Nymbus

You are warm. Comforting like a soft, warming blanket, you cover me, let me end the day and start the night.
You are sunny. You have absorbed the glow of a whole day and radiate it little by little into the deepest night.
You shine in my face full of joy.
You are alive. You sprout slowly at first, then confidently. Your buds burst open. You bloom in colors that we don't know. Colors of the night that can only exist in dreams.
You dance animatedly through space. You animate the ether, sweep the universe along with you, inspire the dream beings. And they dance with you, pick up your rhythm and carry it out into the world.
you are completely yourself, you don't pretend. You never have. You do what you like best and don't think about what others might think.
You persevere in drought. You eagerly await the next rain. It will come, you are sure of it. And if it's not rain, then warm snow will fall on your magnificent flowers.
You are very close to me. Always ready for a hug when you need it. Always giving you space.
You are not of this world. A dream creature through and through. We roam through long-forgotten episodes together, scenes from distant lands and times long past wander through my mind.
I can't help but beam back, eyes closed, deep into the dark room.
And in the morning, only the memory remains.and a diffuse wanderlust.

Fragrance, durability, sillage:
i don't know exactly what I'm smelling here, but I like it in a magical way. I smell the most distinctly ethereal and completely atheistic incense. And a light, carefree animalism that I have rarely experienced. And flowers from another world. I can clearly detect ylang-ylang for a long time, garden carnation and a gentle geranium, but also florals that I hadn't noticed before and can't identify. And very slightly, I perceive the creaminess of tonka bean and unsweet vanilla. This rounds off the fragrance, but also allows it to melt into the skin in a very special way.
Albédo lasts for around 10 hours on the skin and longer on clothing. Towards the end, the fragrance becomes creamier, but otherwise hardly develops at all. I would describe the sillage as average, after 4-6 hours the fragrance becomes closer to the skin, but when you move you notice it again and again and the reverie begins again...

Berlin was different back then, a good 20 years ago, when Björn moved from Villingen-Schwenningen to Berlin, into the eternal adventure. Björn was cool. Really cool. Björn had his life ahead of him, had idealistic dreams, wanted to work in NGOs, and wanted to hit every rave in the city every weekend for the rest of his life. It had to be Pberg, what else, his parents bought him the apartment right away without being asked, so that the boy would have a base. And beyond that, it would be a good investment anyway.
Björn studied political science. After 8 years he had finished his master's degree and realized that the low-paying NGOs were not exactly waiting for him. So he had to add a bachelor's degree in computer science. Björn first landed in a NGO for development cooperation with Equatorial Guinea. But when he woke up one night after a 22-hour day and realized that he had completely lost track of his life, he switched to an IT consulting gig. That's where he eventually met Lisa. Lisa used to be cool, too, once had a mullet, once tried a few pills during her law studies, once even lived for half a year in a squatted house on Rigaer Straße. Lisa now works as a lawyer for family law. The Fulda city coat of arms, which she had engraved behind her left upper arm with a forged signature when she was 16, she now conceals again with tops with slightly longer sleeves.
Waldemar was born 5 years ago, then Wilma two years ago. The Kitaplatz for a possible third child has also been reserved for 3 years, but probably Björn and Lisa were too late for this. Waldemar initially grew up without digital influences, with wooden toys and gender-neutral children's books that were read to him every day. Wilma, however, is a somewhat louder child and screams nonstop. By chance, her parents discovered that only colorful videos on their smartphones can soothe her, This fact, of course, they use only very rarely and in extreme emergencies.
Björn is currently taking parental leave for Wilma before she will be acclimated to daycare in a few months.

Björn sports a 10-day beard, tousled blond hair and rides a cargo bike, as do his buddies, all of whom are also currently on parental leave. Björn wears day cream during the day and night cream at night and his favorite perfume is Pour Homme by Grauton. One of his buddies once gave him a bottle and it took over from Sauvage. The perfume smells like curd soap, lavender and rosemary. Björn loves curd soap. He doesn't care about the smell itself, but he loves what it stands for. For honest craftsmanship, authenticity and sustainability. He associates it with childhood, even though he himself grew up with squeaky pink shower gel with a synthetic raspberry smell. He would have liked to grow up with curd soap. And with rosemary and lavender in the garden, and with a grandpa who would have worn one of those old-timey scents. Björn once googled, they call these scents fougères. With an accent grave and without an accent aigu. Björn's grandpas unfortunately died too young and his one grandma got dementia early, with her he mainly associates the smell of her nursing home. Cheap coffee, chlorinated cleaning products and a smell of stale bread and urine.

