Marieposa

Satisfied, Mathilde brushed a strand of hair from her face, which had caught some orange lily pollen. She loved coming back to the tiny patisserie behind the Place Vendôme to treat herself to a little delicacy at the end of a long day. This morning, when the flowers for her four large orders had been delivered, she had doubted whether it was really a good idea to create floral arrangements for three funerals and a wedding. Her little flower shop on Rue de la Paix was quickly reaching its capacity, and by the end, it was hardly possible to move between all the gardenias, roses, and of course the countless white lilies without knocking over a flower pot. But Mathilde had not had the shop for long, and the new orders were important to her. Among all the high-end jewelers and elegant boutiques, her flower shop almost faded into the background, but for her, it was a blessing. For Mathilde, it meant freedom, as she no longer had to deal with the venerable florist on the Champs-Élysées for whom she had previously worked.
Looking back, she could hardly say how many green flower stems she had trimmed that day and how many blooms she had shaped. Yet her arrangements had become characteristically artistic and radiated that casual elegance for which she had made a name for herself. Mathilde was satisfied, and the customers were delighted, but by the end of the day, she just wanted to get out of her shop, where a heavy cloud of floral scent still lingered. A delicate hint of it had settled in her hair and blouse and accompanied her even now.
With a cat-like smile, she assessed the delicate biscuit cake on her plate, topped with airy vanilla cream and crowned with candied almonds. The fork met no resistance, and in her mouth, the delicate sweetness felt almost weightless.

*

I perceive Baiser Volé Essence de Parfum as an inverted Baiser Volé. The latter is a lily scent with a vanilla aspect, while the former is a vanilla scent with a lily aspect. Both fragrances are delicate yet present, airy yet radiant. Those who love the base of Baiser Volé, when the silky petals merge with warm skin and a vanillic musk hint lingers with a touch of almond powder, should treat themselves to a sniff of Essence to enjoy this part of the fragrance right from the start. For my part, I will savor my sample - many thanks to the generous donor! - but I doubt that Baiser Volé will join my collection. This beautiful scent is just a bit too "edible" for me - and I become so tense when I secretly fear that someone might poke me in the back with a fork all day long. However, this does not diminish its beauty in any way.

Whenever Aunt Käthe announced her arrival for Sunday roast, the little girl would tiptoe conspicuously inconspicuously around the entrance hall, so as not to miss it when Berta opened the door and Käthe floated in with her resonant voice and cooing laughter.
The aunt was different. It started with her honking loudly as she pulled up in her OWN car, which Mother only acknowledged with an exasperated snort - and Father made a disrespectful comment: Woman at the wheel, monster. No one dared to mention what had happened to his own car. Just before Father had hired the chauffeur.
It was not entirely out of the question that he scolded the aunt because she had refused to become Director back then, preferring instead to enroll at the university under a false name. A scandal that had forced Grandmother to bed with a migraine for an entire week. At least that’s what the neighbors whispered to each other. But then everything turned for the better, and Mother became Director in place of her sister.
Aunt Käthe always told completely different stories than Mother or her friends. She laughed louder than the other women ever did and lit a cigarette for herself with the greatest nonchalance, as if the men weren’t even there. She had traveled halfway around the world, even though she had no husband to look after her. Mother always emphasized this, but the little girl never understood why. Aunt Käthe seemed to take good care of herself.
Moreover, Aunt Käthe always smelled so wonderful: A tiny hint of smoke mingled with powdery flowers, shimmering cool greens, and dark woods. But there was also something else. Human and alive.
The aunt never reprimanded the little girl for not sitting up straight or for putting her elbows on the table. And even when she had carefully cut off the lace trim from her Sunday dress with the craft scissors to then trim her doll's hair, it only elicited a deep, cooing laugh from the aunt. “She’s just like you were back then,” Mother had hissed, and red spots had formed on her neck.

Years later, hardly anyone will wrinkle their nose at the young woman who still doesn’t like lace trims and prefers to bury her nose in books rather than concern herself with something as trivial as Sunday roast. Her fragrance has just come onto the market, called No19 and is by Chanel. It reminds her a little of her admired aunt, but it is clearer, more straightforward, and cooler.

**

I ask for forgiveness for the anachronism. I am well aware that Heure Exquise is a full thirteen years younger than No19, but still, the fragrance tempts one to think it has always been there - or at least almost. I smell vintage charm, a touch of melancholy and passion that pulses just beneath the surface, as well as a captivating blend of cool and warm. An animalistic note adds liveliness, but also makes me personally prefer No19 or Jacomo's Silences.

In the deepest, darkest winter, when the days are still gray and harsh and the ground is frozen, there comes, in some years, that very special moment when you can suddenly smell spring. The biting cold, snow, and frost can no longer disguise the fact that the days are getting longer and the green is becoming more vibrant again. And those who then look for the first green shoots among the remnants of snow will not be disappointed: The first leaf tips of snowdrops, crocuses, and grape hyacinths have indeed bravely fought their way up from the frosty depths into the light.
The sight of these delicate little plants of the season defying the elements and even the darkness gives me weak knees every time. This optimism, known only to a plant whose nature it is to grow towards the sun, is as touching as it is shocking - and it is exactly this feeling that Serge Lutens' wonderful De Profundis evokes in me.

