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The Secret
Everything about this fragrance is mysterious.
It all started with how it found its way to me. I had never heard of the brand before, but it was recommended to me in my search for a green-fresh scent in the forum. However, it was quickly kicked out of my shortlist - due to the info "no longer in production" - such things only cause headaches; it's better not to know what you might be missing (or not).
Then, in the souk, I discovered a completely different scent that the lovely Parfuma only wanted to sell as a duo. In combination with one that I absolutely did not want. I searched the souk hopefully for other candidates - and bam. "Hedera" - recognized immediately. That's no coincidence - the duo was allowed to be reconfigured, and soon both were mine.
The mysterious packaging. Inside the pale yellow box adorned with beautiful ivy leaves - and there is no flacon waiting, as expected. No, there waits a second, this time round box, wrapped in dark green velvet. Like a narrower, taller hat box - very elegant and beautiful. Only then do you hold the flacon in your hands.
The scent test itself was a complete surprise. It was recommended to me as a green-fresh-summery fragrance with a minty, cold note. What can I say? I was taken aback.
After spraying, there’s a citrus-herb "bomb" - so intense that it truly tickles the nose, making you instinctively step back a bit, as it’s just too much; presumably, bergamot is in charge here... A few moments later, the orange blossom appears - a radiant orange that seems to bathe the scent in dazzling bright light and brings a blissful smile to your face for a few minutes.
From then on, the fragrance pyramid does what it wants and no longer adheres to protocol. Hints of coconut are already peeking through (even though listed in the base), and from now on, I have a scent that is in no way fresh and certainly not cold. It "sweetens," it "thumps" (quite a bit), it "AUTUMNS," it is lush. It hardly gets more opulent. At least on my skin.
I smell no trace of jasmine, no rose, no lavender, no pineapple, no woody notes throughout the entire scent progression.
Dominant throughout is the ivy note, and in between, a coconut-buttery, very pleasant, but also quite special note flickers up. Even though not listed, I occasionally think I smell grapes - lush, fully ripe, juicy grapes.
All in all, this scent is not uncomplicated and casual to wear for me. It is dominant and noticeable. In my opinion, it is also a scent that polarizes and could provoke an "ew, that stinks" reaction in some people. Similar to "Fig" in perfumes, which sometimes also elicits different reactions.
I would categorize its longevity as average; towards the end, it becomes tamer, and the description "green-creamy" probably fits it well.
My better half judged it as "strange," and when asked what it smells like, I heard "tea/fruity tea/a tea bag mixture" three times in different scent phases.
And here we come to perhaps the biggest secret of this fragrance. It seems to do whatever it pleases on different skin types. And it seems to evoke completely different associations in different people. When I read fresh-minty, when I read summery and hear about use at 30 degrees, I am inclined to believe we are talking about different scents.
But no, it is probably always the same. "Hedera." The one that refreshes some in summer at 30 degrees, that reminds others of a fairground visit, that seems minty-cold to some, and that reminds me on a wet-gray autumn-like late summer day (which, in my opinion, it fits perfectly) of sweet, juicy grapes and coconut butter.
How the same scent manages this, how it is capable of doing so, and how something like this is even possible - that is probably its secret - and will always remain so...
It all started with how it found its way to me. I had never heard of the brand before, but it was recommended to me in my search for a green-fresh scent in the forum. However, it was quickly kicked out of my shortlist - due to the info "no longer in production" - such things only cause headaches; it's better not to know what you might be missing (or not).
Then, in the souk, I discovered a completely different scent that the lovely Parfuma only wanted to sell as a duo. In combination with one that I absolutely did not want. I searched the souk hopefully for other candidates - and bam. "Hedera" - recognized immediately. That's no coincidence - the duo was allowed to be reconfigured, and soon both were mine.
The mysterious packaging. Inside the pale yellow box adorned with beautiful ivy leaves - and there is no flacon waiting, as expected. No, there waits a second, this time round box, wrapped in dark green velvet. Like a narrower, taller hat box - very elegant and beautiful. Only then do you hold the flacon in your hands.
