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The Secret - a Word
If it were not just a word, but a place, then Atlantis or the Bermuda Triangle. Perhaps also the end of the rainbow. If it were a piece of jewelry, then the Hope Diamond. If it were a person, then Kaspar Hauser or Robin Hood, and if it were a story, then the endless one. But what if the secret were a fragrance? What then?
If the secret were not just a word, but a fragrance, it would be Fath de Fath. Specifically, the Eau de Toilette. No other than the classic, truly wonderful Fath de Fath, which is a tribute from the French fashion designer Jacques Fath to the world and the glamour of Hollywood and its stars like Marlene Dietrich and Rita Hayworth. A tribute to the mysterious thoroughbred woman. The feminine in persona. The fragrance pyramid reads opulently. Full-blooded. Glamorous. Overwhelming. A lot of fruit, a lot of blossom, a lot of much. One would expect something like an aging, glaringly bright, floral-heavy, and overflowing diva perfume, whose sillage would fill a room and whose longevity would last all day.
How surprisingly understated elegant and subtly mysterious, almost intimate, Fath de Fath unfolds on the skin of its wearer is a great and beautiful wonder. A tightly woven fragrance carpet - finely tuned fragrance molecules that weave into each other like silk threads on a transparent loom. It is not an old-fashioned scent cloth that wants to be taken apart, analyzed, and dissected. It lives and breathes and eludes categorization into Oriental, Chypre, Floral, whatever. How irrelevant that may be. Fath is Fath. Only the opening can be identified as predominantly fruity with a slightly peeking blackcurrant. The heart, rather floral, where a full tuberose alongside a bright heliotrope exudes a warm and soft floral bloom. The powdery-creamy base floats in small balsamic-woody clouds of benzoin. More than that cannot be detected and should not be. Fath de Fath wants to be enjoyed as a bright creamy and highly elegant fragrance that shines in its entirety like bright gold.
As unfathomable as its scent profile remains, it moves independently on my skin. While I can make other fragrances my own over time, merging them with my skin and becoming one, Fath de Fath always remains independent. Very close to me, indeed, as it is very skin-close, but a unique fragrance entity that I wear with pride. Both at the opera and in the office. The secret fragrance that wraps around me so mysteriously beautiful, does not need a large sillage and shines for many, many hours.
And the secret of the matter, which has at least partially revealed itself to me after days of wearing Fath de Fath, is not that this perfume is unfathomable. The secret is also not that there can only be the old EDT, as the currently available, revised EDP from 2010 is far too bright and understated, while the corresponding extrait is too heavy and the Eau de Fath is too fresh-fruity and white-flowered, reminding more of a Fath Parfum Initial or a Miss Fath variant. No, the secret is something entirely different: With Fath de Fath, I become a little more elegant, more beautiful, taller. I feel unfathomable and mysterious. My dress flows, my hair billows, I walk with a steady step. Past other people, and I know they turn to look at me: What was that? Was it her, who smelled like that? Was SHE the one, or was that her perfume?
The secret is me, and I am putting it directly on my wish list.
____________________
30.10.2012
With the greatest surprise, I had to find upon the arrival of my newly acquired and highly anticipated Fath de Fath EDP that my sample smells completely different. Gradually, it became clear to me that I likely have a sample of the old EDT, which is no longer produced today. My comment refers to this version, and I have adjusted it accordingly.
If the secret were not just a word, but a fragrance, it would be Fath de Fath. Specifically, the Eau de Toilette. No other than the classic, truly wonderful Fath de Fath, which is a tribute from the French fashion designer Jacques Fath to the world and the glamour of Hollywood and its stars like Marlene Dietrich and Rita Hayworth. A tribute to the mysterious thoroughbred woman. The feminine in persona. The fragrance pyramid reads opulently. Full-blooded. Glamorous. Overwhelming. A lot of fruit, a lot of blossom, a lot of much. One would expect something like an aging, glaringly bright, floral-heavy, and overflowing diva perfume, whose sillage would fill a room and whose longevity would last all day.
