Blanche

There are fragrances that transport you back to a specific moment in your life. You are there again, at that place, which, in connection with the entire experience, has created a memory that you will never forget, because you soaked up every second back then and internalized it with the awareness: This is a unique moment in my life! “Vacances Liquide” is (at first sniff) such a moment, the moment when I got to experience the absolutely perfect beach.

“Vacances Liquide” strongly reminds me of the scent of lemongrass. Fresh, green, woody, and juicy-dry at the same time. The sweetness of coconut comes through just a little, but the first thought remains lemongrass. I can only hear the saltwater rustling from afar; I can't really smell it. When I sniff this fragrance, I remember the highlight of my trip to Vietnam, a beach on Phu Quoc. Many islands have the natural conditions for a classic paradise, but very few can still offer its essence, solitude: I feel the fine-grained sand between my toes, no human soul (tourists) in sight except for three small children in school uniforms, who watch us with critical eyes before quickly seeking the distance. No house in sight, no stone in the water, no fish, no jellyfish, nothing at all, just clear saltwater, a clear sky, and bright sunshine. A glance to the left, nothing, a glance to the right, nothing, just the gentle swaying of the palm fronds in the background. They say there are moments when you are overwhelmed by the beauty of nature; that was such a moment (kitschily, you can now also imagine Moby's “Porcelain” from “The Beach”).

“Vacances Liquide” conveys an island feeling, but unfortunately, the scent is not as beautiful and breathtaking as bathing on a nameless beach. From my perspective, it remains somewhat one-dimensional and has no scent development. From beginning to end: lemongrass paired with the sweetness of coconut and a (very) little vanilla. However, the coconut not only adds sweetness to the fragrance but also a slight nuttiness that immediately caught my attention without any knowledge of fragrance notes. The nuttiness combined with the grassiness is indeed an exciting, previously unexperienced combination, but I still can't detach the scent from Asian food (lemongrass!!). What remains is the desire to eat or travel, rather than to spray myself with “Vacances Liquide” - just for the sake of the scent. The liquid memory that the brand name promised has definitely been activated, but it also carries the risk of evoking 100%-images that a 50%-scent simply cannot keep up with.

Anyone who knows my taste in perfume a little will guess what comes out when I test Sycomore: Nothing good! It is inevitable that in order to describe the scent somewhat, I will split my commentary into two phases, an emotional and a rational description. For the latter, it is essential that I first get rid of my feelings (I apologize in advance to all lovers, I will make it up in part 2, I promise!).

Phase 1: The Emotional Outburst
My first test round shook me. My God, I thought, how awful is this scent! Despite all the rejection, it is astonishing how creatively Sycomore made me in my word creation. Words like corpse caresser or pliers scent came to mind, and I am actually rarely that mean. I also thought: Which woman would want to wear this? Every cliché box that opened up for me had to be closed again immediately. And upon further consideration, no woman came to mind who could find pleasure in it. This is not a women's fragrance; it is at least unisex, although - I thought - I wouldn't even want to smell it on a man. This is not unisex; this is not sex at all, it is clearly an IT. Test rounds No. 2 and 3 were not as mean, but they solidified my feeling: Sycomore and Blanche: Never!

Phase 2: Attempt at an Objective Description and Exploration
In trying to be fair and not demonize the scent, two explanatory approaches present themselves: (a) if you read the notes, Sycomore reflects something like my anti-fragrance direction (b) it is also partly an expression that deep down I am a bit of a mainstreamer.
(a) Sycomore is, in a delicate (!) way, very bitter. The dry woodiness and the cool aura are very present. And the most important thing: Vetiver, a lot of Vetiver! I do not smell the pepper. In my opinion, Sycomore can easily and appropriately be declared unisex. Visually, Sycomore appears to me as a rough, whipping wind at the coast, paired with the dull sounds of waves crashing violently against the rocks. It pulls, hisses, and lashes, you squint your eyes, yet the wind still brings a few tears, you shiver a bit and would prefer to cover your ears. But still: You stand there, fascinated by the sight!
(b) The beauty of Sycomore is that it makes it easy to have an opinion about it, and this also helps to better understand one's own taste in fragrance. I do not like it because I feel comfortable in many feminine fragrance drawers - admittedly - whether sexy/sinful/seductive/lovely/sweet/sassy, all associations that I like to evoke in myself. However, Sycomore is a scent that has no interest in bringing out a typically - not even an atypically (!) - feminine side of the wearer. It cannot be summarized with just one image of a woman because it is truly too complex for that. I perceive the bitterness and the harshness in Sycomore as something neutral, a neutral, non-judgmental femininity! Sycomore is also not a mood or seasonal scent; the wearer imbues it with the meaning she assigns to it. In the search for new fragrances, we are always looking for the ultimate distinction. That one scent that is simply different from all the others. Sycomore is such an ultimate distinction! As far as my taste in fragrance is concerned, I am much less individualistic than I secretly wish to be, but at the same time, I also know: In matters of fragrance, what pleases is always and at any time allowed! It is about what pleases and not about what!

