not impose itself, but rather seeps into consciousness, "like traces of a script written with invisible ink. More felt than smelled, insistently whispered. Like the scent of the morning bed that hovers on the skin." Like happiness that comes whispered quietly, very unobtrusively yet equally unsustainably pushes into consciousness and then changes everything. Changes life and fills it.
Indeed, L’Antimatière initially comes across as artificial when first sprayed. A slight glue note that always reminds me of the chemical body of Molecule 01, of ISO E Super. But somehow not so angular, rather softer, fuller, even more subtle, more feminine. The first spray does not reveal this for a long time. And on paper, even less so. L’Antimatière is a skin scent, belongs there, and only unfolds its full warmth there. And while I often believe I need to reapply because L’Antimatière is only subtly perceptible to me as a wearer, it is nonetheless filling the space. Rarely have I received so many compliments for a scent, even when it only hovers very discreetly in the office and wafts over for the rest of the day. And yet, L’Antimatière is really not a complex fragrance that needs to be analyzed long and hard. The base is musk. One of the good kind. And Isabelle Doyen knows musk. The Goutal "Musc Nomade" also comes from her hand, and this musk is one of the most beautiful for me. Skin-like, creamy, perhaps a bit dirty but always also light and airy. And perhaps the musk note in L’Antimatière owes its initial slight glue impression to this, yet this musk is also one of the otherwise clean, very translucent, bright, warm, and soft kinds. Nothing stings or burns, but in combination with a completely unobtrusive amber note, this musk warms and protects. It connects with my skin as if it were my own scent. My body, my home, my image of myself. At most, a slightly medicinal-woody note can still be sensed, ensuring that the scent on my skin does not merge and flatten out. Whether there is a large portion of Ambroxan or the suspected ISO E Super or perhaps even both at play, I find it hard to distinguish. What is certain for me, however, is that it must be one or both, which, alongside all the warmth, also provides hold and a certain angularity. L’Antimatière retains its own body on my skin, alongside all warmth and softness, has contour and elegance, is entirely itself, just as I am allowed to be myself while wearing it.
And so this extraordinary perfume, which radiates its very own whispering magic, has now also become my signature. This perfume that is actually not a perfume. That plays with perception and sneaks in. That makes you question whether it really is as it seems. Whether you see what you believe you see. Hear what you only perceive quietly and feel what you dare not feel. Like happiness that quietly announces itself and that you must recognize. And just as the signature of such happiness is love, L’Antimatière has now become mine. My signature, my scent that expresses me, fits me, and accompanies me through the happy moments of my life:
I wore L’Antimatière when we kissed for the first time. And also when we got married. And soon our child will be born. The signature of our happiness.
23 Comments
Translated · Show original
The Lightness of Heaviness
A moment when we are only for ourselves. Alone but completely. A moment in the light. Wrapped in a circle of music. A music that moves my body, and me. The movement dives into the light, casts a shadow into the darkness around it, and dances back out of it. A music that creates silence all around. Just me and the music. For this moment. Completely and utterly. Theorema.
Theorema celebrates this moment, this being in the now, this being-with-oneself. Without expectation and without compromise. Self-sufficient and autopoietic. Not hard, but close. Not cold, but warm. Not glaringly bright, but golden and dimly lit. A great perfume that stands entirely on its own but does not aim for a grand effect. A perfume that did not fall into my lap from the shelf 15 years ago, but took its time to be understood and felt. Other mainstream fragrances from that time were louder, more elegant, catchier, ahead of their time, or simply sold better. Wish, Envy, Rush, J’Adore, Allure, Déclaration, to name just a few. Theorema did not stand out in any particular way next to them, yet this perfume has endured the test of time until today. Although it has long since officially disappeared from the market, Theorema is still appreciated by a large fanbase, which has even dedicated a Facebook page to it: “Bring back Theorema”. Theorema was unique, and now it is cult.
Fundamentally an oriental, Theorema somehow stands out from the crowd. Many attributes that classify a perfume as oriental can indeed be found in Theorema: spices, various flowers, balsamic notes, woods, a certain sweetness and heaviness. And yet, Theorema is simply different. Theorema is contradictory, and in this very contradiction lies its charm and its golden shimmering beauty. Much orange fruit, citrus, restrained sweetness, and soft woodiness in the top note. Gentle, playful, dancing. And in contrast, heavy spices. Above all, pepper, cinnamon, cardamom, and nutmeg. Grounding, anchoring, expansive. Light and heavy elements come together like puzzle pieces, forming a flawlessly soft unity that extends into the heart note. A playfully light and warmly spicy heaviness underlies and permeates the entire fragrance, like gold veins in rock. This gold blooms in the heart note into such a radiant shimmer that only Hedione comes to mind as an explanation. Hedione is a miraculous substance. Not only does it underpin the blooming of the fragrance with a certain transparency, but it also primarily brings the flowers of the heart note into the light. In a prolonged moment of light. Like a sunbeam falling on a blossom, wrapping it warmly and gently in a radiant shimmer. This is beautiful and constitutes a large part of the wonderfully effortless femininity that Theorema carries and gives: “For the woman who defies definition.” And even here, the individual floral notes are so intertwined that perhaps only the garden carnation stands out a bit more distinctly than the other flowers. Just as the individual notes are woven into one another, the fragrance phases flow into each other, and the shimmer of the heart note transitions into the glow of the base. A woody warm, softly spicy, and blooming fragrance glow. Heaviness and weightlessness. A moment in the light. My moment and a body that moves briefly towards me. Dancing, it lingers a second too long on my skin and breathes in soft heaviness. We dance together.