“Memento mori” I read here, “graveyard scent” and “candied melancholy” - and this is precisely how Serge Lutens wants the perfume to be understood. But my nose, the willful one, smells something different. And the heart, the stubborn one, feels what it wants anyway.

Cool and green. That is the first impression of what I have sprayed on my wrist. Plant juice. Elixir of life. The scent conjures images of forests full of dew-kissed harebells and violet hyacinths. Young, juicy green in all its glorious bitterness.
Is Vent Vert being referenced here? Yes and no. Perhaps rather L’Air du Temps, because as the scent unfolds further, garden carnations and violets join the floral dance. Red-golden morning sun warms the ground, and the higher the sun rises, the more self-assured the scent becomes.
Embedded in this ethereal green floral magic is a spicy-woody oriental base structure with incense and Iso E Super. This may sound like a bit much of a good thing, but it works excellently and gives the scent complexity without overshadowing the abstract, shimmering delicacy.

Now, it is the case that “De Profundis” is not only the name of this fragrance and a psalm but also the title of an open letter that the brilliant Oscar Wilde wrote at the lowest point of his life while he was imprisoned for indecency between 1895 and 1897. The text is a bitter self-accusation but culminates in the almost defiant attempt to pull oneself out of that dark hole by the hair. From the depths and darkness into the light. With an unwavering belief in oneself and the world. Almost like a small, helpless bulb plant in January.
For this reason, I would like to conclude this commentary on a fragrance that radiates so much hope for me with a quote from Oscar Wilde from kinder times: “Everything is going to be fine in the end. And if it’s not fine it’s not the end.”

It has been quite a while since a dear friend surprised me with a sample of Jubilation 25. What a stroke of luck, because without her, I would surely have overlooked this fragrance. I hadn't paid much attention to Amouage's lineup in general and curiously eyed the noble elixir in its glass bottle. Mentally, I prepared myself for a rich, heavy oriental. Then I closed my eyes, took a breath, and … I was far off!

Suddenly, I felt transported to the banks of the Seine. In front of me, the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame behind me, a street musician in a beret plays a melancholic tune on his accordion.
Citrus notes, something herbal-spicy, oak moss, and a hint of velvety peach greet me. Très Parisienne! In my surprise, I initially don’t even notice how delicate wisps of incense and roasted cumin join in. The sound of the accordion fades away and from the minaret behind the Louvre, the call of the muezzin resonates.

Wait a minute!

The fragrance reveals a second layer, as if the photos from the last Paris vacation had been double-exposed. The peach increasingly comes to the forefront and unites with a lush floral scent. That woman over there in the hijab, I know her. No mistake, that’s Mitsouko! I recognize her by her eyes. She turns to me and smiles knowingly.
The longer Jubilation 25 lingers on my skin, the warmer, deeper, and more vibrant the scent becomes. It is sweet and heavy and soft, but not overwhelming. Instead, it is indescribably feminine. Mata Hari comes to mind, as well as the last of the seven veils of Salome. The Seine's banks have given way to the narrow streets of a bustling Medina. “Bonjour la gazelle!”, I hear a challenging call, followed by a hiss. Careful, buddy! If you mess with women like this, you can get yourself into serious trouble.

Since I first smelled it, Jubilation 25 has not left my mind, and my sample was empty faster than I ever thought possible. Worn in the morning, it remains present all day long. The sillage is anything but subtle. Therefore, moderation is key when it comes to application.

By now, I know that the peach is actually Davana and the spiciness comes from tarragon. Be that as it may, it doesn’t change the connection to Mitsouko, which I only came to understand and love through Jubilation 25.

Iris and leather, this combination regularly makes me swoon, and when the great Bertrand Duchaufour is involved, nothing can really go wrong. And indeed: Cuir de Nacre, the mother-of-pearl leather, delivers on its promises.

At first, there is a delicate shiver of sparkling aldehydes and bitter angelica root, which settles like dew drops on delicate iris blossoms, giving the fragrance a subtle retro charm. However, it is no more than a slight nod towards the great vintage leather scents like Cuir de Russie. CdN cannot compete with such glamour, nor does it want to.
It is not until the leather accord unfolds and fragile mimosa blossoms appear alongside soft, fluffy musk that there is no doubt left: The scent is clear, coherent, and stripped down to the essentials, yet its simplicity does not lack a certain refinement. Iris, suede, mimosa. Harmonious, polished, and elegant.

Before me emerges the image of a confident woman, dressed so enviably well in a perfectly fitting pair of jeans and a simple T-shirt that every ordinary person can't help but wonder why they can't pull it off. Cognac-colored suede boots complete the look, along with a matching bag. Additionally, the beauty has tied her untamed hair back with a mimosa-yellow silk scarf.
I would love to be that effortlessly chic. And even though CdN does not magically transform me into a fashionista with that certain je ne sais quoi, the fragrance whispers in my ear on some days that perhaps everything is much easier. Friendly and uncomplicated, no major drama in sight.

Finally, a word about the dosage: Allegedly, the fragrances from Ann Gérard are extrait concentrations. However, this one is more of a wallflower, and lightly dabbing it robs you of half the fun. Cuir de Nacre wants to be treated like an EdP, otherwise, it has a rather short performance.