I give 40% for the courage to have created this scent and not to declare it unisex. I can recommend a Sycomore test to any woman (and also man) who has grown tired of all the copies of copies of copies of copies according to the idea of a typical woman. If you prefer to be the rock in the surf and not the sexy wave. You will only love the scent if you are not looking for a typical women's fragrance, but are willing to take a different, unknown path for the ultimate distinction to perhaps find pleasure in the rough, harsh, bitter Sycomore symphony.

What one discovers while coming up with a fancy comment title. For example, that miel (honey) spelled backwards is Leim (glue), which fits quite fantastically with Ouris, whose sweetness is so thick, sticky, syrupy, and thread-pulling that it could not be better described than with glue. But let's start from the beginning.

The first spritz of Ouris makes me rave; I think of nail polish names like "Orange Fizz": It is sweet, yet still zesty. To me, it is very orangey, mandarin-like (even though it's not included), and the peach is there too! But after just a few minutes, my enthusiasm is dampened by the incredible honey-nutty notes paired with a strong vanilla note. The fizzy fruits now have almost no chance; they have been glued together: A large vat of honey and vanilla has put an end to the fizzy fun. I can't perceive any woods, and there's no trace of jasmine either. Ouris is a little vandal vanilla, having fun with its honey buddy destroying the fruity and floral notes. Fortunately, the peach note manages to retain a little bit of "fizz" in Ouris beyond the top note.

All in all, it is a good fragrance; it has excellent longevity, and even though it is too honey-sweet for my taste (and unfortunately overshadows the juicy peach too much): It is not a run-of-the-mill perfume, but a well-made gourmand, perfectly crafted for all the Winnie Poohs among us!

What a wonderful butt
standing next to a counter
and the guy who’s attached to that butt
just turned around to me
And I smile at him, oh great, I’ll take him home with me
and then I lean back and let the man make the first move
I feel so good because I’m a girl, because I’m a girl

Come on over, man, and sit down with me
because I’m a girl, because I’m a girl
no arguments, man, because I’m going to win anyway, because I’m a girl

And the butt buys me lots of nice things
and then he invites me to dinner
of course, I’ll let myself be kissed even without cash
but if he thinks it has to be that way, I won’t say no
I’m so glad that I’m a girl, that I’m a girl

Come on over, man, and sit down with me
because I’m a girl, because I’m a girl
no arguments, man, because I’m going to win anyway, because I’m a girl

And after dinner, we’ll go have coffee at his place
and the sweat is on his face
whether he’s the biggest, who can last the longest of them all
tonight really holds what he promises
I feel so good because I’m a girl, because I’m a girl

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The scent is already so wonderfully described, so I allowed myself this little lyrical outburst. Why? Because the song embodies exactly the carefree, cheeky, and playful spirit that makes me wear Miss Dior Chérie on days when I just want to be a "girl"!

This is my first blind buy that hits me like a bomb. My God, do I find this scent good! And much of what Nas2000 found disturbing about the fragrance, I find outstanding :)! Cologne Blanche excites me especially because it has elegantly implemented two things that seemed impossible to me until now: the combinations of fresh & creamy as well as citrusy & sweet.

Cologne Blanche is a lightly sweetened lemon cream (or, more abstractly, a summery, finely tingling breeze). It is not a foam, which would be too airy-light, nor a mousse, which would be too heavy and cloying. On this cream, the color of a lemon butterfly, there is a thin layer of powdered sugar and as a top, a lattice of caramelized almond shards. I find the combination of the citrus notes (bergamot, orange) with the sweet notes (almond) incredibly well done. I believe the final touch that makes this scent so special in my nose comes from the rosemary and woods. They ground the fragrance and skillfully balance the tightrope walk between citrus-fresh and powdery-sweet. After a while, the sweet powdery hint fades, and bergamot, woods, and orange blossoms delight me in harmony. I must emphasize it again: the scent is so excitingly ambivalent in an exceedingly subtle way (after all, it is a cologne and not an oriental), yet one never gets the feeling of imbalance.

Cologne Blanche is definitely unisex (as declared by the manufacturer), but you cannot deny its feminine touch due to the strong powdery note. I don't do this often because I want it to mean something and have significance. I have only done it 8 times so far. And a fresh scent has never received 100% from me until now. Cologne Blanche makes my percentage gauge tremble as it moves to the right: it smells great, it smells new, it smells like an impossibility! In my eyes, this unisex fragrance deserves nothing less than a solid 100%!!