IamCraving

In a small, fine perfumery in Berlin I was pushed into the grass.
The thrust was a pleasure, a bounce in the belly, a listening before the moment of the fall, before nature was very close. In an often monotonous landscape you like to stumble, that helps you to new perspectives. Everything that breaks the old, the transparent, astonishes and astonishes, causes movement, touch and friction, I perceive as a blessing, an impulse and a preliminary step to art.
L'Amandière has done all this, first it has torn me out of my lethargy and thrown me to the ground. Then it outraged me, excited me. Then I had to laugh, and finally I was very touched by what was lying on my arm.
The tripping and happy, free feeling of falling came from the round, stunning scent composition that bombards the opening of L'Amandière. The ball starts with a punch line, which is expected much later with most perfumes. An abundance of green, blooming nature that seems to jump out of a cool clearing behind an almond tree and frighten the lucky fragrant. So much juiciness without blurred outlines, with on the contrary downright uplifting clarity, I am surprised, excited, puzzled, slipped. The indignation came after the fall. There I was, smelling the causer a second time. It shot me in the head again and I couldn't believe what had changed so suddenly. It was as if I inhaled a plate-sized lake of cold-pressed, gold-green olive oil. Nothing else I could perceive in this second and the smoothness of this familiar, intense fragrance, if I had stood upright, would have made me feel gravity a second time. I was also talking about the absurdity of the expensive olive oil that was suddenly there. Then I understood the humour of my counterpart, whose greenish-gourman-like facet, cheering for the successful fright, slowly disappeared into the forest again and made room for a new unexpected visitor. He had surrounded me the whole time, but I hadn't smelled the meadow from all the blades of grass. Freshly crocheted, bleeding deep green, the heavenly smell of the grass poured itself into the moment and gave me (who not?!) a wonderfully aching nostalgia. In the background the almond and lime trees sweetened our mutual recognition, perfect harmony prevailed on the quiet meadow.

Just as with films, books, food, places and much more that tends to trigger strong feelings, it is not always the best idea, with regard to fragrances that are close to one's heart, to get the opinions of the anonymous masses, who comment, criticize and in the worst case despise them without regard to sentimentality and knowledge about them. Illusions are often broken like falling mirror glass, magic is stolen and tender things are desecrated. Sometimes, however, the attachment to the beloved object is intensified and it becomes a jewel worth protecting.

Light blue is my first big fragrance love. A few years ago, 16, in search of many things, the windy spring of Avignon welcomed me to a six-month cultural exchange. My silky mass of identity blew in many ways in the mistral, longed for, was full of gaps. I unexpectedly found a splinter of identity in a large, hectic perfumery near the Pope's Palace as I strolled through the narrow streets one afternoon. I hadn't tested much yet, at that time I already felt overwhelmed whether this sea was full of scents and possibilities, olfactory worlds and stories. Light blue was very fine and seemed to be magnetically attracted to my wrist.
A wave of unspoilt cool rain air, a fiery sting of latent pertiness and cheeky wit, an inkling of smouldering, lusciously cracking logs of wood, the scent of wet skin and an unsweetened lemonade touched me as familiarly as an old friend, whose shared childhood adventures still rave in my memory as vividly as if I were still hunting through high meadows and sandy dunes at the moment.

Since that time in the most sensual country in the world, I have been carrying Light Blue piggyback through life, we laugh a lot, suffer together, are one. Also my experiences with the staying power of my old, new friend are only good. Never obtrusive, he does not abandon you and remains as an affirmative silhouette for a long time in the vicinity.

This was quite an experience-based review, but I think Light Blue is much more than just a thin water for undemanding perfumers beyond my sentimental affection and hope that not only I can take a varied, intimate journey with this special Odeur