Lovis

Once or twice I rolled the tiny roll-on over my arm and the whole kitchen smells of oud. Oud of the peculiar kind: Yes, it smells like a stable, and not just a little.
It’s possible that the Hyraceum is also responsible for this. According to Parfumo, 'Hyraceum or Hyrax is the excrement of the rock hyrax or dassie (Procavia capensis)'. Ugh. I wish I hadn’t looked it up.

All of this doesn’t sound so pleasant at first, but patience...

So I stand for almost half an hour between rock hyrax droppings, more or less patiently in the cow barn, hoping for a change, and it comes: It becomes more perfumey, floral-sweet notes rise now, and in the background, the light sharpness of eucalyptus wafts by. The oud remains well noticeable, but is now significantly dimmed compared to the beginning.

- At this point, my youngest smells campfire when I let him sniff briefly. He is not impressed. When I ask him to guess the price, he replies, "From the look on your face, it must be expensive." (True.) "Maybe 200 euros?" - If only he knew.


I think I can detect something slightly cinnamon-like. Overall, the scent is now, after about an hour, much more accessible, yes, it actually becomes beautiful, the oud is now just a delicate companion. It’s floral, spicy, sweet, and I like it.
Not much more happens, the scent becomes increasingly subtle over time and then, after about 2 hours, is only really recognizable close to the skin.
An interesting, yes, a beautiful fragrance, unfortunately, the lovely phase doesn’t last as long as I would have liked.

The price is unaffordable for the average person, several months' salaries would go towards it, and for the price of one or two samples, you can get really great fragrances from other brands - in a bottle. What a shame.

I thank NadiaZ and Shahram for the interesting traveling package.

...is written on my sample, and that is firstly not a typo and secondly not funny at all (sorry, dear S., I still laughed, but only briefly. Then I sprayed it.).

Because if I didn't know what was in it, I would think that a drugstore scent aimed at the target group 'A little floral, a little woody, and a little sweetness, please, but definitely not too special!' had accidentally found its way into the sprayer.
While I can clearly recognize the family resemblance in Shalimar Initial despite all the obvious differences, here I recognize - nothing.

No Shalimar, no Guerlain, and nothing smells elegant or striking here.

I might even like the scent if the individual notes were more pronounced, but here it’s just so fluffy-light-boring that it actually annoys me. Not that I generally have anything against light fragrances; often this transparency fits the theme of the scent, even accentuates its character.
But here it feels as if the perfume has simply been diluted too much.

Dear Mr. Water, you could have easily and inconspicuously produced this scent for YR, which of course wouldn't change the fact that I definitely wouldn't have bought it. As a pleasant spring fragrance, it might even have become a success there.

What a pity, really a pity.
Both the name and the typical bottle shape have been misused here to cling to a just mediocre breeze in hopes of past successes, and that will surely not succeed.

So-so instead of Shalimar - Shalala indeed.

Addendum:

Shalala has revealed an unusual and remarkable, albeit very unpleasant ability.
With a real blockbuster (L'Ambre des Merveilles, the rich-sunny-juicy sparkling scent that I know) overshadowing it, it stubbornly fights through and spreads - boredom.

As if a woman had put on her hottest summer dress only to later be horrified to find that she unfortunately still wears her skin-colored love killers underneath.
Quite fatal.

This fragrance is delicate, like a fleeting touch, one of those rare ones that you believe you can still feel for days.
And it carries a touching melancholy that won’t let go of me. Like an unfulfilled romance that can never be forgotten, that accompanies you forever, in all silence, with its sweet pain and in all its tragic beauty.
In its silky floralness, interwoven with creamy, sweet notes that embrace softly, weaving a strangely familiar closeness, a closeness that has always been, without beginning, without end.

Carried by a dark rosy depth that whispers of passionate desire in an old-fashioned, restrained way, gentle enough to never seem intrusive, intimate enough to burn into the heart.
It is not a loud courting, not a word too much. Flattering coaxing and wistful yearning dance a hidden dance, proclaiming the transience of shared time, the triumph of fate.

And it is so wonderfully harmonious and lovely that it sounds like a promise, a promise, as the last notes fade and the farewell can no longer be postponed - no matter how much one wishes to linger in this mood, caught between longing and torn feelings.