For me, Theorema is Christine Nagel's masterpiece. Both in craftsmanship and in its classification within her overall work, I believe Theorema holds a similarly significant position as L'Eau d'Hiver in Jean Claude Ellena's oeuvre. Both fragrances represent a kind of artisanal mastery for me, and they are comparable in that they work with contradiction. The spicy heaviness and radiant lightness in Christine Nagel's Theorema and the olfactory dichotomy of “cold and warm” in Jean Claude Ellena's Eau Chaude. Both Theorema and L'Eau d'Hiver play with the concept of “Oriental” and interpret it in their own unique way. While Theorema may be a child of its time, effortlessly finding its way into the present, L'Eau d'Hiver sui generis eludes such classification. Common to both, in my estimation, is the very pronounced use of Hedione, which on one hand gives L'Eau d'Hiver an almost unreal transparency and on the other hand lends Theorema its shimmering radiance.
A shimmering radiance, a golden light that is also beautifully reflected in the almost Asian-looking packaging and in the shine of the liquid itself. Together with the rather restrained-purist yet high-quality and individually designed bottle, the overall picture of Theorema forms a unique unity for me. And despite all its uniqueness and initial awkwardness, Theorema is nonetheless a love for life. Once captured, I find myself time and again standing in the light, surrounded by a circle of music, and dancing for myself, dancing with the music.
A radiance. A moment in the light.
Bring back Theorema!
Theorema celebrates this moment, this being in the now, this being-with-oneself. Without expectation and without compromise. Self-sufficient and autopoietic. Not hard, but close. Not cold, but warm. Not glaringly bright, but golden and dimly lit. A great perfume that stands entirely on its own but does not aim for a grand effect. A perfume that did not fall into my lap from the shelf 15 years ago, but took its time to be understood and felt. Other mainstream fragrances from that time were louder, more elegant, catchier, ahead of their time, or simply sold better. Wish, Envy, Rush, J’Adore, Allure, Déclaration, to name just a few. Theorema did not stand out in any particular way next to them, yet this perfume has endured the test of time until today. Although it has long since officially disappeared from the market, Theorema is still appreciated by a large fanbase, which has even dedicated a Facebook page to it: “Bring back Theorema”. Theorema was unique, and now it is cult.
Fundamentally an oriental, Theorema somehow stands out from the crowd. Many attributes that classify a perfume as oriental can indeed be found in Theorema: spices, various flowers, balsamic notes, woods, a certain sweetness and heaviness. And yet, Theorema is simply different. Theorema is contradictory, and in this very contradiction lies its charm and its golden shimmering beauty. Much orange fruit, citrus, restrained sweetness, and soft woodiness in the top note. Gentle, playful, dancing. And in contrast, heavy spices. Above all, pepper, cinnamon, cardamom, and nutmeg. Grounding, anchoring, expansive. Light and heavy elements come together like puzzle pieces, forming a flawlessly soft unity that extends into the heart note. A playfully light and warmly spicy heaviness underlies and permeates the entire fragrance, like gold veins in rock. This gold blooms in the heart note into such a radiant shimmer that only Hedione comes to mind as an explanation. Hedione is a miraculous substance. Not only does it underpin the blooming of the fragrance with a certain transparency, but it also primarily brings the flowers of the heart note into the light. In a prolonged moment of light. Like a sunbeam falling on a blossom, wrapping it warmly and gently in a radiant shimmer. This is beautiful and constitutes a large part of the wonderfully effortless femininity that Theorema carries and gives: “For the woman who defies definition.” And even here, the individual floral notes are so intertwined that perhaps only the garden carnation stands out a bit more distinctly than the other flowers. Just as the individual notes are woven into one another, the fragrance phases flow into each other, and the shimmer of the heart note transitions into the glow of the base. A woody warm, softly spicy, and blooming fragrance glow. Heaviness and weightlessness. A moment in the light. My moment and a body that moves briefly towards me. Dancing, it lingers a second too long on my skin and breathes in soft heaviness. We dance together.