How surprisingly understated elegant and subtly mysterious, almost intimate, Fath de Fath unfolds on the skin of its wearer is a great and beautiful wonder. A tightly woven fragrance carpet - finely tuned fragrance molecules that weave into each other like silk threads on a transparent loom. It is not an old-fashioned scent cloth that wants to be taken apart, analyzed, and dissected. It lives and breathes and eludes categorization into Oriental, Chypre, Floral, whatever. How irrelevant that may be. Fath is Fath. Only the opening can be identified as predominantly fruity with a slightly peeking blackcurrant. The heart, rather floral, where a full tuberose alongside a bright heliotrope exudes a warm and soft floral bloom. The powdery-creamy base floats in small balsamic-woody clouds of benzoin. More than that cannot be detected and should not be. Fath de Fath wants to be enjoyed as a bright creamy and highly elegant fragrance that shines in its entirety like bright gold.
As unfathomable as its scent profile remains, it moves independently on my skin. While I can make other fragrances my own over time, merging them with my skin and becoming one, Fath de Fath always remains independent. Very close to me, indeed, as it is very skin-close, but a unique fragrance entity that I wear with pride. Both at the opera and in the office. The secret fragrance that wraps around me so mysteriously beautiful, does not need a large sillage and shines for many, many hours.
And the secret of the matter, which has at least partially revealed itself to me after days of wearing Fath de Fath, is not that this perfume is unfathomable. The secret is also not that there can only be the old EDT, as the currently available, revised EDP from 2010 is far too bright and understated, while the corresponding extrait is too heavy and the Eau de Fath is too fresh-fruity and white-flowered, reminding more of a Fath Parfum Initial or a Miss Fath variant. No, the secret is something entirely different: With Fath de Fath, I become a little more elegant, more beautiful, taller. I feel unfathomable and mysterious. My dress flows, my hair billows, I walk with a steady step. Past other people, and I know they turn to look at me: What was that? Was it her, who smelled like that? Was SHE the one, or was that her perfume?
The secret is me, and I am putting it directly on my wish list.
____________________
30.10.2012
With the greatest surprise, I had to find upon the arrival of my newly acquired and highly anticipated Fath de Fath EDP that my sample smells completely different. Gradually, it became clear to me that I likely have a sample of the old EDT, which is no longer produced today. My comment refers to this version, and I have adjusted it accordingly.
37 Comments
Translated · Show original
On the Wrong Track
Dry-powdery
Dusty-dry
Finely ground
Fairy-fine dust
Fine dust
I can't breathe!
Bois Farine settles in my airways. It fills my mouth, my nose, and my ears with finely ground dust that smells like nougat. Old nougat that has crumbled to dust - nougat fine dust. Gourmand wood flour, the driest of the dry. So finely ground that it fills every tiny gap.
Here, an iris makes its presence known, smelling no longer powdery, but so dry that my nose feels parched. Here, Elléna mixes one fragrance molecule with another to create the illusion of yet another. Fennel seeds with iris and voilà: wood-flour nougat fine dust. Yes, admittedly, this is once again artfully done. Craftsmanship beyond reproach. To conjure wood flour from iris and a few fennel seeds is indeed great art. But this fragrant art is not cozy or soothing for me.
To me, Bois Farine does not smell of almonds, not of light wood, not of soft powderiness, not of creamy relaxation. I smell what the name promises: wood flour - gourmand wood flour that truly takes my breath away. It does not soothe me; it causes me pain. Breathing pain.
Even the base, which tries to lighten things up a bit with some cedar and sandalwood, does not manage to take away the all-encompassing dustiness from me. It brightens it a little, but then I find myself gasping in the light and not in the dark. That probably doesn't make much of a difference. No trace of guaiac wood. It has fallen victim to the woodworms.
I free myself from this work of art and certainly won't be spraying it on my pillow tonight. I don't want to imagine what the night would bring... I prefer to leave that to all those who detect a gourmand almondy cuddle scent in Bois Farine. For me, unfortunately, it is a dry dust monster that gives me a dusty lung.
Dusty-dry
Finely ground
Fairy-fine dust
Fine dust
I can't breathe!
