Fefaminz

There used to be these jokes (yes, in my youth a longtime-ago) where Radio Eriwan answered all questions with "in principle yes, but...." That describes Salvia for me.

Is Salvia a delightful, gentle herbal scent? Yes, but now and then a citrus note reminiscent of toilet cleaner emerges, tearing apart this beautiful herbal veil.

When I see Salvia in colors, it presents itself as a delicate green, transparent veil of subtle meadow herbs, sweet, fresh, held in suspension by the slightly bitter mate note. This gossamer organza scarf with its pale blue-violet edges flutters softly in the wind; one wants to wrap oneself in it and dance fairy-like across the meadow -

and then, completely unexpectedly, someone splashes yellow citric acid spots on it with poster paint! At some point, these ugly spots disappear again, the beautiful veil flutters back - snap, the citrus spots are back. This entire interplay lasts for a good 5/6 hours for me, although this is probably only perceived by my nose, as the sillage is very close to the skin.

So back to Radio Eriwan: "Would Salvia be a scent you would wear? - In principle yes, but only without the toilet cleaner!"

Can anyone still remember the scene in the movie "Perfume" where something is wrapped in wax and fat to preserve its scent? Well, I think that was attempted to be "scented" here.

Tilia starts off furiously with beeswax, linden blossom honey, and a whole avenue of linden blossoms that give it their all just before fading on a hot summer evening. Sweet, sultry, breathtaking.

Top note? What top note? I didn't get any top note at all.

I walk along this avenue; in the gardens next door, the other flowers mentioned in the fragrance pyramid may have been found, but the beeswax and the linden blossoms preserved in it cover everything and everyone! After a relaxed 8/9 hours, thankfully only a memory of a walk under the linden trees remains; I have fortunately repressed the struggle through the wax, and the honey has indeed masked the Tonka-amber base that I don't appreciate so much.

Why didn't I think of Turandot's esteemed advice with the feather and the spraying and distributing beforehand?!

...for every occasion, in any weather, and at any time.

Yep, you get such a cup with Thé Pour un Été. Well, not the creamy cloud-like East Frisian or the strong Assam, nor the bitter Matcha or the herbal green tea, certainly not the cooling hot-sweet peppermint served in the desert - more like a lukewarm, aspartame-sweetened, thin Earl Grey, in which a jasmine tea had previously swum in the pot. And this cup is sipped casually, a barely noticeable hint of osmanthus wafts over from the neighboring property.

There’s nothing loud or garish, it doesn’t irritate, it doesn’t stimulate, but it doesn’t annoy either. Cultivated boredom that can sometimes be so soothing. Well, that’s what this summer tea is for me.

It’s not loud or floral, yet sweet and persistent, lasting easily 6-7 hours for me without changing too much. It stays quite close to the skin but is still perceptible to my seat neighbor in the conference.

....sang back then some German chanson with a stage-worthy orange-red mane and raved about "stature and strength" while expressing his awakened passion. Yep, I believe he must have worn a fragrance like this.

This time, I actually read the fragrance pyramid beforehand and was looking forward to some nice fruits due to the heat outside. But either they melted in the sun beforehand or hid from me in the shade; in any case, there were none to be seen, uh, smelled.

For me, Cretus started off very masculine and robust, lumberjack-style, with a lot of birch, decent incense, and a minimal hint of earthy patchouli. I see the burly man in a flashy lumberjack shirt and sturdy footwear walking right in front of me, freshly shaven, the cologne just splashed on, wood shavings still in his beard - and this cliché man definitely doesn’t have a jasmine blossom with him!

Of course, our friend showered before our meeting, so in the base, the clean musk prevents the oak moss from awakening too much passion. A hint of vanilla and amber at the end evokes the image of a fluffy Norwegian sweater that our friend drapes around the shoulders of his shivering date before disappearing into the woods with his Unimog.

Yes, yes, the association monster struck again and rummaged through the very last clichés from the mothballs - but hey, why not?! Why shouldn’t the city man of today indulge in his dreams and transform into Thor for 7 or 8 hours - at least in terms of scent?!

Phew, what is being thrown at me here in terms of artificial flowers (yes, I know, it was the nose that just detected your.....oh, I'm digressing), even makes a flower lover like me graciously decline the hefty bouquet!

Tel Aviv starts off furiously with everything that is floral in the Western fragrance organ. And to ensure that the last beloved one realizes that the flower-giver is not skimping on the size of the bouquet, the whole ensemble has been pimped up with plenty of plastic flowers seemingly of tropical origin.

Bravely, as I am, my husband has already ushered me out of the living room, I resist the impulse to completely wash off my arm and am rewarded after about 2 hours with a beautiful floral scent that I actually like very much and that astonishingly lasts a full 6 hours.

Well, now I am looking for a replacement arm for the first few hours; after that, I could take over again.