KingLui

A new iris fragrance from the creator of "III-I L'Attesa" must be good. It can't be otherwise, right?

As always, when you have high hopes, when you imagine something completely new, something never smelled before, from the combination of iris and lemon leaf, when you believe that lemon leaf would create an interesting, unsweetened greenness while holding back on the lemoniness, when you envision this together with the iris as irresistible, when the common subconscious simply ignores the words "amber" and "vanilla" in the fragrance notes, when you convince yourself: "Where iris is mentioned, happiness must be inside," you end up falling flat on your - quite literal - nose.

I find The Iris Way good, no more and no less. Since my inflated expectations are my fault, I would say a pleasant gourmand fragrance has been created here. It smells of iris, briefly citrusy, very vanilla-sweet, a bit like black tea and glazed pastries.

The perfume leaves me and my dormant interest in fragrances with good hopes for the rest of the Discovery Set.

Shock, horror, heart in my pants, oh no, oh no: I ordered the complete Zoologist Sample Set instead of individual samples because that was the only option where I could get the koala sample. And now it’s not even included or what?! Oh wait, there it is. It's sorted alphabetically. Oops.

I am quite sure that Koala doesn’t contain any pepper, yet I smell it in the very first moment. The frankincense must be to blame and makes the scent sharp for my nose. Additionally, the essential mint and eucalyptus oils with the floral undertone are beautiful. Small side note: Honey and menthol are listed in the pyramid, but on the inside of the sample booklet, it says "Menthol Honey Gumdrop."

Unfortunately, it’s not uncommon for mint notes in perfumes to evoke a laundry detergent association for me. When I smell my wrist intently, I can recognize the individual components, but the scent wafts into my nose like a cloud, reminding me of acquaintances who have laundry detergent as a family scent - which surely just comes from the detergent.

Let’s return to the frankincense: It is definitely too prominent for me here. Eucalyptus-mint-flower alone would have been preferable.
Now it’s my misfortune that I simply don’t like frankincense and can only tolerate it in tiny doses. Still, I would have wished for a green-ethereal scent under a koala theme that radiates the lightness of life: hanging out and munching on eucalyptus, mating maybe every 2 to 3 years, but only when the female calls*, otherwise no obligations.

Just like a day in the life of a real koala bear.

*Determining the time of mating is the female koala's responsibility. It usually happens at the earliest when last year's offspring is independent, but often only every two to three years. (planet-wissen.de)

Edit: After a few hours of wearing it, a friend comes to visit me: Hmm, what smells so much like sandalwood here?

When I finished tenth grade, I dropped chemistry with a 4 because I had stopped paying attention at some point due to puberty, and it quickly became impossible for me to catch up. Chemistry has since been an unsolvable puzzle for me, and my knowledge still only rudimentarily consists of knowing the difference between an atom and a molecule and just barely understanding what electrons are, as well as what oxidation and reduction mean.

Now that I have discovered Confetto, I wish I had paid more attention in school and didn't have to think of what the fragrance molecules are doing as witchcraft.

How is it possible that Profumum Roma is the first and only one in the whole world to have developed a lasting anise note? And by lasting, I mean that it remains distinctly noticeable in the hair for several days!

And how did they manage to make Confetto seemingly consist of only two fragrance notes - almond and anise - and yet still belong to the most extraordinary, beautiful, and original scents with high recognition value that I know?

Why is Confetto both present and subtle at the same time? It’s as if Confetto is not a perfume but a feeling. People around me say, "What smells so nice all of a sudden?" without realizing that it’s a perfume. As if Confetto is always there and yet never too much.

And how is it possible that the clear colorless liquid transforms into pink over time? Who can explain that to me?

I believe this is all not true, it’s unreal.
And if this is indeed just a dream, please don’t wake me up, but tell my tenth-grade self to pay attention in school.

The Libertin Louison Set has been sitting unopened in my closet for some time now. A black sheet of DIN A4 paper is folded in half and held together with black cotton ribbon. Inside are small white pouches that sort the samples by concentration: "Extrait de Parfum," 2x "Eau de Parfum," "Eau de Cologne," and also a pouch of "Soliflores." I am impressed by how LL has managed to put together a rather elegant sample set with the simplest means.

I briefly clicked through the brand on Parfumo to find out which two fragrances I should test first: Fleur de Papier, because the name intrigues me the most, and Sanguis Terrae, because it has the highest rating. I can already reveal: The former convinces me more than the higher-rated one.


At first, a tiny bit of alcohol stings, then a strongly fruity rose emerges, which is almost bubblegum-fruity. This happens in the first few seconds, and then Fleur de Papier transforms into a rose with a fascinating chalk note(!). As the clove sneaks in from behind and becomes more pronounced alongside the rose after several minutes, the chalky-creamy impression lingers with fruity nuances and vanilla.

Thus, the heart of the perfume remains for several hours, showing green floral and slightly old-fashioned elements from time to time.

I haven't applied much, so I perceive the sillage as low, but I can imagine that this perfume could have a more pronounced presence when sprayed.

L'Attesa is one of those fragrances that won't let me go. After having owned a bottle last year, emptied it halfway, and then given it away, I kept thinking about it over and over again.

The explosive start is dominated by an iris that is unmatched: dry, dull-waxy, mineral with a complete absence of sweetness.

For me, this is the perfect iris note.

It is perfect.

After a few minutes, a sweetness creeps in, which I attribute to the Mysore sandalwood. I can't really pick out any citrus elements, champagne, tuberose, or ylang-ylang. Oakmoss and leather I wouldn't have guessed on my own, but they reveal themselves to me in light of the note descriptions.

What stands out about L'Attesa is that the iris note holds throughout and dominates the fragrance until the beautiful sandalwood finish.

So why did I give the fragrance away?
My husband kind of ruined it for me right at the beginning when he said on the first day I wore the newly acquired (and long-awaited) fragrance, "Hmm, it smells really good here. So intensely like hand cream." Ouch. And somehow he is right about that.

But I continued to wear it and loved it dearly. Until it became too sweet for me over time, and after much consideration and wearing, I decided to let it go. I really hope that the increasing sweetness was just my perception and not that the fragrance changed over time in the bottle.

Today, I bought it again. In the past months, I often thought about it. The first spray hit me, touched me, and made me sentimental. As if an old friend had returned, someone you lost sight of. And how painfully you missed them only becomes clear when you see them again and embrace them.

So now I need to pull myself together again. This is a perfume, not a living being. You can't attribute such deep feelings to an object.

The more I think about the hand cream comparison, the more it makes sense to me. L'Attesa smells like a luxurious cream. One that was made only once, personally crafted for a queen. One that is kept in a heavy jar and has a thick, pasty consistency.

This is the best iris perfume I know, and I can hardly imagine that will ever change.