Björn is here and there overwhelmed with his life. His parents are disappointed that he has not yet reached the executive floor of his company. Lisa, he thinks, would have Waldemar and especially Wilma much better under control, and his buddies all seem much happier and more enthusiastic in their roles as full-time dads. Not to mention the most modern developments, all of which you have to consider today if you want to be a politically correct person and be perceived as such...
And when it's time for daddy-child water gymnastics again and he reaches in the locker room once more for his sweater, which he had just put in the locker room, and smells it, the scent calms him down and reminds Björn that he gives his very best every day. His buddies probably don't think he's all that dumb either, when they're always asking him for tips on cloth diapers. Lisa is great without exceptions. And at least for his kids, he will be the very greatest until their puberty sets in anyway.

Fragrance, durability, sillage:
A wonderfully modern curd soap, perfumed with a great fougère composition. At the beginning, the fragrance actually seems a bit stale. However, while the curd soap always remains constant and constantly gives the impression as if you had just jumped out of grandma's bathtub, the fragrance itself becomes milder, softer and loses its knarzigkeit.
On my (usually quite grateful) skin I perceive the fragrance for well over 14 hours, on clothes even days later, but the fragrance is not too close to the body. A very pronounced sillage did not stand out in my tests the target audience, he is on just under a meter but excellent perceptible, but does not remain forever in the room. The fragrance is extremely suitable for everyday use and with him you will probably hardly ever be able to tick off.

I have arrived. Through the thicket of the forest, up the steep climb, over streams and rocks went the journey. Early in the morning, before every thrush and robin, I had to set out to be back before nightfall.
Here I am, standing in my clearing. How long had it been since I had last been here? Had I been 8 or 9 years old? A small naive boy I was, rebellious in school, a little bit underchallenged in everyday life and a big bit overwhelmed with the world out there. What did my parents have to push me into this monstrosity of a hiking vacation. What good coaxing couldn't do, books and video games had to putty up to get me into the car after all.

And exactly like that boy back then, with that stunned, delighted expression on my face, I now stand there and admire the sight of this splendor. Where birches, firs and cedars end, a meadow begins, from the grass, however, one hardly notices anything, so colorful shine the land carnations in the glistening sunlight. White carnations, red pitch carnations, light carnations, purple carnations, bearded carnations with white colored edges on the colored petals. Occasionally hedge roses bloom, untrimmed and untamed they do not bloom as strongly as in English gardens, however, the perennials fit perfectly into the wild romantic picture. I carefully enter the clearing, the lush green forest behind me, guided by a quietly perceptible ripple. I find a small brook that bubbles towards the forest. Immediately I remember it again, paper boat races, picnics on the banks and, of course, the blades of marsh grass in which the boats always got caught. Oh, if only my sister were here now, we would fall back into that childish ambition of always wanting to win, which had gripped us again and again even then.
But I am alone. And hungry. So I lay my jacket on the meadow, eat the rolls I brought with me and then enjoy the sunshine, the few cotton-like clouds in the sky, breathe the lush, almost supersaturating scent of the flowers and the smell of the nearby forest and suddenly I become very light, almost light as a feather.

I must have slept for several hours. Still dazed, I get up, take my jacket and look around. It has become afternoon, some of the clouds dare to cheekily cover the sun, before they have to bow to their rays and the light can penetrate the clearing again.
The wind must have shifted, a strong, sweet, almost creamy smell from the distance blows over the iris flowers on the banks of the brook and warms me. Like sandalwood and tobacco. I have to grin. I would be very surprised if these plants were growing in this native forest.
Instead of thinking about it further, I decide, before I would leave this marvel of nature, to look around again. I wanted to remember all the details, this peace and idyll virtually absorb to be able to feed on it in the dreary office.
And just as I again look at the excited little brook, it rustles in the marsh grass. A furry little head examines me attentively and I examine it back. It must be a kind of deer, still a young and inexperienced specimen. I happily sit down on the ground, rummage in my backpack for the hard cookies of my mothering boss and hold one out to the little animal. It approaches carefully, step by step, climbs cautiously over the rocks in the stream and immediately nibbles on my cookie. It is a female, delicate and filigree it stands there, nibbling tensely and not losing sight of me, in order to seek the distance again at every jerky movement on my part. But it stays. And it obviously wants another cookie, so I rummage in my backpack again. The plastic of the bag rustles loudly. When I look up guiltily, the little animal has disappeared, I see only more, as the marsh grass stalks on the shore bend back again into their starting positions.
Wistfully, I decide to make my way back home after this encounter, over rocks and streams, down the steep climb and through the thickets of the forest, to be back in the valley before the song of the nightingale. Hopefully, the beautiful creamy fragrance will accompany me a bit of the way.

Reading enthusiastically the comments of my esteemed fellow commentators, I could see, more than with any other perfume, that there is a strong tendency to get to know and love Terre d'Hermès at the airport. The possibility that clever marketing plays a role here, or strangely enough, that this perfume is consistently positioned in the most prominent place, I boldly sweep under the carpet. That would rob my commentary of any basis and even a conscientious scientist like me needs a short break from being scientifically correct.
Rather, we simply assume that every perfume is seen and tested equally often in the duty-free area, so how is it that Terre d'Hermès is so popular there?

