MaKr

Spring is coming, and I'm in the mood for green scents. I like them anyway, but especially in spring. This little sample that has been waiting for its test for days comes just in time. The liquid is a bright green, and according to the name, it should be about a mysterious garden, that should fit! So I sprayed it right on my skin, waved it around, and smelled: sweet, very sweet even.
Hmm. There are sweet green fragrances, but no matter how much I sniff, I find nothing green. On the contrary, it’s more about the complementary color red.
A melange of warm red tones: orange-red saffron, the red oriental standard rose, and a warm cinnamon red-brown.
Are the virtual perfumer and their marketing colorblind, or is this supposed to be a gag: offer green but deliver red?
The whole thing is enveloped in a sweet, indefinably fruity cloud. So definitely not my direction. More for fans of fruity-sweet oriental scents. However, this red fades surprisingly quickly; after about two hours, only the base remains. It smells somewhat like burnt sugar, but it lasts.
Whoever included this sample for me did so not out of thoughtlessness, but because this scent was on my watchlist. But why was it there?
About two years ago, I participated in a mailer from the brand Jean Poivre. I liked one scent quite a bit, but the rest not so much. The garden wasn’t included, which is why it went on the watchlist. It could have been that...
Garden checked off, company checked off.
Next please.

This fragrance is dedicated to a fabulously beautiful and irresistibly erotic woman: Kakee, the wife of a king in Thai mythology. Abducted by another king and taken as his wife. Then stolen back, raped by her "savior," and subsequently accused of infidelity by the king and cast aside.
Beauty can also be a curse.
The scent leads me to a cemetery to a grave, covered with still fresh tuberoses. Unfortunately, recently marked heavily by animals. This intensely animalistic start initially puts me off! But patience, the animalic notes fortunately weaken, and the enchanting scent of the tuberose emerges. No penetrating chewing gum, no ordinary fake tuberose made from lab components. This one is real!
Additionally, a fine hint of incense from a nearby chapel, now it has me!
The tuberoses on the grave are doomed to die. Yet their souls, which the perfumer has captured, will linger around me for a long time as a transparent, floral-green veil.

Recently, I tested the terrible lizard - with much respect. In my mind, the corresponding disaster movie about the meteorite impact played out, but in reverse.

It starts with smoke, a lot of smoke! Now, not all smoke is the same: Some smoky scents here remind me of a cozy campfire, a nice fireplace, incense sticks. Frankincense makes one think of church, while the smoke in Tonnerre reminds me of soot or smoked bacon, etc.
This smoke here is evil and biting; it smells of danger and can evoke fear, panic, and a flight reflex. (Almost everyone knows the awful smell when meat falls into the coals while grilling)

The film continues to rewind in time, and we find ourselves in a wooded jungle with the first blossoms. The choice of champaca and ylang is brilliant; their shape has something prehistoric about it for me. On my skin, there’s also a hint of rose - did it exist back then?
Despite the beautiful blossoms, the scent still gives a brutal and dangerous impression. In the film, the unusual appearance in the sky; in the perfume, the coarse leather and the animalistic notes. T-Rex and other carnivores lurk nearby. Our position in the food chain is not like today; Jurassic Park sends its regards.

From the moment the blossoms appear, I could even imagine wearing the scent. In homeopathic dosage, so carefully dabbed, definitely not sprayed! But the start is truly gruesome!

Gardoni can be Terrible, see Douleur!. But also Great, here in combination.

As a citrus fan, I approach the test with great anticipation, as these fragrance notes represent freshness, energy, and good mood for me.
However, disappointment sets in immediately, as this is the unloved synthetic variant. I always envision in front of me inedible plastic decorative fruit.
Therefore, I am really glad that this top note fades away very quickly and reveals the second (and last) layer: The triad of patchouli-sandalwood-amber definitely belongs to my favorites and should reconcile me with the scent.
Unfortunately, there is no unclouded joy here either, as this part is also surrounded by an indefinable synthetic note that refuses to disappear.
Either the crystal musk mentioned by others, or synthetic patchouli.
I don't smell any sandalwood.
On the homepage, the fragrance is described as citrus-oriental, actually a nice idea, but its execution does not appeal to me here: Both components simply stand side by side, not connected by anything, inappropriate, foreign to each other.
If I want a citrus scent, then I want one that stays fresh, one that I also like to reapply.
With an oriental scent, I do not want to endure an unloved top note for 1-2 hours first.
Here I have neither, so Mulholland is not an option for me.

Last autumn, I rediscovered a small bottle of Kyoto EdP in a box of vintage perfumes. Of course, I wanted to know right away how the contents had fared over the years.

What I found was -for me- very touching:
In my mind, I was opening an old chest made of fragrant sandalwood, inside which lies a valuable, antique kimono:
The silk is, like the top note of the perfume, already quite fragile.
The colors of the beautiful, printed and hand-embroidered floral pattern have partially faded, but are still discernible.
The subtle scent of incense is clearly perceptible, which leads me to suspect that this kimono was worn during temple ceremonies on festive occasions.
Such an expensive garment would surely have been passed down from generation to generation. There is no trace of the women who wore it, no memory left. They are shadows in the realm of shadows, a whisper in the wind.

In my collection, there are perfumes for different occasions and moods: Some are uplifting and invigorating, while others are more calming, warming, and relaxing.
This perfume has not gone off; it is fading more and more, leaving behind a memory of its beauty,
Kyoto is for me a Memento Mori, a confrontation with transience.
No other perfume in my collection has this side effect, not only evoking melancholy but sometimes even deep sadness.