Esther19

"Mon Parfum" - why the renaming occurred later is unclear to me. For me, it was the other way around. First, in the 90s, it was the beautiful "Paloma Picasso," and only later did it become "Mon Parfum."
I once defined in the forum: Chypres are serious fragrances. And more. More on that later - more.
My favorites are Orientals and powdery scents - and some classic Chypres. I had to approach this fragrance family only about a decade and a half ago. There are days, hard to define, when I reach for the distant, initially somewhat melancholic scents. And these are not at all depressive days! No, perhaps rather special "courage days," when I feel capable, tough. Orientals are more open-hearted, exuberant - one wears a décolletage. Chypres do that too, but with a layer of tulle or lace.
It starts dark, with dark, but not harsh Angelica; coriander pearls have gotten caught in it, now elegantly defiant, bursting open, citrusy coated and sweetened with floral tenderness in contrast. Here, "sweetness" is really defined in a minimalist way; rather, it is a softness that unfolds almost "evolutionarily." A certain "strictness" remains until the end - but it is a very disciplined way of getting to know each other: a distance that decreases, moving towards friendly affection - but let's say it remains a professional distance.
What is contained in the flowers: Jasmine for sure, perhaps a hint of rose. Is patchouli supposed to be included? - If so, then as an invisible insulating material; nothing here is earthy - but it could well be that the interplay is staged, yet does not appear itself. From the very beginning, everything is underlaid with oak moss, a cool bed for the warmer floral accents.
I simply love this classic beauty, which never bores me because it has something unsaid, never fully surrenders to foreign hands. I can't relate to most modern Chypre perfumes or those that claim to be such. The almost quirky "Irisia" is my strictest governess, my beloved "Eau du soir" is also more austere, the "Chypre rouge" by Serge Lutens is already - but it is not one! "Miss Dior" is fresher - Picasso's masterpiece is the most elegant in my possession. Serious - yes. But despite the distinction, charm, warmth, and a certain cleverness also reveal themselves.
Loewenherz has already pointed out the somewhat strange, sculptural bottle. A compulsion from Picasso's daughter? My bottle is oval and completely black. The variant that lets the liquid shine through is, of course, more interesting - and the idea was later imitated.
It has a noticeable but not intrusive sillage, which would also be unworthy.
I categorize it under "Black Souls" - at least a little bit. Not just because of the blackness of the bottle.

An old Tibetan carpet
Your soul, which loves mine
Is intertwined with it in the carpet of Tibet
Ray in ray, colors in love,
Stars that courted each other to the heavens.
Our feet rest on the treasure
Magenta thousand times a thousand wide.
Sweet son of the llama on a throne of musk plants
How long does your mouth kiss mine
And cheek to cheek, colorful woven times already.


This poem by Else Lasker-Schüler fits the fragrance.
I do not own an old Tibetan carpet. However, I admire carpets, masterpieces of knotting art for their splendor of colors. And I do not mean bright colors, but rather the somewhat faded, used, lived examples that astonish with their transitions, tone-on-tone artistry, and their patterns, with ornamental patterns being more to my liking than floral ones. Zigzags, arabesques, meanders.
"" is certainly not faded, God knows, when I want to invoke it at this holy grail. And I cannot avoid flowers either. But that is not a flaw here; on the contrary.
Now, with carpets, it is of course different: First, you have the overall impression, and gradually you discover the details, but always keep the big picture in mind. Olfactory discoveries unfold differently; only during the development do you uncover the details - there is actually no "overall picture," but always just snapshots.
The spices swirl in: coriander, which pushes the clove so that it just pops. Sacred silence is different. Rather, it is the liveliness in American churches with gospel singing that makes the place shake. Above all, it is a jasmine-toned fragrance, not pushed to the extreme like my beloved "," but a bit more powdered, and the combination with orange blossom is very beautiful - without the cloying note found in the new version of "" from the same house. Citrusy notes appear later, creating an appealing contrast without lifting the weight of the fragrance. It is a colossus - but despite all its heaviness, it is not an amorphous shape. A self-assured presence that lingers for many hours, even if it is softened a bit by woods and a hint of vanilla. I cannot identify everything - like in the carpet, there is the merging of threads of different colors and nuances. Magenta thousand times a thousand wide. The fragrance has a kind of imitator in Boucheron's "," which is more straightforward and discreet, but also a bit boring. But even there, a muted jasmine bloom.
I once read: The fragrances from the house of Caron suit furs. Even though wearing them is frowned upon today, the statement is true in that it highlights the exclusive nature.
Actually, the fragrance is far too elegant for me by conventional standards. It is a perfume for grand occasions and ball gowns. However, I am not a pious girl and wear it anyway.

