Magineer

Exactly. Green. There's not much more...

Well I like the CdG concept, and Comme des Garcons 2, Concrete and even Blackpepper do a lot of things right, not to mention the Incense sub-series, which is a dream. "Amazingreen" on the other hand plays it safe and starts with a fresh green opening, which could also come out of the garden shredder on a beautiful July morning. One touch too much of the good stuff, the vetiver provides the necessary freshness kick, but as a green lover you can certainly come to terms with it. But not with the lack of changeability and the disappointing stamina.

"Amazingreen" runs comparatively linear after the above mentioned opening, and if you like the top note, you can indulge in it for a good quarter of an hour. I like it, and honestly, I don't need any development at all: this is summer freshness, which is finally achieved without the use of excessive aquatic notes, and that makes the fragrance very pleasant. Of course Hérault helps with a lot of synthetics, but I find such fragrance experiments legitimate, and CdG is ultimately known for exactly that - and popular.

But... for God's sake ... if you already have a complete chemistry set in your drawer, then please put SOMETHING in it that keeps the scent fresh on me for more than an hour. And ideally, it should also prevent all the lights from going out after two hours, even at close range. Then I promise you, high and holy, I will wear the top note with pride every morning to work. But with the lack of puff, Amazingreen and I won't be friends anymore in this life. It's a shame, really.

An early darkened autumn evening, light drizzle dances in front of the street lamps. The sidewalks are still full of people when K. comes out of the office and joins the crowd. He clings to his bag a little as the stream of bodies sweeps him through the pedestrian zone, and although he would like nothing more than to have his feet now hanging felt-slippered over the right-hand couch backrest, the cosy yellow light of a fragrance boutique, trimmed to the old-fashioned style, seduces him to stop and take a break. The main thing is to get out of the rain...

It's warm inside. It smells as if a couple of perfume bottles have exploded - or maybe it's the loudly discussing club of the executive secretaries, who single-mindedly clear the Jo Malone shelf and generously distribute the contents over the iris-fogged office aura they have brought in on their décolleté. K. turns around and unexpectedly stands in front of the shelf, which, like a lamp spirit, promises the fulfilment of all his wishes. A glittering mélange of gold, white and various primary colours, centred around a coat of arms of the sun, which celebrates the glory of abundance in its splendour. K. unerringly reaches into the compartment in front of him, pulls out the bottle that seems most beautiful to him and holds it up to the light. Of course, only he hears the choir of angels, which is at this moment blaring a hallelujah at the top of its voice, but his rapturous look now even catches the eye of the approaching saleswoman, who stops in horror at this moment and pretends to be on the trail of a dirt stain in the Chanel corner. K. feels the magnetic lid, just a small movement ... the gate to heaven is open, he pushes the spray head down, spreads his arms and runs into the cloud.

Twenty minutes later, K. gets off the tram, crosses the pedestrian lights and disappears across the street into the entrance of the building. A lonely blackberry blows down the street when the door falls into the lock. Two minutes later the light goes on on the second floor, K.'s silhouette can be seen at the window, just a brief moment. Then silence reigns, interrupted only once more by the sound of the toilet flushing,

Outside, a few other blackberries remain indecisive, while a hint of incense wafts hesitantly around them, drawing the attention of some cinnamon sticks. A rose, which has managed to jump off just in time before the oud, joins the illustrious group. They all know that it will be a short evening for them and the question about the sense of their existence is therefore unnecessary. Born under a bad star and then simply all together in the wrong batch, the only thing left for them now is to wring a last smile from the night and then, as a faint hint of former glory, to be carried away by the wind before dusk. Only the honey has drawn the lucky card: Ashamedly he snuggles up a little under the warming feather blanket on K., because at the latest when the Biedermeier clock in the living room strikes six, the landlord will open the window and drive away even the last memory of Amouage's "Jubilation XXV"

It's a boring life out there, but someone's gotta live it...

With "Writer" and three Zara perfumes, I've approached fragrances as a hobby. In retrospect, this was certainly okay, because it allowed me to learn a lot about fragrances per se and especially about myself and my attitude towards them. By now I know that with perfumes, I'm fascinated by the "story in my head", that I'm into concept fragrances, which inevitably pull me more towards the niche and bore me most designers (except maybe Guerlain). But I had to start somewhere to find that out. So back to the beginning of the story: I read about one of the best Dupes here on Parfumo, was curious about "Sauvage" and stood in front of the corresponding shelf in the department store. Everyone back with me? Fine...

A short spray was enough. To be on the safe side, two shelves further on, the original was sprayed again: Joah, come to it. Has something and is even still available in a gift set, in which the old Cyrus version is still slumbering (and a comparatively boring shower gel). Almost shamefacedly he went to the cash desk, paid and immediately checked out at home. The beautifully heavy flacon pleases, the valuable magnetic cap is also great. A few more test sprayers - yes, nice and fresh, has a little something. I can't figure out what it is at first - the fruit stays further down, lemon dominates and something slightly pungent. Something pure. I decide to give The Writer a chance

One day later. Just before I run out of the house towards the tram (I always run because the tram never follows me, but always expects it the other way around - a fight against windmills), I grab the new bottle in the bathroom, two left, two right, one in the neck. My faux fur jacket collar is going to get a little bit hurt, but I don't think anything of it. Two minutes later, packed tram. I smell. I keep smelling. Uh-oh. The cloud is billowing. People still look quite apathetic, but I just hope that I am not so clearly identified as the starting point of this cloud. Meanwhile I have the feeling that I am standing at the edge of the pool. Is that chlorine? Whatever it is, five squirts was clearly too much. I stagger off the train, carry the cloud into the elevator and enjoy my office for a whole day. Thank God I'm in it for everybody

After that, it was kind of "Writer". From time to time I still use two or three sprayers (dispassionately) to get out quickly, but I have thoroughly spoiled the scent DNA. Or maybe I just never liked her. Anyway, I'm glad that I found out about the cheap Dupe instead of spending more money on "Sauvage" or even "Bleu de Chanel". By now I can smell quite accurately when my counterpart is wearing either one of the dupes or the Chanel/Dior originals. It doesn't bother me much about others, but my direction will never be

No, I would never be ashamed of "Writer". It was one of the fragrances that marked the beginning of my hobby. I will be grateful to him for this, and if my collection grows now, the little blue one will always keep a place of honour. It will probably be further back on the shelf, but as a memory of the beginnings it will stay with me. Thanks, Cyrus. Thanks for the experience.