Bois Farine settles in my airways. It fills my mouth, my nose, and my ears with finely ground dust that smells like nougat. Old nougat that has crumbled to dust - nougat fine dust. Gourmand wood flour, the driest of the dry. So finely ground that it fills every tiny gap.
Here, an iris makes its presence known, smelling no longer powdery, but so dry that my nose feels parched. Here, Elléna mixes one fragrance molecule with another to create the illusion of yet another. Fennel seeds with iris and voilà: wood-flour nougat fine dust. Yes, admittedly, this is once again artfully done. Craftsmanship beyond reproach. To conjure wood flour from iris and a few fennel seeds is indeed great art. But this fragrant art is not cozy or soothing for me.
To me, Bois Farine does not smell of almonds, not of light wood, not of soft powderiness, not of creamy relaxation. I smell what the name promises: wood flour - gourmand wood flour that truly takes my breath away. It does not soothe me; it causes me pain. Breathing pain.
Even the base, which tries to lighten things up a bit with some cedar and sandalwood, does not manage to take away the all-encompassing dustiness from me. It brightens it a little, but then I find myself gasping in the light and not in the dark. That probably doesn't make much of a difference. No trace of guaiac wood. It has fallen victim to the woodworms.
I free myself from this work of art and certainly won't be spraying it on my pillow tonight. I don't want to imagine what the night would bring... I prefer to leave that to all those who detect a gourmand almondy cuddle scent in Bois Farine. For me, unfortunately, it is a dry dust monster that gives me a dusty lung.
13 Comments
Translated · Show original
A Lavender Field in the Middle of the City
My husband and I live in the countryside. In a small house with old beams, creaky floorboards, and drafty windows. Around our garden is a picket fence, and behind the house, the lavender grows tall and wide in the summer - as far as the eye can see.
Just before the start of autumn, when the apple pie is bubbling in the oven and the children are running through the house screaming, I sometimes stand and gaze dreamily out the kitchen window at my husband as he cuts the lavender. He wanders through our little field behind the drafty house, letting his fingers glide through the lavender blossoms, stopping occasionally, bending down, reverently inhaling their ethereal scent, and only then gently begins to cut the flowers. Most of the time, he snips off a small bouquet, which he hands to me in the evening with a quiet smile on his lips. Then he himself still smells purely of lavender. Freshly of the dry blossoms, the essential oil that has stuck to his fingers, of herby lavender branches and earth, work, and sun. He smells warm, fresh, and spicy.
I insist that he sits down at the dining table without showering and serve my little family the still warm cake along with hot bubbling vanilla sauce. The children laugh, my husband next to me smells wonderful, in the middle of the dining table right in front of me is the small lavender bouquet, and I am happy.
**
Impact is a pleasantly warm lavender pure, which immediately drops me right into a lavender field. I sit at my desk and suddenly everything here smells fresh, dry-herb spicy, and delicately ethereal, completely pure and authentic lavender. On the white wall that I look at when I sit at my desk, the kitchen window of my little drafty house in the countryside appears. I look through the walls into my lavender garden and let my fingers glide through the lavender blossoms that are standing in the vase next to me on my desk, which just a minute ago was not there. I smell vanilla from the kitchen, where no one is cooking at all, and see a tranquility and comforting calmness that we city dwellers often lose amidst all the car noise, tram screeches, and chaos of lights. If I want to escape that for a moment, I will simply go out onto the balcony from now on, look at the lavender in the flower box, and smell Impact on my arm for a while - my very own private lavender happiness in the middle of the city.
For Mr. Sisyphus
Just before the start of autumn, when the apple pie is bubbling in the oven and the children are running through the house screaming, I sometimes stand and gaze dreamily out the kitchen window at my husband as he cuts the lavender. He wanders through our little field behind the drafty house, letting his fingers glide through the lavender blossoms, stopping occasionally, bending down, reverently inhaling their ethereal scent, and only then gently begins to cut the flowers. Most of the time, he snips off a small bouquet, which he hands to me in the evening with a quiet smile on his lips. Then he himself still smells purely of lavender. Freshly of the dry blossoms, the essential oil that has stuck to his fingers, of herby lavender branches and earth, work, and sun. He smells warm, fresh, and spicy.