For me, Theorema is Christine Nagel's masterpiece. Both in craftsmanship and in its classification within her overall work, I believe Theorema holds a similarly significant position as L'Eau d'Hiver in Jean Claude Ellena's oeuvre. Both fragrances represent a kind of artisanal mastery for me, and they are comparable in that they work with contradiction. The spicy heaviness and radiant lightness in Christine Nagel's Theorema and the olfactory dichotomy of “cold and warm” in Jean Claude Ellena's Eau Chaude. Both Theorema and L'Eau d'Hiver play with the concept of “Oriental” and interpret it in their own unique way. While Theorema may be a child of its time, effortlessly finding its way into the present, L'Eau d'Hiver sui generis eludes such classification. Common to both, in my estimation, is the very pronounced use of Hedione, which on one hand gives L'Eau d'Hiver an almost unreal transparency and on the other hand lends Theorema its shimmering radiance.
A shimmering radiance, a golden light that is also beautifully reflected in the almost Asian-looking packaging and in the shine of the liquid itself. Together with the rather restrained-purist yet high-quality and individually designed bottle, the overall picture of Theorema forms a unique unity for me. And despite all its uniqueness and initial awkwardness, Theorema is nonetheless a love for life. Once captured, I find myself time and again standing in the light, surrounded by a circle of music, and dancing for myself, dancing with the music.
A radiance. A moment in the light.
Bring back Theorema!
34 Comments
Translated · Show original
How to make a mixtape
Putting together a mixtape with favorite songs, getting into the car, rolling down the windows, turning up the music, and singing along while cruising down country roads. Squinting into the sun, letting my elbow hang out the window, and just driving on - to Patagonia or anywhere else. Quitting my job and opening an ice cream parlor in Istanbul or an espresso bar in Düsseldorf. Buying too many shoes or perfumes and going on vacation too often. Maximizing leisure time and telling everyone: “I don’t care, I’m just doing this now!”. Laughing out loud and being present. Just enjoying life!
The Nasengold, as I like to call Raute S, the first fragrance from the relatively young Hamburg-based label “Nasengold” by Christian Plesch, is simply fun. Raute S brings me joy. Just as cheerful and buoyant as the fragrance itself, it transforms me. It happens quite simply, automatically, and without pretension. I flip through the day and the air, jumping over continents into the sky and back again. This is possible with Nasengold, and so the opening of Raute S is sparkling, full of summer, and has room to breathe. Free and unconventional. Here, the air vibrates and the champagne corks pop. From now on, it’s time to celebrate!
Indeed, Nasengold immediately smells distinctly of the note around which the entire composition seems to be built: Lie de Vin. Lie de Vin is essentially a wood-aged wine yeast, as used in the production of cognac, and has likely been used in perfumery for a long time in very small doses. However, Raute S contains not just a small hint of it; this yeasty-fruity note runs like a red thread through the entire composition. It is the center, the foundation, and the ground of the fragrance. At first, sparkling and effervescent, it spreads good cheer in combination with a citrus component, the ethereal spice of pepper and ginger, and the fruity bittersweetness of grapefruit. I have rarely experienced a fragrance that has such presence and spreads such a friendly exuberant atmosphere within the first few seconds of spraying. It encourages a playful attitude without coming off as flat. The top note almost vibrates and bubbles like the little bubbles in Prosecco. Here, I find the wine yeast as a fragrance note most present throughout the entire scent journey. Beneath the sparkling-vibrating surface of the top note, it lays as an underlying fermenting bass tone, which spontaneously reminds me of “Pulp” by Byredo, only in a light and relaxed way. This gives the bright-sparkling joy of the first seconds a slight weight, providing the top note with substance, so that it never veers into hysteria.
As the fragrance develops, the grapefruit becomes more prominent in interplay with a rather background rose accord that appears slightly soapy and very fresh, making the fragrance overall a bit calmer and softer. I find Raute S to be rather smooth yet still unique and extraordinary. It has character and is headstrong, but never becomes annoying or harsh. Raute S doesn’t take sharp turns or twist in odd ways. The fermenting bass tone doesn’t fray or spread out. It provides a framework, generous yet clearly defined. The contour of the fragrance is surely also due to what I consider the brilliant use of Iso E Super in the base. Very soft and fluffy, withdrawn yet intimate, the fragrance remains dense and clearly defined towards the end. Iso E Super, for me, is a clear, refined, and almost overly intellectual note that wafts over the skin more as a warm dark-woody aura than as a distinct perfume effect, steadily fading and then flaring up again. In Raute S, Iso E Super is finely integrated, not standing out explicitly, yet preventing the fragrance from slipping into the ordinary. The molecule gives the perfume a contemporary modernity. Not necessarily youthful, but still a bit fashionable, a touch of haute couture, and a hint of punk. Sometimes this impression flattens out, other times it comes back to life. Thus, the only downside of the fragrance for me is its rather subdued sillage and only average longevity. On me, Raute S lasts about 5-7 hours, but in the last hours, it becomes so close to the skin that I have difficulty perceiving the scent. But sometimes it retreats, as mentioned, and sometimes it comes back to life. Nasengold does what it wants.
