EdithLyri

Well, I actually hate it when people write flowery novels about fragrances.
"A woman in dark velvet boots trudges through the crackling snow, the air freezes, the last squirrels are chattering in the longest night of winter"
Yes, beautiful poetry, great, really great, but I can't relate to it. Everyone has completely different associations with a scent, and I have no idea what someone else's association smells like. I want the fragrance to be described in factual terms. Fresh, powdery, sweet. If you want, even "like curry," "like shampoo products from the 90s," or tangible associative constructs like "lovely," "innocent," "naughty," "sexy." Okay, I can go along with that.
Enter Kenzo Amour.
This is one of the few fragrances that creates images in my mind. Where I see a feeling, a scene vividly illustrated in my inner eye. I'm so sorry, I'm going to become one of those flowery, rambling reviewers now.
I'm so sorry, I can't help it.
A city, perhaps French. A city with cobblestones and sweet, colorful, stucco-decorated houses. Houses from the Baroque period with those mustaches on the facade and round windows. A city on a hill, a city by the sea. A fantasy city like from Miyazaki's "Kiki's Delivery Service," set in a fantasy time reminiscent of the early 20th century. The sunset floods the city with golden-red evening light.
I'm walking with a baguette, and I'm wearing Kenzo Amour. I fit right in.
What does the fragrance do to me? Something resonates there.
The scent is one of those guilty pleasures I've come to know throughout my Parfumo career. Fragrances that I find perfectly composed, but that only resonate with a very specific facet of my being, only with a small niche characteristic. Ones I would never reach for in everyday life, as they don't fully represent me, and I usually feel other traits much more strongly. They are more for those very special moments, the little moments when I am completely by myself.
What does this fragrance resonate with? Definitely more with my feminine side, perhaps with my romantic side? It also has a carefree quality and isn't afraid to show its beauty. Yes, Kenzo Amour openly and unabashedly celebrates beauty. And being beautiful is something I often boycott. Who am I supposed to be beautiful for? Doesn't it matter more what’s in my head and my character? What a waste of time to put on makeup, and how bad it is for the skin, and how fucking annoying is mascara. Besides, if I suddenly show up at work ultra glam, sparkling with perfect contouring and drawn-on freckles - with my tomboy image - I really have no desire for the thoughts of those around me. Or the comments.
Some people can do that, be themselves, loud and contradictory.
I’m not there yet. Maybe some day.
And sometimes I just want to be beautiful and dream of the romantic coastal town in the evening sun. Sometimes we just want to be beautiful, and that’s okay.
Man, I’ve rambled on despite my better intentions. So how does it smell? It smells powdery of that aroma that perfumers and the food industry have agreed to call "cherry blossom." So, powdery cherry blossom. And a lot of heliotrope, creamy, plant-based vanilla. Frankincense cools the scent a bit, but it’s more of a mood enhancer than something you can actually smell. And this fragrance is just incredibly well composed. Clean, but not too much like shampoo. Warm, creamy with rice notes, but not gourmand. Just exactly what you’re looking for when you want a perfume that makes you smell "beautiful."

Fascinating green fig!
Creamy captured moment!
A spring day from a Jane Austen novel.
It is received.
The tables are abundantly adorned with flowers.
The world is May green and pastel yellow,
Impressionistically dotted.
The girl looks around.
It smells like nothing she knows.
So natural and at the same time the absolute opposite of that.
A scent that has not been fully composed.
The formula stolen from the perfumer's desk.
Just an idea, a working note,
Fig, with skin, still green,
Freshly picked,
Dipped in milk.
"What a strange idea," the perfumer must have thought as well.
Some reviews describe the scent as "sour," "discordant."
But I somehow love it.
I often like such weird scents.
That's why I have a perfume collection "for Android."
It fits right in.
Milky white body lotion.
Not much development happens.
Fig scent
Spring day
Fantasy image of the novella

