Fran

That was my first thought: 1 A body lotion. Or fancy face cream. Or nice hand cream. In any case, thick, rich white cream.
Clean, pure, floral, well-groomed, rich, enveloping, protective, radiant.
For me: no overt floral scent. Definitely not old-fashioned. I am amazed: something this clean from Miss von Teese? No burlesque in sight, instead a white, fresh, gentle purity, with a few delicate flowers floating here and there. But far from a bouquet. Or rather, if it is a bouquet, then each individual flower is drenched in this white cream. The lily is un-lily-like, the lilac barely recognizable, and the iris only contributes to these fresh-white-creamy moments instead of the usual powdery notes.
The impact is surprisingly strong: Madison Soirée is an equal volume reference, while I found the Bond far too soapy and strict. FleurTeese, on the other hand, is much softer and smoother, yet still boasts excellent longevity and sillage.
A creamy gem for the super slim wallet. And of course, for the clean animal list.

Dear Bee is absolutely right: who even knows what pure soap smells like today? Everything is scented and perfumed, and yogurt-multivitamin comes from the soap dispenser. I am still a loyal fan of solid soap and prefer classic soapy fragrance directions without much fuss.

And here, Pure Soap by Demeter is undoubtedly the model athlete among soap scents, the benchmark of soapiness. There is nothing else in here but pure soap. Clean, pure, white, cool, fresh. Nothing distracts: no flowers, no musk, no aromas - no complexity, no softness, no tension.

Instead, full concentration on straightforward calmness. Yet it is self-assured: Pure Soap does not start quietly, in fact, it’s quite piercing. The soapy freshness tingles in the nose. While it does soften a bit over time, the pure soap character always remains intact; there’s no gentleness or powderiness here.

Pure Soap somewhat reminds me of Clean, another immediate clean scent. However, the Demeter soap goes a step further: it is not just clean, but pure.

Naturally green, of course. The green is richly herbal, pleasantly grassy (I mean: not harshly grassy, but softly grassy), with a hint of bitterness (like the juice that drips from the stem when you tug at it). Very natural, very outdoors, very meadow, very rabbit food (bunny, please hop over!).

But dandelion wouldn't be dandelion if it only consisted of the green stem and the jagged lance-shaped leaves. Dandelion also has the fluffy yellow flower on top. And they thought of that when they mixed their analog dandelion at Demeter. Because alongside all the super-plant-like greenness, there's also a lot of flower involved. Flower without a specific scent direction, somehow like marigold, which for me always just smells like "flower" - a bit bitter, a bit soapy, a bit dull, a bit fragrant.

The herbal green freshness and the yellow fluffy flower create a slightly bitter-sparkling "natural scent" (from the chemistry lab *clears throat*), which isn't so offbeat after all, as it does come with a few fluffy-soft dandelions.

My first conscious encounter with a dragon fruit was a few years ago in Beijing. A balmy summer night in the Houhai nightlife district, a terrace table at the popular Hakka restaurant, and a very lively group of guests. After a fantastic dinner, as always very spicy, very flavorful, and very delicious, we craved something sweet. Now, Chinese cuisine is known for many great things, but not for a particular dessert culture. A Chinese meal typically ends with hot soup or, if one is still not full, with rice. Desserts as a conclusion to the menu are practically non-existent in classic Chinese cuisine.
But one can still ask. So we inquired with the server about a dessert recommendation. The conversation went as expected, unsuccessful, as she had nothing to recommend (why do foreigners want something sweet...?). But we don’t give up that easily. We asked for the menu; maybe we would find something nice there after all. Chinese menus are often equipped with pictures of the dishes, what a wonderful invention, it usually goes faster than the tedious deciphering of the characters.
And boom, we had already found the perfect dish: a brightly raspberry-red fruit with juicy white flesh and funny black dots was smiling at us. The hollowed-out half was also filled with a variety of colorful ingredients, cut into cubes and strips - perfect! A juicy, cool exotic fruit salad was just what we needed after this lavish dinner.
We ordered and were surprised when the server noted that it would take a bit longer. No matter, new round of beer, continue chatting, and wait for the extremely appetizing dragon fruit.
It arrived after what felt like an eternity - and was steaming. It was hot, hearty, and substantial. And turned out to be a cooked ingredient for a special seafood dish. The funny pieces were various seafood with spring onions and other vegetables. Everything was cooked extremely flavor-neutral and completely inappropriate: we wanted sweet, fresh, and cool, and we got hearty, cooked, and steaming. And we had no appetite for this certainly very elaborate and special dish. We poked around a bit, but unfortunately, most of it remained untouched.

I was totally perplexed at the time that the dragon fruit, which looked so exotic and fruity, tasted like nothing at all. I had expected something lychee-like, juicy and sweet. But this quirky cactus fruit loses its aroma when heated. Great.

And now the Demeter scent rolls my way, and I am once again astonished: for now the dragon fruit smells exactly as I imagined it back then when I saw the picture on the menu: intensely fruity, with a sweetish acidity, exotic. A bit like passion fruit, but still a little different. A bit squeaky, candy-like, intense. All while being completely without sillage, longevity, and sophistication. Just like a concentrated mixed bag of Campino candies. The olfactory color would be a creamy yellow, as there is more sour than sweet in it.

It's time for me to try dragon fruit in its natural state. Maybe it actually tastes good.

Let me say this right away: For leather fetishists, Calypso is nothing. No leather whip cracks, the tanning process is on a break today.

While the well-known leather powerhouses from the house of Piguet are my olfactory knockout, everything is different here. The leather in Calypso is delicate, buttery soft, super fine, and highly noble. It has to be, because with anything that smells even slightly stronger of leather, I take to my heels. Citizen Queen is my leather maximum (I know, now the hardcore leather fans are laughing). But Citizen Queen is also a good reference otherwise: through the iris, both fragrances acquire a powdery-creamy quality, with Citizen Queen shining more rosy, while Calypso warms fruitier.

Calypso (please forget any Caribbean associations immediately), this softly and delicately whispered fruit-iris-noble leather fragrance dream, is a velvety skin scent that quietly and unexcitedly reveals its special features. It is close to the body, cozy, elegant, and neither cloying nor modern, but rather timeless. The composition follows no trend, and that is its strength.

All facets are perfectly polished: the fruit is only minimally sweet, its perception is almost more optical-haptic-sensory: dark orange soft firm velvet. The iris provides a powdery creaminess that gives the fruit velvet a peach skin quality. The leather, this tiny hint of animality, enhances the skin scent character, giving it something intimate and sensual.

Calypso is not an overtly perfumed fragrance, and I appreciate such scents very much. Fragrances that are not primarily intended to make a strong perfumed impression or to convey a sharply defined specific scent accord. Rather, fragrances that merge with the skin, almost seeming to emerge from it, as if it were a wonderful body scent that acts like an aura enhancer and quietly yet distinctly fulfills its olfactory mission.

Warm sweet velvet skin to spray on.