I insist that he sits down at the dining table without showering and serve my little family the still warm cake along with hot bubbling vanilla sauce. The children laugh, my husband next to me smells wonderful, in the middle of the dining table right in front of me is the small lavender bouquet, and I am happy.
**
Impact is a pleasantly warm lavender pure, which immediately drops me right into a lavender field. I sit at my desk and suddenly everything here smells fresh, dry-herb spicy, and delicately ethereal, completely pure and authentic lavender. On the white wall that I look at when I sit at my desk, the kitchen window of my little drafty house in the countryside appears. I look through the walls into my lavender garden and let my fingers glide through the lavender blossoms that are standing in the vase next to me on my desk, which just a minute ago was not there. I smell vanilla from the kitchen, where no one is cooking at all, and see a tranquility and comforting calmness that we city dwellers often lose amidst all the car noise, tram screeches, and chaos of lights. If I want to escape that for a moment, I will simply go out onto the balcony from now on, look at the lavender in the flower box, and smell Impact on my arm for a while - my very own private lavender happiness in the middle of the city.
For Mr. Sisyphus
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Translated · Show original
My Wonderful Laundromat
Tokyo 2024. The laundries of the city lie beneath the earth's surface. Washing is no longer done with water and detergent, but exclusively with chemicals and heat. The periodic table of washing substances was invented back in 2020 and has revolutionized the world of the Japanese detergent industry.
Kenjii Kurîningu has been working in a chemical laundry underground since the washing substance revolution. His area of responsibility: the dry cleaning and heat impregnation of white men's shirts. Ultra-high-temperature, ultra-clean, ultra-germ-free white dress shirts. Kenjii Kurîningu has a refined temperament and impeccable manners, but on some days he is not entirely in control of his senses. On those days, he scurries quickly and at a hurried pace through the winding rooms of the underground laundry, occasionally ruffling his hair in a thoughtful yet choleric manner, sweating in the hot steam of the heat impregnation machines. On such days, he always runs a little sharp. Always a half tone too high.
On such days, he imagines how one of his ultra-high-temperature, ultra-clean, and ultra-germ-free white dress shirts makes its way to the surface to the pickup counter and is taken by a slick business gentleman to a chic office on the 40th floor of some Tokyo business tower. Early in the morning, the white shirt still exudes a slightly sweet, somewhat wilted scent reminiscent of artificial apple aroma, indicating the washing chemical in the periodic table of detergent substances that is supposed to represent a pleasant, carefree freshness, but unfortunately misses the mark in practice. The apple-like chemical concoction rots in a rather depressing manner and mixes with the citrusy scent of the Caipirinha that our smart businessman has already indulged in far too early in the morning. Surrounding him is his rather cheap Eau de Cologne, just like the light orange blossom breeze wafting in from the nearby Zen garden. As the day progresses, washing substance E330 is activated, which is supposed to provide a comfortable wearing experience over time and gradually softens every fiber of the impregnated dress shirt to the point of unrecognizability. Soft soapiness meets sweaty male skin, and E330 ferments irritatingly for the rest of the day. By evening, what remains is a chemically and sweat-soaked, no longer quite so clean white dress shirt, which our smart businessman quickly tosses into the laundry basket at home.
And for Kenjii Kurîningu, everything starts all over again the next day.
**
Outrageous is nothing more and nothing less than a thoroughly styled fresh laundry scent with a chemical undertone. A modern musk bomb that is reduced to the essentials and gets straight to the point in a very straightforward manner. Thus, Sophia Grojsman's intention to compose a modern and puristic perfume from a rather traditional combination of fragrance notes like musk, aldehydes, neroli, and citrus accents is certainly successful. Outrageous is undoubtedly crafted with artistry, and the scent experience is surprisingly minimalist and modern. And yet, Outrageous feels to me a bit rushed, always a half tone too high, and especially in the dry down, strangely tangled. The straightforwardness of the scent progression culminates in an uncontrollably fraying musk note that takes on such a sweaty undertone in my nose that it almost resembles a sub-type of oud. A musk that is actually an oud. Interesting and unique, but also quite strange.