The scent test itself was a complete surprise. It was recommended to me as a green-fresh-summery fragrance with a minty, cold note. What can I say? I was taken aback.
After spraying, there’s a citrus-herb "bomb" - so intense that it truly tickles the nose, making you instinctively step back a bit, as it’s just too much; presumably, bergamot is in charge here... A few moments later, the orange blossom appears - a radiant orange that seems to bathe the scent in dazzling bright light and brings a blissful smile to your face for a few minutes.
From then on, the fragrance pyramid does what it wants and no longer adheres to protocol. Hints of coconut are already peeking through (even though listed in the base), and from now on, I have a scent that is in no way fresh and certainly not cold. It "sweetens," it "thumps" (quite a bit), it "AUTUMNS," it is lush. It hardly gets more opulent. At least on my skin.
I smell no trace of jasmine, no rose, no lavender, no pineapple, no woody notes throughout the entire scent progression.
Dominant throughout is the ivy note, and in between, a coconut-buttery, very pleasant, but also quite special note flickers up. Even though not listed, I occasionally think I smell grapes - lush, fully ripe, juicy grapes.
All in all, this scent is not uncomplicated and casual to wear for me. It is dominant and noticeable. In my opinion, it is also a scent that polarizes and could provoke an "ew, that stinks" reaction in some people. Similar to "Fig" in perfumes, which sometimes also elicits different reactions.
I would categorize its longevity as average; towards the end, it becomes tamer, and the description "green-creamy" probably fits it well.
My better half judged it as "strange," and when asked what it smells like, I heard "tea/fruity tea/a tea bag mixture" three times in different scent phases.
And here we come to perhaps the biggest secret of this fragrance. It seems to do whatever it pleases on different skin types. And it seems to evoke completely different associations in different people. When I read fresh-minty, when I read summery and hear about use at 30 degrees, I am inclined to believe we are talking about different scents.
But no, it is probably always the same. "Hedera." The one that refreshes some in summer at 30 degrees, that reminds others of a fairground visit, that seems minty-cold to some, and that reminds me on a wet-gray autumn-like late summer day (which, in my opinion, it fits perfectly) of sweet, juicy grapes and coconut butter.
How the same scent manages this, how it is capable of doing so, and how something like this is even possible - that is probably its secret - and will always remain so...
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Garden Idyl in the Morning - the "ZulangfüreinStatement Comment"
Dew-kissed lush green leaves flirt with sliced lemon wedges in a competition for attention. They are almost eager to push themselves to the forefront. The more the leaves are illuminated by the rising sun, the stronger their green scent develops.
The mint crouches stealthily behind a bush, observing (unfortunately) very timidly from the background.
After two hours, the flirting comes to an end, as the very strong Papa Rhubarb enters the scene and lays himself in the garden. His fullness casts shadows on the leaves and the lemon wedges, whose scent suddenly retreats quite significantly. What remains is "sun-kissed rhubarb."
A complex, multifaceted fragrance with a lively progression. I would categorize longevity and sillage in the good middle range. Bottle rating based on the photo (tested as a sample).
Thanks for the tip! I was very curious about it due to the recommendation and the comments, but unfortunately "shi_sõ" does not develop well on my skin (or at all in the minty-cold direction I desired). As with "Lolitaland," the scent of rhubarb also appears very dominantly here for me, even though it is not listed at all.
The mint crouches stealthily behind a bush, observing (unfortunately) very timidly from the background.
After two hours, the flirting comes to an end, as the very strong Papa Rhubarb enters the scene and lays himself in the garden. His fullness casts shadows on the leaves and the lemon wedges, whose scent suddenly retreats quite significantly. What remains is "sun-kissed rhubarb."
A complex, multifaceted fragrance with a lively progression. I would categorize longevity and sillage in the good middle range. Bottle rating based on the photo (tested as a sample).
Thanks for the tip! I was very curious about it due to the recommendation and the comments, but unfortunately "shi_sõ" does not develop well on my skin (or at all in the minty-cold direction I desired). As with "Lolitaland," the scent of rhubarb also appears very dominantly here for me, even though it is not listed at all.