A promise, not to forget, not a single precious moment.
A promise made to defy fate and to seize time, instead of fearing it.


I will cherish these memories like a gem...and one day it will be mine.


...



'Winter may part, spring may pass,
summer may wither, the year may go,
you will return to me, surely you will be mine.
I have promised it, I await you faithfully.'


- Solvejg's Song -

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w8_E4spsUzU


...dear water lily, you linked this wonderful piece in your blog post about "Je Reviens" by Worth.
Thank you for that, I hadn't thought of it in a long time.

I quietly creep through the dark forest, along long-forgotten paths that no one else knows. The air is cold and damp, the nightly darkness gently lays itself like a heavy, comforting cloak on my bare skin.

Soft moss underfoot, it yields velvet-like, still soaked from the day's rain. Small animals scurry past in the underbrush, anxious, seeking the safety of their burrows.
It smells of rich earth, of bitter-sharp roots and sweet flowers that have long closed their petals and bowed their heads in reverence to the endlessness of the night.

My fingers search over the rough bark of the old trees, recognizing the familiar pattern, finding the way.
The darkness turns gray, the clouds drift away, revealing the yellow moon, full and round.
I fall, caught by the deep green, sheltered in the darkness.
I close my eyes and wait for the multi-voiced howling, the ancient song.

There are times when you need the big family pack of chocolate.

Times when everything is gray and cold, and you can't believe that the sun will ever shine for you again.

Times when every blow to the gut is immediately followed by the next, leaving you breathless.

When the weight on your narrow shoulders threatens to bring you to your knees.

When an uncomfortable truth is revealed to you one after another, without you having asked for it. Others never.

When silence screams at you, day after day, night after night. Especially at night.

When you feel helpless, small, and weak, not knowing how you will survive the next day. Screw the next day, you don't even know how you'll make it to breakfast.

When you wish you could just pull the blanket over your head and keep sleeping - and when you wake up, everything is okay again.

Or that someone would take your hand and clear all the nastiness and adversities out of your way. And watch over your sleep. Or at least pretend to.

Or you could just pack your bags and run away, leaving all your troubles behind.

But it doesn't work that way, you know that, you're grown up:

After waking up, everything is even worse, because the whole dreadful, new day lies before you in all its glory, the person to whom you trustfully extended your hand and opened your heart has just laid a few extra-large stumbling blocks in your path at the perfect moment and kicked you in the back of the knees - and your sorrow is already ahead of you at the finish line, waiting there with a smug grin, in a good mood and well-rested.

So all you can do is get up, straighten yourself, take a deep breath, wipe away the tears, and keep going, just as you always have.

Grind your teeth and remember all that you have already endured.
It takes a little longer, longer than you would like, and you shed a few more tears for the sake of the bad old times.

Eating so much chocolate that you feel sick. Thank God, that takes a while too, you're in training.

Calling your best friend and coming up with the worst curses that you would never - under any circumstances - say in public, summarizing the physical shortcomings that no single person could possibly have. But who knows. You've been wrong so many times.

Feeling a little ashamed of it - but really just a tiny bit. Actually, almost not at all.

Going out to celebrate together, even though there's nothing to celebrate. Whatever, then you celebrate yourself, after all, you've always been there for yourself and have always stayed true to yourself, that's reason enough. Drinking too much in your favorite pub and giving grades to the male behinds standing around.
Honestly, the average grade used to be better.

Wearing a fragrance that doesn't skimp but rather makes a bold statement. One that overwhelms you with its spicy sweetness, makes your mouth water, and lets you defiantly lift your chin and say 'Not with me, now even more so!'. One that sweeps you away and drives you forward. One that is not elegant, but powerful and clear, not delicate and reserved, but hot and sunny and almost a little cheap.
But only almost.

A little too loud, too direct, too lush, and almost kitschy sweet - everything you are not.

Girls' night, love handles, and a welcome hangover the next morning all at once.
A warm, comforting blanket, a strong shoulder, and silly, carefree giggles. Like your olfactory push-up, your too-tight favorite jeans, the shoes with the too-high heels, the too-colorful cocktail.

Hey, and he doesn't even want to chat with you before the first coffee. That's something too.

Loud, delicious, long-lasting (and all of that without an acute identity crisis): 'L'.





For S (S) and K (K), my two walking diaries. :-)