Marieposa

When the three wise men from the Orient pay their respects in Monty Python's classic "The Life of Brian", gold and frankincense quickly arouse the hospitality of Brian's, shall we say, "rather brittle" mother. The myrrh, on the other hand, is met with as much skepticism as the high visitor before. Even the explanation that it is a valuable balm cannot really convince her. Such a thing could be contagious and she had heard of germs that have feelers and bite. The gentlemen are welcome to drop by any time and leave gold and frankincense, but next time they should rather smear the myrrh in their hair.

As I sniff my wrist, generously scented with Serge Lutens La Myrrh, I realize that I'm much the same as Brian's mother: sure, I can picture gold, and I can easily recall the scent of frankincense from olfactory memory, both in the form of resin and smoke. Myrrh, on the other hand, is a great mystery to me. I've read up that it's a tree resin found primarily in Somalia and is used as a resin or oil for ceremonial and medicinal purposes. So much for the theory. But how does myrrh smell now?

Serge Lutens Myrrh does not provide me with an answer at first, all I can say is that this balm really bites. What I dabbed on my skin, smells namely first of all exclusively after hairspray of the worst kind. I'm talking about the stuff that hasn't been on sale for decades because it destroys the earth's atmosphere, and which I only know because my grandma still keeps leftover stock in the attic. Responsible for this is a salted portion of aldehydes, which I don't even know from Chanel No 5 in this concentration. About fifteen minutes and the aldehydic meteorite hail has subsided, five more minutes and I dare to bring my wrist to my nose again - and what a reward is waiting for me! Iced, airy aniseed cookies, flavored with a hint of bitter almond oil float towards me, paired with a zirtish glow. Am I influenced by the orange color of the perfume, or do I really smell tangerine?

The scent is cool and spicy and silky. A golden glow emanates from it, like unexpectedly seeing a bonfire smoldering in the distance while walking on an icy winter night, without feeling its warmth. All right, if this is how myrrh smells, the three wise men may deposit their stock, spurned by Brian's mother, with me anytime! I can't stop sniffing my wrist. La Myrrh is beguiling! But also demanding, complex, uncompromising, and so rich in contrast that its magic is definitely not for everyone.

Would I wear La Myrrh more often? Oh yes, all the time. A few minutes of hairspray headache I gladly accept for this fragrance. I'd just rather not think about what happens when you make the fatal mistake of spraying instead of dabbing.

... or rather "Welcome to the coffee house"?

Freshly ground coffee is one of those fragrances that I love in everyday life without restriction, but which I meet in perfume for good reason with a fair amount of skepticism. So far, every coffee perfume experience has left me with puckered lips. Instead of fresh beans, I smelled coffee breath; instead of coffee shop, I smelled unwashed breakfast dishes. I feel the same way about tuberose, by the way. I have one in a flower pot on the terrace and in summer, when it blooms - and it doesn't bloom every year, the bitch - I would love to put a tent in the garden to enjoy the scent around the clock. In the bottle, on the other hand, all tuberose soliflores have left me somewhat perplexed - or completely overwhelmed. And even if it is only included as a fragrance note, tuberose has already put me off many a perfume.

Bad cards for Café Tuberosa. One would like to think ...

Somewhat reluctantly, I wet my pulse with a drop from the sachet, a door opens and blows me, along with a gust of harsh December wind, into a warm, cozy café. The veritable scent of freshly ground coffee beans fills the air, the coffee machine hisses behind the counter, and creamy sweet delicacies tempt me on the étagère on top. At the table in the corner, an elegant woman sits in front of a piece of Sachertorte with whipped cream, a Kleiner Schwarzer steaming in her cup. It's all there, the indescribable coffee aroma, the muted chocolaty sweetness, the wood of the plank floor but also of the counter and the creamy scent of the white flowers on the connoisseur's table. Or is it her floral perfume rising from her décolletage, gently interweaving with the other notes?
As the fragrance develops, the coffee slowly recedes, but never completely disappears. Patchouli is listed and may provide that illusion in the base. More and more, the florals take over. Tuberose? I don't know. Rose? Hmm...I'm imagining more of a tropical fantasy flower. Or even coffee flowers?
Although I wouldn't necessarily call Café Tuberosa a gourmand scent, it always retains something edible, creamy, delicious, without ever losing the luminosity of an eau de cologne.

While I sniff my arm in fascination and completely forget to grind coffee for Sunday breakfast, the question gnaws at me, how long I can stretch this sample, so that this beautiful, light-hearted fragrance accompanies me as long as possible.

I read a lot about Ormonde Woman long before I was finally allowed to get to know the fragrance: Witch's potion, fir-dark, seductive poison - that's about the gist of it. Linda Pilkington, the founder and soul of Ormonde Jayne, personally paints the picture of a fairy-tale character who hides her raven-black hair under a cape to secretly rush to her lover at night with a vial of this potion in her pocket. Ms Pilkington is silent about the beau's intentions. Tania Sanchez, like many others, also promises a sinister witch's forest, where the amber sweetness of a gingerbread cottage hides behind fir branches, cedar and oak moss.

I had to meet this green poison. Absolutely. That much was clear.

I first encountered OW while stalking a large niche perfumery. Ten test strips in the hand balancing, pulse, wrists and arm bends already sprayed with other fragrances and without the help of the friendly saleswoman I would not even get the cap from the bottle - yes, such a life as a perfumer is not always easy ... In retrospect, it is probably no wonder that the Aha effect, which I had hoped for the fragrance, had to fail.
Only recently I found then a few drops of the green magic elixir as an addition in my fragrance mail - at this point again many thanks to the noble donor! - and the first spray really took me into a magic forest. But the surprise was great: no trace of Grimm's fairy tale, no gloomy threatening fir trees and no beautiful witch with the deadly brew in her coat pocket. Instead, I found myself in a sun-drenched mixed forest. Bright, friendly, and warm. I've only seen the hemlocks listed several times in the pyramid from Twin Peaks, and I have no idea what they smell like. In OW, I perceive them as sun-warmed pines. Here, the owls are exactly what they seem. Instead of mushrooms, violets and liverworts grow out of the dry ground - and if there is indeed a cottage in the darker depths of the forest, it is not an evil witch who lives in it, but a troop of helpful dwarves.

I usually have my buying reflex pretty well in check, but in this case I had to grab it. Quickly. Immediately. Without hesitation. And while the transparent scent of my enchanted forest now envelops me, I smile to myself - but who knows, maybe I myself am that witch who wants to cast a spell on lonely wanderers in this forest ..