I didn't expect that... I must admit, I actually like it. Despite the tuberose, despite the 80s. It contains ingredients I hate: the aforementioned tuberose, civet, and opoponax. Reading the fragrance pyramid gives me the feeling that "nothing fits together at the front and back!"
In Vanderbilt, I recognize a continuation of the aldehyde fragrances from the first half of the 20th century, that ethereal "soapy" quality. It makes me think spontaneously of all the shower gel scents that are so prevalent today, especially in the men's section. Is this perhaps how aldehydic fragrances were perceived back then? Sporty, clean, polished? Effectively, we still carry the note of "I just washed myself and still smell like the washing substance," just a little differently, just as our washing preferences have changed.
Vanderbilt is no longer as cuddly, as soft as the aldehyde fragrances before it (that I have experienced), but has a much more austere structure. The soap is now pure white, it lightly has a washing powder quality, but only a little, because above it seem to be white flowers with a brightness that stands out.
Oh, you tuberose, how you can captivate someone, whether one likes you or not.
I expected an 80s oriental bomb that creaks and screams loudly, but Vanderbilt is not that.
Somehow it is very delicate - like a stained glass window through which the light splits into rainbow colors. It is a warm light, a morning light that carries in powdery ylang aromas, gently supported by vanilla, cinnamon, and sandalwood.
Yes, morning light. That’s how the fragrance feels to me. A distilled morning light in a fragrance. A yellow scent that welcomes the new day.
The scent of a self-assured woman who is not just "X's wife" and will never be that. The tuberose is a clear statement! At the same time, the wearer of Vanderbilt has a sensual side - she is not a power woman who only allows herself to wear pantsuits to appear powerful & masculine. No, no, she is in touch with her femininity and is not afraid to be herself. She is in balance, and from that, she draws her strength.

It is late summer. A strange summer. It is damp and chilly, English autumn weather. I grip my coffee cup a bit tighter as I stare out into the clouds. An unfathomable obsession has taken hold of me.
I must find it, I suddenly realize, the perfect vanilla powder scent.

But let me explain.
A series of coincidences has led me to this.

A fateful swap in the swap and giveaway thread. I trade my Rose Essentielle Eau de Parfum blind for "Le Parfum Poudré | T. LeClerc". It’s a bullseye. Exactly the scent direction I have longed for without even knowing it.
On my way to work, I stop by the perfumery that lies along the route. I randomly focus on the brand Etro, spray Heliotrope Eau de Toilette on, and think little of it.
I order a few samples blindly, By Night (White) and Le Parfum.
A sample of Shalimar Philtre de Parfum, which unfortunately gives me a headache due to its lemony top note, I place in my souk. I receive a trade offer for 6 samples from my wishlist. Pure eVe - Just Pure is one of them.

I test my way through. Something is striking. I arrange my samples and twirl my nonexistent mustache, my gaze fixed on the innocently looking plastic atomizers. "You share a pattern," I say to them. They show no reaction. "You all come from the same fragrance genre."

Is it the power of providence? Perhaps this is my mission, to find the one among you who does it best.
To connect the white hair powder with creamy soft-serve vanilla.

I get to work and fill my notebook to the brim. I empty one tea cup after another, not realizing how much caffeine I am consuming. My eyes grow increasingly glassy. Lines stretch across the pages, question marks ??? Heliotrope, Mimosa? ALDEHYDE ----

Suddenly, I wake from my stupor. I have no idea how much time has passed. It could be weeks or even years. I grab my notebook and stare at the scribbles in confusion. Enough now. I struggle to my feet and wash my face. With renewed energy, I sit down at the desk and try to bring order to the chaos.

THE REPORT

8.0 * By Night (White)
Baby cream. Initially striking lemon note, creates a slight laundry powder association in connection with the powder. Heliotrope clearly recognizable. Many notes. Too much confusion. Not closely related to the other scents.

9* Heliotrope Eau de Toilette
Very dense vanilla flower, the dustiest of all. Association with powdery butterfly wings, dense in lilac. Also the most gourmand of all with an almond macaron note. Opulent vanilla resins, tolu balsam, Peru balsam. For the grand entrance, in evening dress for the ballet.