And so the label also understands itself, according to its own homepage: unconventional, spontaneous, and full of joy for life. A statement that I find absolutely authentic and credible, in contrast to the artificially cobbled-together marketing talk about “staying dirty.” I believe Mr. Plesch on this, and Raute S conveys this as well. At this point, Raute S also reminds me of one of my, if not my absolute favorite fragrance: Bosque by Humiecki & Graef. The fragrance house is known for its concept that each of its perfumes is dedicated to a specific human emotion. And with Bosque, it’s satisfaction. Bosque smells to me like what was and what will be. Like being arrived and balanced, like harmony and contentment. And Bosque achieves this through the interplay of fruity-spicy and balancing warm yet grounding bitter notes. While Bosque radiates and evokes a warm satisfaction for me, Raute S is more about the exuberant joy of life. Similar feelings, one time a bit calmer and another time a bit more dynamic, but still similar. Both perfumes also share the intention of wanting to convey exactly these feelings and the fact that they actually succeed in doing so. One is the concept behind the fragrance, and the other is making this concept perceivable and experiential. This has been wonderfully achieved here.
And tomorrow, I will be buying a bottle of Nasengold first, then making a mixtape and driving off...
The Nasengold, as I like to call Raute S, the first fragrance from the relatively young Hamburg-based label “Nasengold” by Christian Plesch, is simply fun. Raute S brings me joy. Just as cheerful and buoyant as the fragrance itself, it transforms me. It happens quite simply, automatically, and without pretension. I flip through the day and the air, jumping over continents into the sky and back again. This is possible with Nasengold, and so the opening of Raute S is sparkling, full of summer, and has room to breathe. Free and unconventional. Here, the air vibrates and the champagne corks pop. From now on, it’s time to celebrate!
Indeed, Nasengold immediately smells distinctly of the note around which the entire composition seems to be built: Lie de Vin. Lie de Vin is essentially a wood-aged wine yeast, as used in the production of cognac, and has likely been used in perfumery for a long time in very small doses. However, Raute S contains not just a small hint of it; this yeasty-fruity note runs like a red thread through the entire composition. It is the center, the foundation, and the ground of the fragrance. At first, sparkling and effervescent, it spreads good cheer in combination with a citrus component, the ethereal spice of pepper and ginger, and the fruity bittersweetness of grapefruit. I have rarely experienced a fragrance that has such presence and spreads such a friendly exuberant atmosphere within the first few seconds of spraying. It encourages a playful attitude without coming off as flat. The top note almost vibrates and bubbles like the little bubbles in Prosecco. Here, I find the wine yeast as a fragrance note most present throughout the entire scent journey. Beneath the sparkling-vibrating surface of the top note, it lays as an underlying fermenting bass tone, which spontaneously reminds me of “Pulp” by Byredo, only in a light and relaxed way. This gives the bright-sparkling joy of the first seconds a slight weight, providing the top note with substance, so that it never veers into hysteria.
As the fragrance develops, the grapefruit becomes more prominent in interplay with a rather background rose accord that appears slightly soapy and very fresh, making the fragrance overall a bit calmer and softer. I find Raute S to be rather smooth yet still unique and extraordinary. It has character and is headstrong, but never becomes annoying or harsh. Raute S doesn’t take sharp turns or twist in odd ways. The fermenting bass tone doesn’t fray or spread out. It provides a framework, generous yet clearly defined. The contour of the fragrance is surely also due to what I consider the brilliant use of Iso E Super in the base. Very soft and fluffy, withdrawn yet intimate, the fragrance remains dense and clearly defined towards the end. Iso E Super, for me, is a clear, refined, and almost overly intellectual note that wafts over the skin more as a warm dark-woody aura than as a distinct perfume effect, steadily fading and then flaring up again. In Raute S, Iso E Super is finely integrated, not standing out explicitly, yet preventing the fragrance from slipping into the ordinary. The molecule gives the perfume a contemporary modernity. Not necessarily youthful, but still a bit fashionable, a touch of haute couture, and a hint of punk. Sometimes this impression flattens out, other times it comes back to life. Thus, the only downside of the fragrance for me is its rather subdued sillage and only average longevity. On me, Raute S lasts about 5-7 hours, but in the last hours, it becomes so close to the skin that I have difficulty perceiving the scent. But sometimes it retreats, as mentioned, and sometimes it comes back to life. Nasengold does what it wants.