But who knows what scents await us in 2024. Perhaps Outrageous is simply ahead of its time.
Kenjii Kurîningu has been working in a chemical laundry underground since the washing substance revolution. His area of responsibility: the dry cleaning and heat impregnation of white men's shirts. Ultra-high-temperature, ultra-clean, ultra-germ-free white dress shirts. Kenjii Kurîningu has a refined temperament and impeccable manners, but on some days he is not entirely in control of his senses. On those days, he scurries quickly and at a hurried pace through the winding rooms of the underground laundry, occasionally ruffling his hair in a thoughtful yet choleric manner, sweating in the hot steam of the heat impregnation machines. On such days, he always runs a little sharp. Always a half tone too high.
On such days, he imagines how one of his ultra-high-temperature, ultra-clean, and ultra-germ-free white dress shirts makes its way to the surface to the pickup counter and is taken by a slick business gentleman to a chic office on the 40th floor of some Tokyo business tower. Early in the morning, the white shirt still exudes a slightly sweet, somewhat wilted scent reminiscent of artificial apple aroma, indicating the washing chemical in the periodic table of detergent substances that is supposed to represent a pleasant, carefree freshness, but unfortunately misses the mark in practice. The apple-like chemical concoction rots in a rather depressing manner and mixes with the citrusy scent of the Caipirinha that our smart businessman has already indulged in far too early in the morning. Surrounding him is his rather cheap Eau de Cologne, just like the light orange blossom breeze wafting in from the nearby Zen garden. As the day progresses, washing substance E330 is activated, which is supposed to provide a comfortable wearing experience over time and gradually softens every fiber of the impregnated dress shirt to the point of unrecognizability. Soft soapiness meets sweaty male skin, and E330 ferments irritatingly for the rest of the day. By evening, what remains is a chemically and sweat-soaked, no longer quite so clean white dress shirt, which our smart businessman quickly tosses into the laundry basket at home.
And for Kenjii Kurîningu, everything starts all over again the next day.
**
Outrageous is nothing more and nothing less than a thoroughly styled fresh laundry scent with a chemical undertone. A modern musk bomb that is reduced to the essentials and gets straight to the point in a very straightforward manner. Thus, Sophia Grojsman's intention to compose a modern and puristic perfume from a rather traditional combination of fragrance notes like musk, aldehydes, neroli, and citrus accents is certainly successful. Outrageous is undoubtedly crafted with artistry, and the scent experience is surprisingly minimalist and modern. And yet, Outrageous feels to me a bit rushed, always a half tone too high, and especially in the dry down, strangely tangled. The straightforwardness of the scent progression culminates in an uncontrollably fraying musk note that takes on such a sweaty undertone in my nose that it almost resembles a sub-type of oud. A musk that is actually an oud. Interesting and unique, but also quite strange.
But who knows what scents await us in 2024. Perhaps Outrageous is simply ahead of its time.
19 Comments
Translated · Show original
Cuddly Wuddly at the Captain's Dinner
Boom and Muschio Marino is here. Indeed, it starts piercing and with a distinct attitude. A truly fascinating aquatic bergamot greets us here, crystal clear, maritime and as cool as morning fog, interspersed with tiny raindrop splashes. A bergamot like I have never had under my nose before, so grandly composed with aquatic and marine nuances that it immediately tells stories:
The fishing boat or whaling ship, who knows, lies quietly anchored on the open sea. Silence and calm permeate the morning fog. It is early in the morning, and the captain stands freshly showered at the railing of his boat, looking out at the open sea. A large, stocky man with a full beard and always a softly smoking pipe at the corner of his mouth. Cozy, self-assured, charismatic but also unyielding, decisive.
The crystal-clear bergamot and the seaweed blend together after just a few moments into a gentle, slightly fishy but fresh sea breeze that blows from the sea over the captain's cool, flushed cheeks and freshly showered skin. A freedom-loving coolness mixes here with the heavy liveliness of the sea, leaving the down-to-earth image of the captain, who stands alone on the deck of his ship, with the wind in his face, before his crew has awakened. Freedom, tranquility, groundedness, and time stands still for a moment.