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Head Note Freezing Need
I don't really like summer. At least not when the thermometer climbs above 30 degrees for more than two days in a row and I can't be by the sea.
So far this year, I often haven't liked it.
There are very few fragrances that I can tolerate. My "heat collection" has now even grown to five inhabitants, but I still haven't found the ultimate "fresh kick fragrance"...
In a very pleasant souk deal, I snagged a sample of "Eau Radieuse" as a goodie.
And during the first test on a day of about 32 degrees, the term "fresh kick fragrance" took shape. Suddenly, I had a clear idea of what I envisioned and what I was looking for.
Upon spraying, I was instantly enveloped by an icy aura of peppermint. Even though the scent was different, the effect reminded me of earlier times when I always used that "China oil" inhaler during colds. A feeling that almost physically pulls through to the last nerve fibers of my brain and suddenly bombards me with images of ice crystals, stalactite caves, and bubbling, clear mountain streams - all at an outside temperature of 32 degrees.
That, exactly that, is what I had imagined.
And it's in such a beautiful bottle. I really like very simple bottles; they appear clear and cool, and this one, combined with the light turquoise (according to the photo), even more so.
And now comes the catch. This cold/icy effect/scent impression lasts for only about 35 minutes for me (today, during the second test, I checked the time). Then the fragrance becomes significantly sweeter. The peppermint recedes and makes way for a (not further defined) lighter mixture of (if I were to rely on the listed ingredients, I wouldn't recognize it) banana or bamboo. Although it's not listed, I think I detect a hint of jasmine for a while. Lemon doesn't stand out to me at all, nor do mandarins. What lingers at the end is, for me - distinctly perceptible - rhubarb.
And at this point, "Eau Radieuse" has completely lost me. Because I've never liked rhubarb, not even in cake, and certainly not in a fragrance. The really decent longevity of about 5 hours doesn't help either.
Nowadays, you can freeze almost anything. Bread, pastries, meat. Ice cream, of course. Whole fortunes can sometimes be frozen. And even pictures - whether worth seeing or not - can be frozen on the TV or DVD player.
So why, for heaven's sake, has no one invented something to freeze the top notes of perfumes on the skin??? For a few hours - four, five maybe. Then you can start all over again. I wouldn't even care if it were a spray that you distribute on the sprayed areas after applying the perfume or some kind of invisible gel that you spread where you sprayed the perfume.
It just has to work. Simply ensure that what you smell and feel right after spraying remains exactly the same. And doesn't change. Including the tingling of the nerve fibers. And the images of ice crystals. That would be something. I would like that.
And "Eau Radieuse," this newly invented freezing thing, and I would become inseparable friends from June to September.
So far this year, I often haven't liked it.
There are very few fragrances that I can tolerate. My "heat collection" has now even grown to five inhabitants, but I still haven't found the ultimate "fresh kick fragrance"...
In a very pleasant souk deal, I snagged a sample of "Eau Radieuse" as a goodie.
And during the first test on a day of about 32 degrees, the term "fresh kick fragrance" took shape. Suddenly, I had a clear idea of what I envisioned and what I was looking for.
Upon spraying, I was instantly enveloped by an icy aura of peppermint. Even though the scent was different, the effect reminded me of earlier times when I always used that "China oil" inhaler during colds. A feeling that almost physically pulls through to the last nerve fibers of my brain and suddenly bombards me with images of ice crystals, stalactite caves, and bubbling, clear mountain streams - all at an outside temperature of 32 degrees.
That, exactly that, is what I had imagined.
And it's in such a beautiful bottle. I really like very simple bottles; they appear clear and cool, and this one, combined with the light turquoise (according to the photo), even more so.
And now comes the catch. This cold/icy effect/scent impression lasts for only about 35 minutes for me (today, during the second test, I checked the time). Then the fragrance becomes significantly sweeter. The peppermint recedes and makes way for a (not further defined) lighter mixture of (if I were to rely on the listed ingredients, I wouldn't recognize it) banana or bamboo. Although it's not listed, I think I detect a hint of jasmine for a while. Lemon doesn't stand out to me at all, nor do mandarins. What lingers at the end is, for me - distinctly perceptible - rhubarb.