And so the label also understands itself, according to its own homepage: unconventional, spontaneous, and full of joy for life. A statement that I find absolutely authentic and credible, in contrast to the artificially cobbled-together marketing talk about “staying dirty.” I believe Mr. Plesch on this, and Raute S conveys this as well. At this point, Raute S also reminds me of one of my, if not my absolute favorite fragrance: Bosque by Humiecki & Graef. The fragrance house is known for its concept that each of its perfumes is dedicated to a specific human emotion. And with Bosque, it’s satisfaction. Bosque smells to me like what was and what will be. Like being arrived and balanced, like harmony and contentment. And Bosque achieves this through the interplay of fruity-spicy and balancing warm yet grounding bitter notes. While Bosque radiates and evokes a warm satisfaction for me, Raute S is more about the exuberant joy of life. Similar feelings, one time a bit calmer and another time a bit more dynamic, but still similar. Both perfumes also share the intention of wanting to convey exactly these feelings and the fact that they actually succeed in doing so. One is the concept behind the fragrance, and the other is making this concept perceivable and experiential. This has been wonderfully achieved here.
And tomorrow, I will be buying a bottle of Nasengold first, then making a mixtape and driving off...
30 Comments
Translated · Show original
L'Air du Marrakech
Marrakech. Through hot streets and narrow alleys. A labyrinth, then the Djemaa el Fna, the central marketplace. A snake curled around an arm. Skewered sheep heads and henna tattoos. Fire breathers and fortune tellers. Colorful fabrics and ceramics. Paint peeling from house walls, blue, yellow, red, green, vibrant. Smoke, drums, laughter, lights, scents and smells - Marrakech lives and wafts through the night.
It is not easy to describe the scent that a city like Marrakech radiates, one that attracts strangers like a siren, drawing them deeper and deeper, right into its heart. Into the dark, narrow, dusty alleys of the Medina. A city full of life, dirt, busyness, authenticity, vibrant colors, and relaxed people. A scent that clings to hair and clothes, one that you take home and that continues to waft around and in my mind even after many washes and showers. Olfactorily, the city is a supernova, and the mixture of the unpleasant, the different, and the wonderful burns itself deep into memory. The city’s own tannery, which pushes the nose to the limits of tolerance. The dusty, dry streets of the Medina, smelling of heat, many steps, and busyness. The countless restaurants from which delicious aromas of gently simmering tagine waft. The colorful hats and scarves, smelling of many hands, warm fabrics, and colors. The little shops where the scent of argan and natural pigments lingers. And the bathrooms made of tadelakt, which smell damp and porous, like a mix of moist chalk and amber. Beautiful and terrible images of the city, as many as the beautiful and terrible scents of the city. A blend that is inherently designed to challenge and overwhelm.
Thus, experiencing the city cries out for a come-down, for a pause and relaxation. The best way to do this is in one of the many courtyard cafés with a glass of freshly brewed and highly poured mint tea, overlooking blooming plants and the water features usually installed in these courtyards for cooling. Fresh mint tea. Nothing represents Marrakech for me more. For its calm, soft, and relaxing side. Dark and strong tea made from fresh mint and green tea, heavily sweetened. Hot and cooling at the same time. Wonderful.
Even before I knew who Meo Fusciuni was or why the number 2 of his three-part Nota di Viaggio series is called Shukran (Arabic for thank you), this perfume already reminded me of Marrakech. Of those quiet courtyard moments with my mint tea, the cool air, and the view of blooming plants. Shukran is this mint tea. This cozy unwind after a tiring and eventful day in the strange yet fascinating Marrakech. This sweet glide into the night, into life, and the city’s own pull. Fresh mint, slightly herbal, a stem in the glass, a mint leaf plucked and crushed between fingers. Perhaps a hint of chamomile or sage, and otherwise sweet, heavy tea with a little wisp of smoke from a shisha somewhere. And that’s Shukran, number 2, captured. Nothing more happens, nothing else comes, except for a debate about whether the tea note is distinctly black or green and whether the tobacco note becomes a bit more dominant towards the base or not. All in all, however, number 2 develops quite causally in one direction, does not surprise with any edges or twists, and remains focused on its theme from beginning to end: mint tea. Yes, it is a bit simply structured and perhaps a little boring in the long run. The sillage and longevity are also rather average. Moreover, one might well wonder whether one wants to smell like freshly brewed mint tea or would prefer to have it in front of oneself and drink it. All of this is true, and yet Shukran is for me the most beautiful interpretation of Moroccan mint tea that I have encountered so far. And not only because Shukran smells absolutely authentic like mint tea or reminds me of those cozy courtyard moments, but because it immediately evokes images of Marrakech that otherwise only swirl loosely in my memory and rarely surface so vividly. Fascinating.
