Aava

Well, that almost knocks me off my feet - my delicate beginner's nose has never smelled anything like this... Within an hour and a half, I've had so many images and associations in my head about this scent that I'm feeling quite dizzy. But actually, I can only summarize all that has already been said about this strangely beautiful fragrance:

The first sniff invites you to a glass of high-proof homemade chocolate-nut-caramel liqueur. But the glass is quickly emptied. Burp...

Right after that, the top note rushes me through the "Being John Malkovich" tunnel and I find myself somewhere in the middle of nowhere in an old barn surrounded by a huge pile of hay. Dust-dry, crumbling, old, slightly musty-smelling hay.

The mustiness remains, the hay does too, and the old caramel from the beginning joins in again. I feel like I'm at a candy stand at a fair, only that here there’s no cotton candy, but sweetened, caramelized, and candied hay.

From the neighboring stand, a mixture of nuts and various spices (nutmeg?) wafts over. Even the licorice can be sensed. A truly peculiar blend.

And then I fall through a subspace rift and suddenly find myself in an old dimly lit church, where it smells of old wood and incense. This is slowly becoming less "Being John Malkovich" and definitely more David Lynch...

So, after all these impressions, I first lie down in the recovery position and continue to sniff my arm, which is slowly exuding a cozy warm and calming, quite delicious scent of softly simmering vanilla sauce.

For Aomassaï, you definitely need perseverance. But it's worth it. Because what remains after the whole storm is a truly wonderful base, a delicious and warm gourmand.

It’s a strangely beautiful perfume, despite the stressful scent development. And whether Africa is in it, I will have to find out in a second attempt... To-do list!

A little twilight, still quiet whispers.

The first dancer steps onto the stage. Slowly emerging from the darkness beside the stage. He is in no hurry, moving a bit angularly, a little flatteringly, almost silently. Why is he only wearing one ballet shoe? Softly, he taps that one shoe, producing a delicate sound on the stage floor. A long, drawn-out movement, a gentle tap, a shorter movement, a louder tap, a more angular movement, a shuffling tap, a...

And then the light quietly comes on the reduced stage.

No stage set, no props, no unnecessary gram of embellishment. Just the white-gray floor and the similarly colored backdrop.

The next dancer slowly follows. He too taps, shuffles, flatters, and turns.

Meanwhile, a softly shimmering, elevated green light rises from the back wall of the white-gray painted stage. Gradually, in a cozy warmth, it rises higher, stretches and extends, becomes gently brighter, slowly moves from the back to the front, tickling the ballet shoe, the next, and then shines over the entire stage. At the same time, the first note begins. A delicate piano, a reduced melody. Light, music, and the tapping of ballet shoes in green and warm and radiant.

And my Mademoiselle rises to my nose. Green and warm and radiant.
She accompanies me the whole evening. Wafts into my nose, caressing the music, the light, the dancers.

The last image of the evening: A dancer floats from the ceiling, dancing whispered pirouettes in the air, the light breathed into soft violet tones, flowing around her, gradually darkening, moving back, the final chord sounds and the curtain slowly descends.

This is how Coco Mademoiselle is for me. Green and warm and radiant. Fresh at the beginning, with a fruity-orange, softly shimmering, and warm top note that feels immediately comfortable on my skin. Oh, I could roll in it. And the base note, which lingers on my skin for a long time, is then soft-violet, with a clear memory of the green-orange opening of the top note. Creamy, pleasantly understated floral, slightly sweet, softly vanillic, a bit smoky-spicy-balsamic. All components are so beautifully balanced with each other that it is hard to pick out individual notes. Each fits with each and everything fits with everything.

So often I smell my arm throughout the evening and feel not at all too old for this absolutely beautiful fragrance, even though I am certainly no longer a Mademoiselle.

So you see, esteemed Lady Lalique, making your acquaintance is truly not easy. Out of respect, I will therefore continue to address you formally. Offering you the informal "Du" would seem rather audacious to me. However, I assure you that I approach you with the utmost respect and appreciation.