And at this point, "Eau Radieuse" has completely lost me. Because I've never liked rhubarb, not even in cake, and certainly not in a fragrance. The really decent longevity of about 5 hours doesn't help either.
Nowadays, you can freeze almost anything. Bread, pastries, meat. Ice cream, of course. Whole fortunes can sometimes be frozen. And even pictures - whether worth seeing or not - can be frozen on the TV or DVD player.
So why, for heaven's sake, has no one invented something to freeze the top notes of perfumes on the skin??? For a few hours - four, five maybe. Then you can start all over again. I wouldn't even care if it were a spray that you distribute on the sprayed areas after applying the perfume or some kind of invisible gel that you spread where you sprayed the perfume.
It just has to work. Simply ensure that what you smell and feel right after spraying remains exactly the same. And doesn't change. Including the tingling of the nerve fibers. And the images of ice crystals. That would be something. I would like that.
And "Eau Radieuse," this newly invented freezing thing, and I would become inseparable friends from June to September.
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Rescue Drops to Spray
There are "those" days... The ones where you have to motivate yourself with all available tricks and positive thoughts to actually get up in the morning. And on the way to work, not turn back or take a different direction (couldn’t I just change lines now)...
Because maybe the wrong meeting is on the agenda - too long (more than two hours, torture if you ask me) - and on the wrong topic (inner bloodlust pre-programmed) - or because the wrong person is there (5 minutes already too much! What - THREE hours? Seriously?). Anyway, I’m digressing, sorry!
On these days, I reach for the silver "wonder remedy".
I received it as a gift and found it "boring" on the first test. It took two or three tries before I found a connection to it.
"Mirra" is a scent that is easily perceptible at close range (but unobtrusive) and lasts very well on me. Sprayed in the morning, the "scent" theme is set for the whole day - it accompanies me effortlessly until the evening.
After spraying, there’s a minimal short (so short that it doesn’t bother me) hairspray note, followed by a relatively consistent scent impression until the end: thoughts of oriental bubble bath/fabric softener, a minimal trace of pleasant baby powder, a tiny hint of rose (to me, similar to the Chloe fragrance rose DNA).
Warm, soft, oriental spices, gentle wood, delicate musk. Fluffy, light, and bright. A hint of orange. The listed vanilla doesn’t come through for me at all.
"Mirra" demands nothing - not even attention - it doesn’t distract, it doesn’t annoy.
It only gives: calm, balance, comfort, warmth, stability, and strength.
Due to the relatively unchanged scent progression, it is a reliable, uncomplicated ally in the fight against exhausting, gloomy, and annoying days for me. This little water has the "Ohm effect" for me. It makes everything a tad more bearable and acts like a mix of "Rescue Drops," valerian, and chocolate.
And the smile now and then happens almost by itself - for three hours... ;-)
Because maybe the wrong meeting is on the agenda - too long (more than two hours, torture if you ask me) - and on the wrong topic (inner bloodlust pre-programmed) - or because the wrong person is there (5 minutes already too much! What - THREE hours? Seriously?). Anyway, I’m digressing, sorry!
On these days, I reach for the silver "wonder remedy".
I received it as a gift and found it "boring" on the first test. It took two or three tries before I found a connection to it.
"Mirra" is a scent that is easily perceptible at close range (but unobtrusive) and lasts very well on me. Sprayed in the morning, the "scent" theme is set for the whole day - it accompanies me effortlessly until the evening.
After spraying, there’s a minimal short (so short that it doesn’t bother me) hairspray note, followed by a relatively consistent scent impression until the end: thoughts of oriental bubble bath/fabric softener, a minimal trace of pleasant baby powder, a tiny hint of rose (to me, similar to the Chloe fragrance rose DNA).
Warm, soft, oriental spices, gentle wood, delicate musk. Fluffy, light, and bright. A hint of orange. The listed vanilla doesn’t come through for me at all.
"Mirra" demands nothing - not even attention - it doesn’t distract, it doesn’t annoy.
It only gives: calm, balance, comfort, warmth, stability, and strength.