And indeed, Meo Fusciuni, or Giuseppe Imprezzabile, as his real name is, drew inspiration for his three-part fragrance series Trilogia di Viaggio (Trilogy of a Journey) from his travels to Istanbul, Sicily, and for number 2 from Morocco. The former Italian druggist, with a penchant for poetry, has been creating perfumes for several years and sells his handmade fragrances made from purely natural ingredients in his own shop in a small Italian town. Although his creations are available worldwide, they still feel like a true niche to me. Inspired by travels and poems, with joy in the process of creation and more emphasis on the love of scent in general than on the finished product, marketing, or target audience. He has followed olfactory nomadism to various countries and cities around the world, driven by the desire to capture life, the poetry of life, in perfume. And when I think about the images of Marrakech that immediately arose in me upon first smelling Shukran, he has done well, Signore Fusciuni.
2# Nota di Viaggio - Shukran - is overall an absolutely fine and authentic mint tea scent, which I personally would not wear but would love to smell again and again. A wonderful memory of Marrakech.
Marrakech, I breathe your air!
It is not easy to describe the scent that a city like Marrakech radiates, one that attracts strangers like a siren, drawing them deeper and deeper, right into its heart. Into the dark, narrow, dusty alleys of the Medina. A city full of life, dirt, busyness, authenticity, vibrant colors, and relaxed people. A scent that clings to hair and clothes, one that you take home and that continues to waft around and in my mind even after many washes and showers. Olfactorily, the city is a supernova, and the mixture of the unpleasant, the different, and the wonderful burns itself deep into memory. The city’s own tannery, which pushes the nose to the limits of tolerance. The dusty, dry streets of the Medina, smelling of heat, many steps, and busyness. The countless restaurants from which delicious aromas of gently simmering tagine waft. The colorful hats and scarves, smelling of many hands, warm fabrics, and colors. The little shops where the scent of argan and natural pigments lingers. And the bathrooms made of tadelakt, which smell damp and porous, like a mix of moist chalk and amber. Beautiful and terrible images of the city, as many as the beautiful and terrible scents of the city. A blend that is inherently designed to challenge and overwhelm.
Thus, experiencing the city cries out for a come-down, for a pause and relaxation. The best way to do this is in one of the many courtyard cafés with a glass of freshly brewed and highly poured mint tea, overlooking blooming plants and the water features usually installed in these courtyards for cooling. Fresh mint tea. Nothing represents Marrakech for me more. For its calm, soft, and relaxing side. Dark and strong tea made from fresh mint and green tea, heavily sweetened. Hot and cooling at the same time. Wonderful.
Even before I knew who Meo Fusciuni was or why the number 2 of his three-part Nota di Viaggio series is called Shukran (Arabic for thank you), this perfume already reminded me of Marrakech. Of those quiet courtyard moments with my mint tea, the cool air, and the view of blooming plants. Shukran is this mint tea. This cozy unwind after a tiring and eventful day in the strange yet fascinating Marrakech. This sweet glide into the night, into life, and the city’s own pull. Fresh mint, slightly herbal, a stem in the glass, a mint leaf plucked and crushed between fingers. Perhaps a hint of chamomile or sage, and otherwise sweet, heavy tea with a little wisp of smoke from a shisha somewhere. And that’s Shukran, number 2, captured. Nothing more happens, nothing else comes, except for a debate about whether the tea note is distinctly black or green and whether the tobacco note becomes a bit more dominant towards the base or not. All in all, however, number 2 develops quite causally in one direction, does not surprise with any edges or twists, and remains focused on its theme from beginning to end: mint tea. Yes, it is a bit simply structured and perhaps a little boring in the long run. The sillage and longevity are also rather average. Moreover, one might well wonder whether one wants to smell like freshly brewed mint tea or would prefer to have it in front of oneself and drink it. All of this is true, and yet Shukran is for me the most beautiful interpretation of Moroccan mint tea that I have encountered so far. And not only because Shukran smells absolutely authentic like mint tea or reminds me of those cozy courtyard moments, but because it immediately evokes images of Marrakech that otherwise only swirl loosely in my memory and rarely surface so vividly. Fascinating.
And indeed, Meo Fusciuni, or Giuseppe Imprezzabile, as his real name is, drew inspiration for his three-part fragrance series Trilogia di Viaggio (Trilogy of a Journey) from his travels to Istanbul, Sicily, and for number 2 from Morocco. The former Italian druggist, with a penchant for poetry, has been creating perfumes for several years and sells his handmade fragrances made from purely natural ingredients in his own shop in a small Italian town. Although his creations are available worldwide, they still feel like a true niche to me. Inspired by travels and poems, with joy in the process of creation and more emphasis on the love of scent in general than on the finished product, marketing, or target audience. He has followed olfactory nomadism to various countries and cities around the world, driven by the desire to capture life, the poetry of life, in perfume. And when I think about the images of Marrakech that immediately arose in me upon first smelling Shukran, he has done well, Signore Fusciuni.
2# Nota di Viaggio - Shukran - is overall an absolutely fine and authentic mint tea scent, which I personally would not wear but would love to smell again and again. A wonderful memory of Marrakech.
Marrakech, I breathe your air!