Finally, it is listed, the fragrance that I acquired more than ten years ago in a perfumery in Mainz.
A scent like a four-masted barque, so by no means a small wooden skiff!
Such an imposing ship needs not only wind - it also creates some. The fragrance opens lightly balsamic, for me rather with a hint of citrus than bergamot, but also already wooden beams! Whether tropical or domestic, I do not know,
especially since the rose-jasmine delivery is now becoming revealing. Thank goodness no dripping rose, and the jasmine is tamed and has an almost animalistic note, almost a bit "disreputable," and I like that. As a result, the fragrance does not remain classic, as one might actually suspect according to the scent notes. Even though women were not favored on ships in the past and were said to bring bad luck - there are already a few ladies on board. I also like similar notes in the original version of "Boudoir" and in "Santal blanc" and - much cheekier, indeed downright audacious, in "Musc Kublai Khan" by Serge Lutens. But don't worry, this one is still more elegant, with a very gentle floral sweetness, far removed from sugar or synthetics. No mass-produced or budget blend - perfume art.
The ship is extraordinarily stable. The floral cargo is unloaded only very slowly and carefully, and the wooden beams are bending. The fragrance has incredible longevity and a strength that never comes across as intrusive.
I would have labeled it more woody than floral, even though the flowers play a main supporting role.
My bottle is relatively simple; I gladly did without the rhinestones. But not with the fragrance!

Belle epoque - an exciting time. Would I have liked to live back then? Probably not? (Without the internet and the Parfumo community). But as a voyeur on a time travel, I would love to go, and meet painters and poets, in the Café des Westens in Berlin or in Vienna.
Lavish parties, balls, ladies in their wonderful dresses, first corseted, later in the beautifully flowing Art Nouveau gowns, hats, earrings - and of course fragrances. Dance, flirtation, etiquette.
The perfume bottle underscores these associations, a crystal fan, more Gründerzeit than Art Nouveau, but beautiful.
The scent itself is also perfect, completely harmonious, the scent progression ideal. I can't identify individual fruits, rather a lightly ginger-spiced mousse. I had expected floral notes - but even here: I can't identify a favorite, - and mango? Not at all. Cocoa - not as a fashionable concession, but a wonderful creaminess. Suitable for a dress with a perfect cut, skillful details, a small pattern, and tone on tone.
Knize says he is accused of creating "busty" perfumes. I don't know, I think more of a graceful, beautifully proportioned, but by no means overly curvy young woman, beautiful, but rather very well-mannered and not flirtatious at all. A quick glance as the height of emotions.
Knize has transformed the splendor of that time into a magic with his scent, and perfectly so.
With this, he has only captured one facet. If you scratch even a little at the golden foil of that time,
you quickly recognize the dark side.
We know from the memoirs of Stefan Zweig or the dramas of Schnitzler that there was another side, namely the abysses, rigid moral corsets, and unbridled desire hidden away. Of course, none of this can be felt in this scent. It corresponds more to the women and girls who adhered to the strict moral codes - had to adhere to them, because they knew that violations were rigidly punished.
Belle epoque is neither an inconspicuous nor an overly prominent scent; it has a medium pull - of the finest kind.
Suitable for well-behaved girls and women - or for little devils who want to disguise themselves.
PS: I tested the EdT; I can't make any statements about the EdP, that would be interesting!

I have been somewhat skeptical of mainstream releases for several years now: Too often I have been pricked by a shrill, almost toxic fruit compote note, as if cast in cement. The best thing about many fragrances from this category in recent years has often been the bottles, and they displayed more distinct characteristics than their contents. I didn't expect much, but: Surprise: Delicate and truly featherlight is this fragrance fabric - and very harmonious. I can't quite dissect the top note; I can't manage it, but finally, a fragrance of wonderful softness. It vaguely reminds me of the exceptional "Rumeur," which also convinces with a gentle, very light bitter note, and I think even more of "Addict," which, thanks to its much stronger orchid note, packs a real punch. Here, the exotic is probably half-hidden in the rainforest. The amber is also featherlight; it doesn't push forward but provides warmth, just as silk has a temperature-adjusting ability. I usually favor very expressive fragrances, yet I find this one exceptionally beautiful in its understated way. The tonka bean certainly contributes to this, but overall it is very well balanced. The bottle also fits this theme, picking up on a silk web motif. A very clear shape, wrapped with stripes that resemble threads. I would certainly categorize it as suitable for all generations. It is truly very gentle, yet without any embarrassingly cute frilliness, making it wearable for very young women as well as for more mature ladies who prefer subtlety. Gentlemen, I do not exclude you here, but I suspect it may appeal to you less often. After three hours, it becomes very close to the skin but still lingers longer. Sarah Kirsch's poem begins like this: "I am very gentle, call me chamomile." While it is not included, I find the line perfectly suited for this silky fragrance.