On the test strip, you really waved that large bouquet of laurel in front of my nose in a rather frightening manner. What must you be thinking, placing such creaky contemporaries at your head-side? Do you want to drive me away? No, you really have no fear of that, do you? On the contrary. You even shoot a pinch of pepper after it, which makes the laurel truly wild. Even your esteemed friend, the good old bergamot, cannot help much here. It simply isn't zesty enough to hold back the laurel. And then you go straight to your vanilla base without any detours? Well, where is all the promised powder and the flowers, and why do you get along so well with the laurel and the vanilla?

But since your excellent reputation has preceded you so far and you can be assured of my unreserved respect, I have bravely not been deterred by that.

Still, you are already waving that unfriendly laurel in front of my nose again during the subsequent skin test. There really is no escape. The pepper says hello again, and the vanilla says good day.

You know what? Now I will leave you for a moment. It seems to me that you can be quite well on your own. Perhaps I will just sit in the waiting room. Let's see how long it takes until you come to me. Maybe you won't come at all. One never knows with you.

See how much you surprised me when you finally revealed your true nature. If you are left alone for a while, you secretly unfold your true essence: The tonka bean settles between the wild laurel and the loud vanilla, creating a creamy harmony that is truly friendly and sublime. The patchouli dares to bloom, and from your heart, esteemed Lady Lalique, a delightful little bouquet of jasmine reaches up. What a relief when the heliotrope opens its powder box and all parties are peacefully united at a richly adorned festive table. An elegant circle sitting together in warm harmony that will not dissolve quickly.

Well, I am full of surprise and must say: You live up to your reputation.

Yet, esteemed lady, I cannot shake the feeling that you do not need my company at all. As sublime as you unfold, so elevated you stand above all things. You are indifferent to whether you are liked or not. You have no desire for flattery.

But then I shall also withdraw and wish you farewell. The laurel was just too loud for me.

You know what?
I haven't told you in a long time how delicately valuable you have become to my heart, dear friend. Sometimes I notice how naturally you have gotten under my skin. Just being there, accompanying me through the day and night. Going along with everything. So naturally and modestly.

You have become so intertwined with me that I often don't even notice you anymore. Did you know that? I could cry. I would love to hug you every second and smell you. And it makes me sad that I only perceive you as a whisper.

But sometimes when I pull a scarf out of the chest, your scent unexpectedly envelops me.

Yes, you are so natural that I hardly notice you, even though I carry you with me all the time. But rest assured: Every time a scarf wafts your soft scent over to me, I stick my nose in it. And I think every time anew: "Oh, how wonderful you are!"

And let me tell you this - even if everyone thinks you are a bit fussy, heavy, and filling the room, I know that your heart is wonderfully soft and sensitive, very close to mine. You are not as sticky and cloying as one might first think. You have such a beautiful rosy powder heart, so almondy fine but also so down-to-earth. You are not heavy, but light and warm and delicate. And you don't take long to make friends. You are honest and profound.

Oh, how beautiful that you are just the way you are.

No, friends we did not become. Not even good acquaintances. It was more of a fleeting encounter - aversion from the first to the last sniff. Kindly, I must admit that our relationship improved with some distance. Only when we got closer did our mutual aversion fully reveal itself. The Violet Monster and I cannot stand each other.

On the test strip, I thought: Hmm, smells peculiar, fresh, not too sweet, and slightly powdery. A bit edgy but good. The iris softens it, the violet makes it more interesting, and the cedar adds a bit of spiciness. For my beginner's nose, it wasn't necessarily pleasant, but there is something about this monster.

On my skin, the angelica in the top note immediately confronted me with its herbal-green scent, the violet also pushed itself directly to the forefront, and even the gentle iris, which tried to mediate with a bit of powder, couldn't help much. Much worse. Quite quickly, the pine-like cedar also chimed in, contributing only nonsense. And the whole argument developed into something one-dimensional and unremarkable. The violet was combative and attention-seeking from the start, and the others quickly joined in, while only the dear gentle iris took a few moments to soften things a bit after a few minutes. It brought some warmth to the edgy quarrels. Did that make it better? No.

And why the whole bunch is called "Nuit" is a complete mystery to me!

By the way, the Violet Monster is persistent. It cannot be easily driven away by water, soap, or cream. At least it has good staying power. At least.