Monama

Every year at the end of April, beginning of May, we go looking for morels in our secret spots in the forest. Sometimes we're lucky and find a whole three kilos. But then there are days when it's like a spell. Not a single mushroom in sight!
The conditions are perfect, one day after the rain, the forest floor still slightly damp, but already spring-like warm.

With careful, small steps, we creep through the undergrowth for hours, our eyes fixed on the forest floor, scrutinizing every leaf. When we eventually give up on the mushrooms, we pack a bag full of wild garlic as a consolation so that at least we don't go home empty-handed.
And of course there are strict mushroom-picking rules - you have to be extremely careful when picking wild garlic so that no poisonous lily of the valley leaf sneaks in.
But I have to admit, as much as they are a thorn in the side of wild garlic pickers, I still love the little lily of the valley.

for me, Muguet are authentic lilies of the valley, still damp from the last rain, lining the forest path to the left and right. I could swear that a forest fairy is hiding in one of them.
They rise up between fields of green wild garlic and stand there like a tiny Thumbelina in a white bell skirt. For me, they exude a mesmerizingly full and sweet floral scent, yet transparent, fresh, bright and clear like a little jingle of bells.

A great feminine spring fragrance.

Wisps of mist rise from the damp forest floor. A bubbling spring gurgles, the cool stream meanders through the moss. Inconspicuous angelica rises up on the bank.
A forest spirit, a nymph, wanders barefoot through the misty autumn forest. The prickly branches of the juniper bushes get tangled in her white dress and tug at her long hair. Water from the last rain showers drips from the treetops.

Angéliques sous la Pluie is spicy and grounded, yet transparent, soft and ethereal. It is reminiscent of its sister L'Eau d'Hiver, but remains less sweet and more spicy. After the first hour, it becomes very close to the skin and envelops you more like a warm aura.

As a child, I watched an episode of Asterix & Obelix in Egypt. Cleopatra was sitting in a large basin sunk into the floor and taking a milk bath in mare's milk. Two servants fanned her with large palm leaves. At the time, I found the idea of a milk bath incredibly tempting and elegant.
I also find the start of Santal Blanc to be like a creamy milk bath. It starts so softly on my skin that I almost don't notice it, a creamy symphony of milk with a very subtle woody sweetness underneath. Perhaps a very small fig note, as if one of the servants were handing Cleopatra a golden plate of figs and nuts in the bathtub.
Over time, the fig becomes a little fruitier, greener and I can smell the fig milk, but it always remains beautifully integrated into the creamy, woody overall picture. Meanwhile, the fragrance reminds me of Philosykos Eau de Toilette, which smells great but unfortunately doesn't last 30 minutes on my skin.
Then Cleopatra gets out of the bath and a soft hint of vanilla tonka bean with sandalwood remains on her skin.
The sillage is rather skin-deep for me from start to finish, almost intimate. But I am pleasantly surprised by the longevity, as I can still detect the fragrance subtly after 6 hours.

Legend has it that a young mermaid lives at the bottom of the sea near the cliffs of the Faroe Islands.
Not many people have ever seen her. But sailors tell tales of her beauty and her ominous song.
Rumor has it that she sits on a rough rock at dusk, with the spray curling around her. Her skin is pearly white and salty, her hair tossed in long wild waves over her bare shoulders like the waves of the ocean. She is of a wild, raw and untamed beauty, her eyes shimmering like the moonlight. Her fishtail shone an iridescent midnight blue.
She exudes an enticing scent, not of this world, clear, salty, cool, almost magnetizing. At night, she sings songs about a lost love and her boundless loneliness in a soft, angelic voice.
Some fishermen fear her beauty and that she could seduce one of them and drag them down into the depths. And yet they look out for her every evening at dusk when they go out to sea.

While sorting out my cupboard today, I came across an old bottle of Coco Mademoiselle Eau de Toilette, almost empty except for a few last sprays. For old times' sake, I had to try it (or rather her!) again straight away. Mademoiselle was the first perfume I bought with my pocket money when I was young. And my mom (who otherwise never wore perfume) always stole it from me. So I gave her one for Christmas so that I could use my bottle myself.

Mademoiselle could be a youthful girl, flowery-scented and innocent.
Or a classic Parisian woman, strolling effortlessly and elegantly along the Champs Élysées in a summer dress.
Or an elegant lady sitting at the dressing table in her boudoir at home in a light robe and applying a touch of powder-pink blusher.

To my nose, the fragrance is a well-rounded modern classic, not too heavy and not too sweet. Delicately floral and feminine, but not overloaded. You can't go far wrong with this fragrance.
A small amount is enough and the fragrance also lasts quite well.

I said goodbye to Mademoiselle in my 20s, but my mom still wears and loves it today.