The last three are for me just different nuances of the essentially same scent, and which one is the best is purely based on subjective preferences. All three are beautiful. If you own one of the scents, you don’t need the others as well.

8.5* "Le Parfum Poudré | T. LeClerc" or now Le Parfum Poudré - Eau de Parfum Iris Blanc
Childhood association. Creamy-powdery-vanilla. Baby cream from the 90s (Mimosa???). Creamy through fig milk, but no fig discernible, body lotion. Very strong. Very slight laundry powder hint, but only at first. Drydown vanilla powder. Sleep scent.

9* Le Parfum
Clearly also a cream scent. The almond is new in this scheme. Creates a marzipan touch. Powdery flowers (heliotrope, freesia, no mimosa), white, pure. No laundry powder. Very soft, very intimate, very quickly skin-close. Remains slightly nutty. Finish vanilla powdery. Very similar to Le Parfum Poudré, differences only in nuances (marzipan-like).

9* Pure eVe - Just Pure
Incredibly great aldehyde start. An almost ethereal purity. Talcum dusting flax flower, once again mimosa. Soothing, body lotion, creamy. Despite the lack of vanilla, vanilla-like notes. I think of the starchy smell of high-starch vanilla pudding powder. Very similar to Le Parfum Poudré and Le Parfum (Aubade), but even creamier and straighter. Less playful, almost android.

The scents fascinate me.
They are everything at once. Childlike, yet very adult. Very feminine, yet very unisex, cannot be placed within gender norms. Very noble, yet still carnival stand soft-serve vanilla.
In Pure Eve, I have found my favorite. This is how I want to smell, I think. With a satisfied smile, I close my notebook and now present my findings to the world.

As is common with tea scents, Tea Escape starts with bergamot and mint. This is very refreshing, juicy, very cheerful, and you can't go wrong with it.
Flowers underscore the whole thing with floral sweetness, specifically jasmine and osmanthus here.

This is very clever, and it certainly impresses my tea seller's heart. Because jasmine is a very traditional tea flower; it was actually the first flower used in China to naturally flavor green tea. The jasmine flowers are picked and dried, then mixed with the tea leaves and left to infuse their scent into the tea. Afterward, the jasmine flowers are sifted out. Fun fact: unlike jasmine tea intended for the European market, it is considered a flaw in China if any flowers are still visible in the tea. We Germans, however, like colorful splashes, so the flowers are often not sifted out. Osmanthus has also been used as a tea flavoring flower for a very long time - even though this variation is less known here. Using osmanthus is even doubly clever because its naturally apricot-like honey scent perfectly emphasizes the powdery peachiness that is characteristic of green tea.

That being said,
I unfortunately do not smell the green tea.
I have no doubt that it is there, but it is overshadowed by all the aroma.

The scent wants a lot; it simply cannot decide.
Is it a Chinese jasmine tea?
Is it a Gui Ha Sweet Osmanthus?
Is it a green Earl Grey?
Is it a Moroccan mint tea?
All I ultimately smell is a floral-fruity summer perfume, and the emphasis is on 'perfume'. Because tea is usually flavored EITHER with jasmine OR with osmanthus OR with bergamot OR with mint, but not with everything together. And milk does not really fit the scent profile of the zesty-fresh bergamot and only partially with the flowers.

The milk would have been great if the tea had been allowed to shine as a single note. Or if a more suitable aroma had been chosen, something more in the gourmand direction. For example, Green Tea Vanilla with milk or Green Tea Caramel with milk or Green Tea Walnut with milk.

It still smells delicious. The puffed rice brings an exciting, slightly roasted note. And once again, I must say, very clever! This reminds me of teas like Genmaicha Tokiwa, a green tea with roasted rice and roasted corn (essentially popcorn), which is popular in Japan. However, Genmaicha has a completely different flavor profile, grainy-roasted, as you can surely imagine. The milk would have paired well with that too.

All the individual notes make total sense for a tea scent! So someone has indeed sat down and thought a lot about it. But all the notes together come across as a scent that feels arbitrary, which is really a shame. It does smell good, but it could just as well be a fruity floral from Escada.