Due to the relatively unchanged scent progression, it is a reliable, uncomplicated ally in the fight against exhausting, gloomy, and annoying days for me. This little water has the "Ohm effect" for me. It makes everything a tad more bearable and acts like a mix of "Rescue Drops," valerian, and chocolate.
And the smile now and then happens almost by itself - for three hours... ;-)
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The Principle Challenger
I have a principle when it comes to testing perfumes. Nothing gets washed off. Nothing!!! The curiosity about what comes next is too great, and too often I've been pleasantly surprised by what emerged after a head note that I found utterly dreadful. So far, this has never been a particular problem for me.
During the test of my sample of "Art" (today), this principle was put to a very tough test. Sillage and longevity rated weak, and in the comments described as pleasant, light, and mood-lifting, two solid "PFFTTTSSSSSSS" landed on my wrists.
A few minutes later: images of alarmingly large insect-repellent candles appear before my mind's eye, it must be the bergamot. Shortly after, the plum makes its presence known, lasting a good 20 minutes. But this is not a rich, warm plum like in "Decadence," this is a hard, grumpy, cold, and gloomy plum - one that looks at you angrily and seems almost threatening. If Japanese plums really smell like this, I don't want to be anywhere near them, ever!
"You could wash it off," comes to mind, over and over again, minute by minute. "Look, the sink is right there, soap too, it's okay if it doesn't fit at all. Others do it all the time, or so I've read."
I have my principles!!! Hold on. You can do it. Arms crossed behind your back, hold on!
To make a long story short. I made it. After about 20 minutes, the grumpy plum shrinks and fades away.
What comes next reinforces my principle. This is really nice (yes, the word *g*). Delicate cherry, creamy. If Japanese cherry blossoms smell like this, then I'll just leave the plums in Japan and sit under the cherry tree. For a long time! And really happily :-)
Sillage is harmless, completely.
Longevity is not good, after about 2 hours the cherries leave me too, and I'm once again far from Japan and any fruit (if the base is musk and cedarwood, then it's completely odorless in Japan).
Nothing about this scent was fresh for me. The mood-lifting part was at most the middle section with the cherry, but that was too short for lasting good cheer ;-)
P.S. For the sake of completeness, I must say that the sample is labeled from summer 2017 - the scent smells not at all spoiled, but perhaps the quality has suffered a bit - otherwise, it’s just my skin chemistry...
During the test of my sample of "Art" (today), this principle was put to a very tough test. Sillage and longevity rated weak, and in the comments described as pleasant, light, and mood-lifting, two solid "PFFTTTSSSSSSS" landed on my wrists.
A few minutes later: images of alarmingly large insect-repellent candles appear before my mind's eye, it must be the bergamot. Shortly after, the plum makes its presence known, lasting a good 20 minutes. But this is not a rich, warm plum like in "Decadence," this is a hard, grumpy, cold, and gloomy plum - one that looks at you angrily and seems almost threatening. If Japanese plums really smell like this, I don't want to be anywhere near them, ever!
"You could wash it off," comes to mind, over and over again, minute by minute. "Look, the sink is right there, soap too, it's okay if it doesn't fit at all. Others do it all the time, or so I've read."
I have my principles!!! Hold on. You can do it. Arms crossed behind your back, hold on!
To make a long story short. I made it. After about 20 minutes, the grumpy plum shrinks and fades away.
What comes next reinforces my principle. This is really nice (yes, the word *g*). Delicate cherry, creamy. If Japanese cherry blossoms smell like this, then I'll just leave the plums in Japan and sit under the cherry tree. For a long time! And really happily :-)
Sillage is harmless, completely.
Longevity is not good, after about 2 hours the cherries leave me too, and I'm once again far from Japan and any fruit (if the base is musk and cedarwood, then it's completely odorless in Japan).
Nothing about this scent was fresh for me. The mood-lifting part was at most the middle section with the cherry, but that was too short for lasting good cheer ;-)
P.S. For the sake of completeness, I must say that the sample is labeled from summer 2017 - the scent smells not at all spoiled, but perhaps the quality has suffered a bit - otherwise, it’s just my skin chemistry...
2 Comments
