Duftsucht

Thanks to extraordinary generosity, a few drops of this fragrance came to me. The No 1 Eau de Parfum is in my collection and I like it very much, although I rarely wear it. My expectations of the perfume were correspondingly high: now, for the first time, I feel that I may have found THE fragrance for myself. The one for which I would (perhaps) trade all others.
And I find it very difficult to describe what I like so much about this place. Perhaps it is really quite simple: nothing is missing and nothing is disturbing.
With incredible durability, a delicate presence surrounds me all day long, a translucent sea of flowers, an ethereal touch of vanilla, a soft amber veil. At the beginning a little fresher with a hint of unsweet fruit, in the middle a voluptuous, elegant and feather-light bouquet of flowers, the base a superimposition of transparent scents of wood, vanilla, amber.
There are many fragrances that I wear, some that I love - and this one, which I celebrate and before which I bow inwardly with every application.

I will never own a bottle, but I deeply enjoy the moments of deep, quiet, unagitated joy that these precious drops bring me
And once again, I wished for a small magic flask in which wonderful moments could be stored - to release them again in the situations in which we need them, and to experience them again as we did the first time

Lavender as a fragrance is certainly not for everyone. When used in scented laundry bags or pot pourris, it has something old-fashioned about it - and some people remember their grandparents' bathroom with lavender water always at hand. I don't have these associations, neither did my grandmother - since I am the youngest of a whole series of children and my parents became parents late, I only met one grandparent - use lavender water nor were there scented sachets in our household.
I only knew lavender as a plant - and I loved its smell even as a small child. With my mother I shared a love for fragrant plants and during long walks (which I hated like the plague as a child!) she drove us away with smelling and sometimes tasting everything that was blooming and growing there. Herb gardens were and still are the fragrant heaven for me, monastery gardens also often contain - sometimes old - rose varieties and in combination these are spots of earth from which it is very difficult to move me away again. My husband and my sons can tell you a thing or two about it on trips together, which are unfortunately becoming increasingly rare as the two boys grow up.
Lavender is at the top of my list of plants that I can't walk past without running my fingers along to take the scent with me - and in addition, this very special blue is one of my favourite colours in the garden. And so, at the top of the list of things I would like to do in my life is a visit to Provence when lavender is in bloom.
Until then, I console myself with lavender water and with perfumes that are dominated by lavender. The purer the lavender scent and the closer it gets to the plant, the happier I usually am. And "Lavanda Imperiale" fulfils my longing for it. That's why I find the description under the fragrance as flowery-green also to be fundamentally wrong: it should clearly and without any doubt be flowery-blue!
The beginning is fresh and tart with a touch of citric, but does not stand for itself, but is immediately wrapped in lavender, lavender and even more lavender. The fact that the pyramid contains ylang-ylang and sage astonishes me a little. Because my simple nose would not have smelled one or the other. When I concentrate on it after reading it, I have the feeling that the lavender is perhaps a bit sweeter than in nature - perhaps because of ylang-ylang, the bitter freshness of sage remains completely hidden from me. Lavender itself has a certain kind of astringency, and everything I smell in "Lavanda Imperiale" supports my imagination of what a fully blooming, purple-coloured field of lavender should smell like in the hot summer sun.
And since the lavender in my garden is sprouting freshly, I make another comparison - and am amazed: the scent that sticks to my skin when I gently rub the fresh shoots between my fingers is practically identical to the scent of "Lavanda Imperiale" that has been on my wrist for some time now. I get into a brooding mood, because the description as "green" has its justification again - but for me this is only a purely philosophical question.

"Lavanda Imperiale" I have only worn as a sleep scent so far - and the bottle is already half empty. Now that I'm dealing with it in detail through the commentary, I almost have a guilty conscience, because this fragrance is really lovingly crafted and deserves to be enjoyed during the day as well! For work it would be out of question for me, I simply prefer to wear more complex fragrances. But on a beautiful day like today, when I plan to work a little in my mini-garden, it will now accompany me even when the sun is shining. And I am absolutely sure that I will enjoy it very much!