While Muschio Marino conveys great calm and wondrous images of the vast sea, loneliness, and freedom after its piercingly clear start, the scent races ahead at a furious pace in its real progression. Nothing develops leisurely here, but rather quite linearly and above all quickly. There is no Captain Ahab epic being created here, but rather a short film that runs for just a few minutes and then remains on the last image for a long time.
Very quickly, lotus, amber, and musk join in, and even a distinct pinch of pepper, which I cannot find anywhere in the fragrance pyramid. The lotus appears watery, ethereal, and the grounded aura of the captain gradually transforms into that of a bear-like dandy. It becomes powdery and softer, and our captain now sits in a brightly lit hall of a suddenly much larger and more elegant ship at the Captain's Dinner, admiring not only the sparkling sparklers on the ice bomb just served but also the décolletage of his dining companion, to whom he had already stealthily placed his hand on her knee under the table two hours ago.
It gets cozy here, and the captain's chosen lady already has bustling, fluffy thoughts about the hours after dinner in her head. In any case, she will leave her door slightly ajar later when she goes to bed. He will follow a few minutes later, and the cuddly wuddly, which surely won't be entirely cuddly and well-behaved, will take its course. Meanwhile, a small breath of sea will waft into the dark cabin through the porthole, a few seagulls will be heard from afar, and the sea will gently break against the ship's keel in soft waves.
And the captain will be gone in the morning, standing alone and quietly on deck in the morning fog, looking out at the sea. But who cares? Until then, the captain, the old dandy, simply smells damn good of freedom, cool heaviness, and peppery calmness. Magnificent!
The fishing boat or whaling ship, who knows, lies quietly anchored on the open sea. Silence and calm permeate the morning fog. It is early in the morning, and the captain stands freshly showered at the railing of his boat, looking out at the open sea. A large, stocky man with a full beard and always a softly smoking pipe at the corner of his mouth. Cozy, self-assured, charismatic but also unyielding, decisive.
The crystal-clear bergamot and the seaweed blend together after just a few moments into a gentle, slightly fishy but fresh sea breeze that blows from the sea over the captain's cool, flushed cheeks and freshly showered skin. A freedom-loving coolness mixes here with the heavy liveliness of the sea, leaving the down-to-earth image of the captain, who stands alone on the deck of his ship, with the wind in his face, before his crew has awakened. Freedom, tranquility, groundedness, and time stands still for a moment.
While Muschio Marino conveys great calm and wondrous images of the vast sea, loneliness, and freedom after its piercingly clear start, the scent races ahead at a furious pace in its real progression. Nothing develops leisurely here, but rather quite linearly and above all quickly. There is no Captain Ahab epic being created here, but rather a short film that runs for just a few minutes and then remains on the last image for a long time.
Very quickly, lotus, amber, and musk join in, and even a distinct pinch of pepper, which I cannot find anywhere in the fragrance pyramid. The lotus appears watery, ethereal, and the grounded aura of the captain gradually transforms into that of a bear-like dandy. It becomes powdery and softer, and our captain now sits in a brightly lit hall of a suddenly much larger and more elegant ship at the Captain's Dinner, admiring not only the sparkling sparklers on the ice bomb just served but also the décolletage of his dining companion, to whom he had already stealthily placed his hand on her knee under the table two hours ago.
It gets cozy here, and the captain's chosen lady already has bustling, fluffy thoughts about the hours after dinner in her head. In any case, she will leave her door slightly ajar later when she goes to bed. He will follow a few minutes later, and the cuddly wuddly, which surely won't be entirely cuddly and well-behaved, will take its course. Meanwhile, a small breath of sea will waft into the dark cabin through the porthole, a few seagulls will be heard from afar, and the sea will gently break against the ship's keel in soft waves.
And the captain will be gone in the morning, standing alone and quietly on deck in the morning fog, looking out at the sea. But who cares? Until then, the captain, the old dandy, simply smells damn good of freedom, cool heaviness, and peppery calmness. Magnificent!
11 Comments