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The Modern Punk
Stay Dirty - A name that is as unusual as it is strange for a perfume. More a stance than just a name, Stay Dirty proclaims individuality and authenticity. Staying true to oneself, not bending under the pressure of the masses. Staying different. "Stay Dirty" is against conventions and a counterpoint to the myriad of countless new perfume releases that are thrown onto the market each year in completely overwhelming numbers. PMP - Perfumes Mayr Plettenberg, now well-known here in the forum as the collaboration of Stefanie Mayr and Daniel Plettenberg, who created "Stay Dirty" in collaboration with perfumer Mark Buxton, do it differently. They produce only 999 bottles of their unusual outsider fragrance and call it completely anarchistically "Stay Dirty." PMP thus relies on anti. Anti-mainstream, anti-superficiality, anti-going with the flow. That is punk. That is Never-Mind-the-Bollocks-punk in modern form.
So anyone who has heard of "Stay Dirty" is surely curious. Wondering how this anti-fragrance, this "finely tuned rejection of superficiality," might smell and what will be so special about it. Its reputation precedes it, and I can't help but raise my eyebrows in admiration at the fact that a young niche label carries the rejection of superficiality like a grand banner and positions itself against the average as well as the big players in the industry, while on the other hand, it has unleashed a marketing wave that I find astonishing. "Stay Dirty" appeals and seduces. The concept is grand. Everyone wants to be individual, unique, and self-sufficient and smell that way too. The concept works, and I suspect that not only I have almost clicked the "Buy now" button on the lovingly designed "Stay Dirty" homepage time and again without having smelled the fragrance first. "Stay Dirty" promises individuality and exclusivity and has obviously done everything right with it.
According to the description from PMP for "Stay Dirty," the fragrance is supposed to transport a cozy-light campfire atmosphere. You sit carefree with your best friends around a campfire by some river, probably somewhere in the industrial area of a medium-sized city, drinking beer from bottles that you have popped open not with a bottle opener but with a lighter, and chatting, laughing, making noise. "Stay Dirty" is supposed to smell like campfire and smoke. Like relaxed nonchalance. Something for individualists and free thinkers.
"Stay Dirty" starts with a beautiful accord of various citrus notes: mandarin, ginger, neroli, bergamot. Notes that are meant to proclaim lightness and a certain zesty carefree spirit. A truly wonderful opening accord that I find brilliantly composed. The notes are finely interwoven and so resinously soft that the opening of "Stay Dirty" already surprises. It falls surprisingly soft where I had expected more of a headnote bomb that roars like a punk when he bellows "God save the Queen." But no, "Stay Dirty" does not roar; it is cozy. There is nothing sharp-edged or loud here, but rather a bit herbaceous yet very warm and soft. Embedded in the resins of the heart notes, the top note makes no noise but appears round and harmonious in my nose. At most, I can smell the ginger emerging from the connection of the individual notes, which is zesty but also has a slightly woody quality. Here, a ginger root is just being freed from its woody, fibrous shell and exudes a healing, spicy-ethereal scent. All of this is not cologne-like, not airy and bright as day. No, the top note is heavy, rather dim, cozy like a large armchair, and from the very beginning so embedded in the resins of the heart note that it is clear: "Stay Dirty" is resin, resinous, resinous to the utmost! Gurjum and labdanum flow in a distinctly ambered softness, while the elemi resin together with the woody notes from the base is supposed to create the advertised smoky campfire atmosphere. But I do not find "Stay Dirty" distinctly smoky. Nor particularly woody. Smoky and woody nuances can be recognized, but they never push themselves to the forefront. Only in the base does the resinous dominance ease a bit and give the woody notes more space. Both the rather soft sandalwood and the slightly fresher cedar can be detected if you look for them. A non-sweet vanilla rounds it off, making the whole thing friendly and giving the base a calm and settled undertone.
Overall, "Stay Dirty" does not present itself as extravagant or loud. I even find the base quite conventional. Some comparisons have already been made to the unfortunately discontinued Gucci pour Homme I, which I can somewhat understand. "Stay Dirty" and GPH I are most similar in their base, although I find GPH I significantly spicier, more incense-like, and more oriental. "Stay Dirty," on the other hand, seems a bit softer and more reserved, and thus, unfortunately, also more ordinary for me. With all the marketing talk about individuality and authenticity, the anti-attitude, and the rejection of superficiality, I expected a much more uncompromising and experimental fragrance. I expected a fragrance as uncompromising as Bois d’Ascèse, which is supposed to smell similarly to "Stay Dirty" with its notes of smoke and campfire. In comparison to "Stay Dirty," Bois d’Ascèse implements the smoky theme much more powerfully. While Bois d’Ascèse as a fragrance makes a clear statement, polarizes, and fascinates with its uniqueness, what appeals to me about "Stay Dirty" is primarily the uniqueness of the marketing concept. The fragrance itself, although very beautiful and well-made, does not strike me as particularly unusual or particularly different.