My fondness for lavender fragrances is no longer a secret. Let's do a quick count: Nine lavender fragrances are currently in my collection - almost exclusively used in the evening, by the way, because I love to fall asleep surrounded by this wonderful aroma. Bucoliques de Provence, on the other hand, I always wear them during the day. Why is that? It's simple: because for me it's everything, but not a lavender scent! Leather scent? Iris scent? Juniper scent? Oh yes, that's it! Lavender? I can only answer that with a very hesitant "yes"
For me, the fragrance begins spicy - and clearly smells of juniper berries and leaves. Green, but not bright, juicy green, but muted, rather grey-green. There is a series of paintings by Paul Cézanne showing the Mont Sainte-Victoire in Provence, I am spontaneously reminded of this colouring.
Immediately the iris is also present, dry-powdery, in fact with a touch of freshly sharpened pencils. Then Bucoliques de Provence develops more and more into an elegant leather scent - and suddenly I think I smell lavender after all. In retrospect, lavender was also present right at the beginning, but confusingly, I only recognize it in my memory when the spicy beginning can only be guessed at.
Leather in fragrances is sometimes a problem for me, but here it's not like a real leather smell, which is often too much or too animalistic for me, but almost as if the idea of leather had only been played with. It's difficult to explain, because Bucoliques de Provence is definitely a natural scent, but nevertheless the individual scents seem like a Chinese drawing: perfect, captured in detail - and in this perfection somehow artificial.
For me it is a relaxed scent, reserved and as a delicate breeze it surrounds me and never pushes itself into the foreground. On fabric, by the way, it is much more present than on the skin and all in all, this wonderful dreamy scent proves to be surprisingly long-lasting.
And so every time I spray Bucoliques de Provence, I am happy that my expectations were disappointed in my search for a lavender scent - and instead I found something unexpected, surprising and new.

You shouldn't even be living with me Actually, I had sworn to myself that only fragrances on my really small wish list would be allowed to enter my perfume drawer. But I don't give a damn about yesterday's talk!
During a wonderfully relaxing visit to my hometown Vienna, which is traditionally always crowned by a little sniff of perfume - I reported elsewhere that it was already getting out of hand - I actually tested "Azemour Les Orangers" rather by chance.
First carefully sprayed onto a strip of fragrance, I was immediately enchanted by the radiant orange and citrus freshness. It's the oily smell that comes from peeling oranges, or even more so when pulling orange and lemon zests. Not the sweeter smell of the juice, but a fresh explosion of bitter-citric-tart, which makes me take a deep breath.
At the moment my lunch consists of yoghurt with fresh fruits. An orange is almost always there and every time I peel an orange, I sniff it on my wrist: Yup, that's exactly how it is, this top note of "Azemour", exactly like the most beautiful, juicy, fresh orange peel! I imagine that I can clearly smell the lemon, which I also appreciate in other fragrances because of its less glistening lemon, which is somehow always a little less pointed than lemon and looks darker and therefore more elegant.
Here is a little excursion to all those who smell cleaning products with orange scent: I can absolutely understand that, but my nose rejoices at "Azemour" and states that this is "the real thing" - as I said: I can't stop comparing the scent of the fresh bowl with the perfume every now and then, that's how fascinated I am by this beginning.
But the brilliant orange tone is only the beginning. Fascinated, I continue to breathe deeply, while a wonderful round of white flowers joins in. Orange blossom without doubt, I would also believe jasmine and a little later rose in addition. The fragrance remains without (artificial) sweetness, but rather gains a slightly peppery, fruity and woody spiciness. A little green is added as if lost in thought and quite naturally and complements the bright picture in the most beautiful way. In the very background I perceive a quiet clean salt note. It seems to be exclusively designed to trigger acute wanderlust in me.

Wanderlust for never seen orange groves, for gardens in the middle of clear desert air, jealously protected by high walls. But every now and then a light breeze from the sea lifts, quietly moves the crowns of the old trees that rise above the wall and gently brings me a gift: the scent of flowers, spices and fruits, the fragrance of Azemour Les Orangers...

Soap deterred me in scents for a long time - until I was enchanted by two completely different scents of two great fragrance houses. No 22 by Chanel with its unmistakable appeal to my nose to the good old curd soap - and Jicky (Extrait) by Guerlain, where also my mother-in-law always sniffs appreciatively, only to ask charmingly: "Did you buy a new lavender soap? "Edwardian Bouquet" opens with an almost sober, soapy statement. Nothing sweet, nothing flowery and light, but a fundamental clean start with classic hyacinth soap and lots of green.
I can almost hear an (elegant) governess saying, "No nonsense, ladies," as she admonishes her young protégés, who fall into a giggling whisper at the sight of two young men. However, the governess is by no means an old scarecrow à la Fräulein Rottenmeyer, but an intelligent, versatile, cultivated and elegant woman.
And "Edwardian Bouquet" is exactly her scent. For the sober start now gives way to a softer floridity, held in check by an abundance of green, which perfectly prevents the sometimes almost penetrating spiciness of the hyacinth from turning the fragrance into a monothematic water. Very early on, the serious, slightly dark base of the fragrance is also mixed in. A little oakmoss, but above all patchouli, which reminds one of the dark earth of a freshly dug flower bed, and sandalwood, which adds a delicate powdery component at the end of the fragrance.
In comparison to the beautiful "Bouquet de la Reine" of the same traditional British fragrance house, "Edwardian Bouquet" is less fruity and light, more austere, sober and spicy at the same time. I really like them both very much, these Floris bouquets - and who knows, maybe in the future this one will find a place where it can bloom!