MaKr

As a citrus fan I make myself full of anticipation to the test, because these fragrances stand with me for freshness, energy and good mood.
Here, however, makes equal disappointment spread, because it is the unloved synthetic variant. Since I see before me always inedible Deko fruit from plastic.
Therefore, I'm really glad that this top note fades very quickly and releases the 2nd (and last) level: The triad patch-sandel-amber is definitely one of my favorites and should reconcile me with the fragrance again.
Unfortunately, also here no unclouded joy, this part is also "wafted" by an indefinable synthetic note that does not want to disappear.
Either the crystal musk mentioned by others, or synthetic patchouli.
Sandalwood I smell none.
On the homepage, the fragrance is described as citrus-oriental, actually a nice idea, whose implementation I do not like here: both parts are simply next to each other, not connected by anything, inappropriate, alien to each other.
If I want a citrus fragrance, then one that stays fresh, which I also like to re-spray.
With an oriental fragrance I do not want to have to endure an unloved top note first 1-2 hours.
Here I have neither, so Mulholland comes for me out of the question.

Last fall I found in a box of vintage perfumes a small bottle Kyoto EdP again. Of course, I immediately wanted to know how the contents have survived the years.

What I found was -for me- very touching:
In my mind, I was about to open an old chest of fragrant sandalwood, which contains a valuable antique komono:
The silk, like the top note of the perfume, is already very fragile.
The colors of the beautiful, printed and hand-embroidered floral pattern are partially faded, but still to guess.
Clearly perceptible is the subtle scent of incense, which leads me to believe that this kimono was worn on feast days for temple ceremonies.
Such an expensive piece of clothing was certainly passed down from generation to generation. Of the women who wore it, there is no trace, 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 vitalizing, others more soothing, warming and relaxing.
This perfume is not tipped, it fades more and more, leaving behind a memory of its beauty,
Kyoto is a memento mori for me, a confrontation with transience.
No other of my perfumes has this side effect of evoking not only melancholy, but sometimes even deep sadness.

Last week I was able to participate in the Le Galion walking letter, thank you so much, Susan.

Delving into the scents and the information about the company has uncovered memories:
At the age of 14-16, in the mid 70's, I had a Canadian pen pal.
We had met while visiting my relatives in Vancouver. (Touch of romance) Afterwards, at Christmas, in his package was this perfume. According to the accompanying letter, my pen pal had sought advice on which perfume would be suitable for a "young lady".

At that time I had virtually no idea about perfume. There was 4711(myOma, always) and Tosca (my mother, but only on special occasions)
From Chanel N°5 I had at least heard before (Marilyn Monroe)
Anyway, I tried the perfume full of anticipation, and immediately recoiled in horror and shock.

Today I know it was the aldehydes and the lilac right at the beginning.
I still have trouble with aldehydes today, as I do with lilacs:
On bush in the garden very much like, indoors in the vase less, and in perfume rather not!
While I was already thinking about the wording for the thank-you letter, Grandma came into the room and got big eyes: oh, what smells so good here?

She was allowed to taste of course, and to her the fragrance fit perfectly! He nestled down, melted into her skin and surrounded her like an aura.
Today, color-wise, she would be called a "Snow White type": Light skin, large dark eyes, and luscious dark naturally wavy hair into old age.
One of her favorite colors in clothing was dark green. This very dark, cool pine green, which makes most look pale, highlighted her assets perfectly.
Of course, I gave her the bottle, and for a long time associated the fragrance with the color dark green. Or vice versa.

I was very excited, and full of anticipation, when this fragrance and Gold Chypre landed at my place without any problems (does not seem to be a matter of course).

Right at the first test sprayer the confirmation, yes, it is definitely a Chypre, first impression wearable, beautiful.

I was about to call him "classic", because that's the direction Dua wants to see him in.
But a voice inside me was grumbling the whole time, and louder and louder. It forced me to think about what exactly I didn't like, although I didn't dislike anything.

Exactly that was the point: I like Chypre very, very much, but I can't do it with everybody.
With some of them, the corners and edges are too extreme after all.

And exactly these corners and edges I missed, he is just too round, too smooth for me.
I miss the individual, the recognizable, the "rubbing together", the confrontation.

I remembered an experiment I read about once:
The search for the perfect beautiful face: For this purpose, a computer program was used to superimpose beautiful faces, in the expectation that this would lead to a definition of what constitutes beauty.

The result was a beautiful, smooth, boring, meaningless face.
My feeling is that Dua has fallen into this trap a bit

I hope you'll forgive me for not writing about what I smell: Chypre !

Finally I get to test the scent I've been curious about for decades.

Ever since I read "The Artificial Silk Girl" by Irmgard Keun, I couldn't get that chypre out of my head. Maybe because I started to be interested in fragrances at that time and was the same age as the protagonist of the book published in 1932:
Doris, pretty young woman (18), from "small circumstances", hates her job as a stenotypist and dreams of becoming famous, a "shine" as she calls it.
She can only afford a little luxury through wealthier men, who are sometimes more and sometimes less nice. From one of the nicer ones, a little fat man, apparently a sales representative for perfume and cosmetics, she is presented with big bottles of Coty's Chypre.

Through the mediation of her mother, who works in the theatre as a dresser, she gets a job as an extra, but Doris wants more: In order to look better at a job interview as an acting student, she "borrows" from the dressing room the very expensive fur coat of an older, rich woman, which fits her so perfectly that she absolutely cannot bring herself to give it back.
Fearing the police, she flees to Berlin, with small luggage, the fur coat and chypre.
In the Berlin of the Weimar Republic it is not easy to make it through, their life is up and down, and a ritual to lighten the mood is to treat yourself and your fur to a "scent of chypre".

Now, while testing, I can imagine this dark green, animal chypre, the "Urchypre", as a fur scent. (And no, I never had a fur coat. No woman looks better in it than the previous owner)

I found it striking that Zibet already appears in the top note, and not only as a fixator in the base.
Perhaps this creates the illusion of being wrapped in a soft, protective coat with a pleasant scent of fur and leather. (My skin likes civet, the one in the thinned! Form smells so wonderful.
Balsamic sage supports the dark green effect of oak moss, which does not seem creaky at all here.
Even rose and jasmine seem to contribute mainly their dark and animalistic facets!
Refined and somewhat lightened by iris root, which fortunately has nothing powdery here

I find the very "clearly arranged" list of ingredients astonishing, with which Coty has composed such a wonderful fragrance. One of the reasons for this could be that each of these natural substances has a complex composition of its own.

Chypre by Coty is a perfume completely without "residual sweetness", not a kind of dessert. Nothing that screams "eat me up"

Chypre by Coty is a benchmark, a perfume that gives attitude but also demands it.