Stay Dirty - stay different. Here, one stays different in coziness. No punk is occupying a house or scraping a few odd chords on the guitar anymore. The modern punk sits with a beer with his friends, listens to electronic music, and quietly discusses clever topics by a slowly smoldering campfire by the river, somewhere in the industrial area of a medium-sized city. The modern punk stays dirty, but not too loud!
So anyone who has heard of "Stay Dirty" is surely curious. Wondering how this anti-fragrance, this "finely tuned rejection of superficiality," might smell and what will be so special about it. Its reputation precedes it, and I can't help but raise my eyebrows in admiration at the fact that a young niche label carries the rejection of superficiality like a grand banner and positions itself against the average as well as the big players in the industry, while on the other hand, it has unleashed a marketing wave that I find astonishing. "Stay Dirty" appeals and seduces. The concept is grand. Everyone wants to be individual, unique, and self-sufficient and smell that way too. The concept works, and I suspect that not only I have almost clicked the "Buy now" button on the lovingly designed "Stay Dirty" homepage time and again without having smelled the fragrance first. "Stay Dirty" promises individuality and exclusivity and has obviously done everything right with it.
According to the description from PMP for "Stay Dirty," the fragrance is supposed to transport a cozy-light campfire atmosphere. You sit carefree with your best friends around a campfire by some river, probably somewhere in the industrial area of a medium-sized city, drinking beer from bottles that you have popped open not with a bottle opener but with a lighter, and chatting, laughing, making noise. "Stay Dirty" is supposed to smell like campfire and smoke. Like relaxed nonchalance. Something for individualists and free thinkers.
"Stay Dirty" starts with a beautiful accord of various citrus notes: mandarin, ginger, neroli, bergamot. Notes that are meant to proclaim lightness and a certain zesty carefree spirit. A truly wonderful opening accord that I find brilliantly composed. The notes are finely interwoven and so resinously soft that the opening of "Stay Dirty" already surprises. It falls surprisingly soft where I had expected more of a headnote bomb that roars like a punk when he bellows "God save the Queen." But no, "Stay Dirty" does not roar; it is cozy. There is nothing sharp-edged or loud here, but rather a bit herbaceous yet very warm and soft. Embedded in the resins of the heart notes, the top note makes no noise but appears round and harmonious in my nose. At most, I can smell the ginger emerging from the connection of the individual notes, which is zesty but also has a slightly woody quality. Here, a ginger root is just being freed from its woody, fibrous shell and exudes a healing, spicy-ethereal scent. All of this is not cologne-like, not airy and bright as day. No, the top note is heavy, rather dim, cozy like a large armchair, and from the very beginning so embedded in the resins of the heart note that it is clear: "Stay Dirty" is resin, resinous, resinous to the utmost! Gurjum and labdanum flow in a distinctly ambered softness, while the elemi resin together with the woody notes from the base is supposed to create the advertised smoky campfire atmosphere. But I do not find "Stay Dirty" distinctly smoky. Nor particularly woody. Smoky and woody nuances can be recognized, but they never push themselves to the forefront. Only in the base does the resinous dominance ease a bit and give the woody notes more space. Both the rather soft sandalwood and the slightly fresher cedar can be detected if you look for them. A non-sweet vanilla rounds it off, making the whole thing friendly and giving the base a calm and settled undertone.
Overall, "Stay Dirty" does not present itself as extravagant or loud. I even find the base quite conventional. Some comparisons have already been made to the unfortunately discontinued Gucci pour Homme I, which I can somewhat understand. "Stay Dirty" and GPH I are most similar in their base, although I find GPH I significantly spicier, more incense-like, and more oriental. "Stay Dirty," on the other hand, seems a bit softer and more reserved, and thus, unfortunately, also more ordinary for me. With all the marketing talk about individuality and authenticity, the anti-attitude, and the rejection of superficiality, I expected a much more uncompromising and experimental fragrance. I expected a fragrance as uncompromising as Bois d’Ascèse, which is supposed to smell similarly to "Stay Dirty" with its notes of smoke and campfire. In comparison to "Stay Dirty," Bois d’Ascèse implements the smoky theme much more powerfully. While Bois d’Ascèse as a fragrance makes a clear statement, polarizes, and fascinates with its uniqueness, what appeals to me about "Stay Dirty" is primarily the uniqueness of the marketing concept. The fragrance itself, although very beautiful and well-made, does not strike me as particularly unusual or particularly different.
Stay Dirty - stay different. Here, one stays different in coziness. No punk is occupying a house or scraping a few odd chords on the guitar anymore. The modern punk sits with a beer with his friends, listens to electronic music, and quietly discusses clever topics by a slowly smoldering campfire by the river, somewhere in the industrial area of a medium-sized city. The modern punk stays dirty, but not too loud!
33 Comments
