Berkanlenck

Last night, I sprayed Finale by Schwarzlose Berlin for the first time. It was one of those days when I could already feel that something was in the air-perhaps the transition from late summer to autumn, or maybe just my own mood.

The first spray hit me like a small fanfare. This bright, peppery tingling, accompanied by the sweetness of nectarine, was like a curtain being drawn back and the light flooding the stage. I couldn't help but smile because it was so vibrant and at the same time unusual. For a moment, I felt as if I were sitting in the front row of a premiere, eagerly anticipating what was to come.

After an hour, the scent changed, and with it, my mood. The spiciness softened, deepened, becoming almost mysterious. Tobacco and resin emerged, wrapping around me like warm velvet. I was out with friends, but inside, I felt completely in tune with myself, like in a monologue that only I could hear. One of my friends leaned in during our conversation and suddenly said, “You smell so… dramatic today.” I had to laugh because that’s exactly how it felt.

When I later walked home alone, the scent was almost just a whisper. Wood, smoke, something dark clinging to my skin. It was as if the day had played a final chord that slowly faded away. I stood by the window for a while, looking at the streetlights and feeling: Finale is not an end, but that mysterious pause between farewell and new beginning.

It was late in the evening when I first applied Black II Extrait de Parfum to my skin. Even when I removed the cap, a dense, opulent scent rose to meet me, captivating me immediately. Unlike regular fragrances, this was not a fleeting whisper; it was like a shadow wrapping around me, heavy, deep, and incomparably sensual.

The initial notes were smoky and balsamic, a blend of dark woods, resin, and a hint of vanilla that instantly reminded me of distant oriental bazaars, of nights filled with stories and secrets. With each step I took through the empty streets, the fragrance seemed to intensify, as if it were doubling my presence; I felt confident, almost magnetic.

Later, during a chance encounter with old friends, I noticed some of them slightly turned their heads, as if the scent unconsciously drew them to me. Black II Extrait was not just a companion but a personality in its own right, enveloping me powerfully, mysteriously, and seductively at the same time.

On the way home, I felt the last warm notes on my skin-a mix of sweet amber, leathery depth, and a hint of incense. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and knew: This fragrance leaves not only traces in the air but also in memories. Since that evening, Black II Extrait de Parfum has become more than just a scent for me-it is an experience, a statement, a moment of pure intensity that one never forgets.

I still remember the evening when I wore Widian Black IV for the first time. It was a cool autumn evening in a foreign city, somewhere between the shine of modern facades and the narrow, old streets that smelled of history. I had just bought the bottle, drawn in by its heavy, noble glass that almost resembled a work of art.

As I applied the first spray to my skin, something velvety spread immediately: dark, spicy warmth, almost as if someone had opened an old wooden door behind which mysterious stories had been collected for decades. The scent felt like a silent companion, unobtrusive but with a depth that made me pause time and again.

I walked through the city, past cafés where the laughter of young people echoed through the streets, and at the same time felt a strange calm within me. Black IV acted like a shield, as if it were telling me: You don’t need to explain yourself, you are simply here, and that is enough.

Later, in a small bar, as I sipped a glass of red wine, a stranger leaned over to me and quietly asked, “What fragrance is that? It reminds me of travels, of nights under the stars.” We both smiled, and in that moment I knew that this scent was more than just perfume. It was a key to memories that had not yet been experienced.

Since then, I wear Widian Black IV not often, only on evenings when I want to rediscover myself. It is not an everyday scent for me, but a chapter that should not be read too often, so that the magic remains.

Spring had bathed Bellagio in a sea of pastel flowers, and the sun sparkled on the surface of Lake Como. I wandered along the narrow streets, passing small cafés and boutiques, when a gentle, floral-sweet scent caught my attention.

Curiously, I turned into a small shop, its window decorated with golden flacons. There it was: Casamorati Italica. The saleswoman sprayed a little on a scent card, and immediately it felt as if the fragrance was capturing the light breeze from the lake-fresh bergamot, delicate peony, warm vanilla wood.

I stepped outside, the scent card in hand, and took a deep breath. The fragrance merged with the scenery: the gentle waves of the lake, the clattering of boats at the shore, the distant laughter of people in the piazza. Each breath felt like a little piece of Italian joy.

Later, I sat in a café by the water, sipping an espresso and letting Italica linger on my skin. Each drop seemed to extend the moment, making the sun warmer, the colors brighter, the sounds clearer. For a moment, Bellagio was not just a place-it was a feeling, captured in a fragrance.

When I finally bought the bottle and tucked it into my bag, I knew: Every time I wore Italica, I would be back here, feeling the Italian sun on my skin and carrying Lake Como in my heart.

It actually started inconspicuously, with a decision that had long been maturing within me: I no longer wanted to just like or dislike scents, but to truly understand them. So I signed up for a perfume course. From the very first day, it was clear to me: A new world was opening up. We smelled individual raw materials - bergamot, vanilla, leather, patchouli - and suddenly they became building blocks, like words in a language I had never been able to speak properly before.

I remember the feeling when we tried oud for the first time. Dark, mysterious, almost overwhelming - a note that evoked both attraction and respect. Or the moment we smelled saffron: warm, spicy, golden like a sunbeam in a glass. I soaked it all in, curious and with a kind of childlike enthusiasm.

After the course, I felt the need to apply this new knowledge immediately. I didn’t want to buy just any fragrance, but one that reminded me of this journey. So I went to Louis Vuitton, long fascinated by their perfume line, but never before with this awareness.

The boutique was bright and elegant, almost like a gallery. When the consultant placed the bottle of Nouveau Monde in front of me, the moment felt significant. A spray on my wrist, and then it happened: the warm, velvety embrace of cocoa, instantly deep and sensual, like a secret memory of familiar comfort. Yet at the same time, saffron pushed to the forefront, bright, spicy, almost like a reminder of what I had smelled in the course. And underneath, oud. Dark, earthy, serious. Suddenly, it felt as if everything I had learned came together: the top notes that unfold, the base that supports, the heart that connects.

I stood there, and for a moment, I was not just smelling a fragrance. I was smelling my own development, my learning journey, my curiosity. Nouveau Monde was not a coincidence; it was like the answer to the questions I had asked myself in the course.

When I finally bought the bottle, it didn’t feel like I had simply indulged in a perfume. It felt more like a promise. A promise to myself to experience scents more consciously, to not just view them superficially, but to discover stories, feelings, and memories within them.

Since then, I don’t wear Nouveau Monde every day. It is my special companion for moments when I want to remember this journey: the scent of saffron on a test strip, the first deep inhalation of oud, the realization that perfume is more than an accessory - it is a piece of identity.

And every time the warm, dark notes unfold on my skin, I am briefly back in that classroom, surrounded by small bottles and curious gazes. I remember the moment when a passion began.