I don't want to dare to pin this on a characteristic smell, somehow there is in principle almost everything imaginable represented in the comments: Citrus fruits, various spices, rocks, woods, smoke, grass, freshly washed laundry and even some shady smells can be found among them. Some of the ingredients I can personally understand - the cedar, the vetiver, the pepper and a certain geological note - but that's not what I should be concerned about, as I said before, I am only too familiar with personal differences in the perception of chemical substances from university chemistry laboratories and our friend Iso E Super is also notorious for being highly subjectively perceived.
I'm more interested in the feelings that this perfume evokes. Or rather, it intensifies them. Mostly freedom. And lightness. Sympathy. But also security, dependability and stability. Like a good and arsehole insurance, but one that doesn't want to be called "insurance" because that would be far too stuffy and sticky. And these attributes do not go well with this light, almost fleeting eau de toilette. It's more like a "complete carefree package". I would even go a little further and assume that this fragrance is made for young to middle-aged Germans. You want to travel the world, to be free, to be open, but you want to take as little risk as possible, preferably like a protective hand that is always ready when you need it, but which never gets embarrassing or intrusive.
And where does such a scent belong now, if not at an airport? This place full of freedom, expectations, anticipation, openness to the world, respect, being at the mercy of others, certain fears and doubts, but also a large portion of played routine.

Somewhere between saying goodbye to my loved ones, leaving my familiar or loved surroundings, the exposing and rude security check and the goose march into the flying object, I found him and took him with me, like so many others before me. As an all-round carefree package

Hello everybody! This is my first comment - on my first perfume.

Perfumes? If I had been asked 5 years ago what I associate with it, I would probably have primarily told about the funny to bizarre experiences from my childhood in provincial Austria. Of the 4 old bottles of my mother, which always stood in the bathroom cupboard, fixed components of the household goods, with which nobody knew what to do anymore, family was founded and there were hardly any occasions for which showers alone would not have been enough. So I misused the bottles for my own purposes and mixed Nina Riccis Farouche into my father's shampoo, bathed my brother's teddy bear in cologne or distributed L'Air du Temps - I still have the smell of clove in my nose on demand - on my father's steering wheel, preferably before very long car journeys. Or I would have told you about my first time Axe Africa, which a neighbor boy threw at me while plundering his parents' bathroom. Despite an hour in the bathtub, my teacher in the elementary school acknowledged this the next day with "Mei Liawa, you riachst heid owa männlich!".
For my childish nose, all this was far too much, far too alcoholic, too sharp, too penetrating, too unworldly, since I was only used to unmixed natural smells.

And then followed a long period of rest only sometimes I wondered as a teenager in the drugstore why one should spend such large sums of money on stink when any deodorant against the pubertal sweat smell is sufficient.

That day I was deeply depressed, 20 years old, had had to end my 2-year relationship the night before, wandered aimlessly through rainy Vienna after a bad sex date and ended up in an old-fashioned perfumery. The display was old-fashioned enough to appeal to me in my mood. A cup of tea with grandma on the couch would have been just the right thing at that moment, but she lived hundreds of miles away. When the polite, but somewhat age-grandiose woman in the shop asked what I was looking for, I first gaped at her and then stammered something about "warmth", "cosy" and "rainy weather". I didn't even think of perfume in those words. Yet I was handed a stripe.
I smelled wood, crackling open fire, incense, roasted and dried fruits and vanilla crescents in the oven, a fragrance like a protective layer between me and the rain, the dejection and the dreariness. Without saying goodbye, I stumbled out of the store with the strip in my hand, on which I smelled fascinated every few minutes, the strip still smelled after weeks. The very next day, however, I stood in the shop again, apologized for my unfriendliness the day before and bought a 40mL bottle of Boss Orange and the fragrance became my daily companion for some time

Even today I am still fascinated by how rich this fragrance is, one spray is almost one too many. On my skin, it lasts over 48 hours if I don't shower for that long. On clothes I can often still notice it even after weeks. And my 40mL bottle still exists, a small remainder is still there. I have used it sparingly and very rarely because of its fertility and my special relationship with it, as the season and the mood have to suit. In spring and summer it is unbearable to penetrating for me. It is probably very well suited as a beginner's fragrance, since one can still relatively well separate its different fragrance components and can build up emotions to it (similar to TomTomxGo's commentary).
It is also the fragrance for which I have received by far the most compliments and requests, especially from strangers. Yesterday Berlin was covered in deep grey and it was raining, I had to go out in the evening and after more than a year I sprayed Boss Orange again. I walked 100 meters before a young woman on the sidewalk, after she had passed me, turned around and asked me if I smelled so good here.
This moment was also the occasion for my first comment, when I subsequently thought that I should share this story. Almost every one of my perfumes has a special story, maybe I find the time to write one down here from time to time.