Olympia

Two years ago in late summer, I broke up with my long-term boyfriend. The breakup was tough, painful, but inevitable. No alternatives, as they say. The reasons are irrelevant here.
A difficult time for everyone involved. I was feeling bad and it only got better very slowly. I was not at all used to living alone and had to find my bearings all over again. Suddenly making all decisions by myself was just as hard as reconnecting with old friendships. And then, to top it all off, Christmas and New Year's Eve were just around the corner. By then, I had somewhat regained control of my emotional life and bravely decided to attend a big New Year's Eve party all by myself, which takes place annually at our city's theater. Although I still wasn't in the mood to celebrate, I put on my short party dress, painted my lips red, and set off feeling a bit anxious. I was pretty sure that I would be back home shortly after midnight. But since I had paid, I had to go. And what fragrance was I wearing? Exactly, Hibiscus Mahajad by Maison Crivelli, because it radiates exuberance and joy of life for me, exactly what I was missing at that moment…
What can I say - unexpectedly, it turned out to be a great evening. I had a wonderful time, danced until four in the morning, and received plenty of compliments. It may sound cliché, but on that New Year's Eve, all my buried spirits came back to life. I suddenly felt strong and beautiful, and I had this wonderful scent in my nose, which is exactly that: strong and beautiful. Pure zest for life. In many other situations, it is certainly less suitable, and I see that too. Too flashy, too floral, too intense, too whatever… But on that evening, it felt just right for me. Perfectly merging with my newly awakened zest for life. Just like in the song "I will survive" by Gloria Gaynor.
I don't wear it very often, but every time I do, I am reminded of that New Year's Eve, which represented a kind of "rebirth" for me and showed me that life goes on, even when you don't believe it at first.
Hibiscus Mahajad accompanied me wonderfully in that regard. It couldn't have done me a greater favor…

What I'm doing here is actually complete nonsense. I know that. I'm doing it anyway because the fragrance simply deserves it. It is magical, enchanting, and beautiful in its own unique way. I keep realizing this whenever I wear it. This is rare, as it is no longer available for purchase and my bottle, acquired through convoluted means (I was lucky), should last as long as possible. I'm writing a review about a discontinued fragrance. Crazy, but necessary. Because this very special aura that arises when you press the sprayer is so unique that it must not be forgotten unnoticed.

First of all, the fragrance has the wrong name. Although it is called “Indian Holi,” it has nothing to do with India for me. Instead, it is a fragrance that is thoroughly Japanese to my nose. The steam of rice, which connects it to the original “Amour,” the prominent cherry blossom, and the sandalwood immediately evoke images of Japanese gardens with traditional tea houses and delicate walkers in kimonos. The scent is less powdery-sweet than the original, but more floral and deeper due to the wood and incense. I find it more feminine, balanced, and also a bit more mature than the still-available “Amour” (which I also appreciate). The longevity is significantly better for me as well. No other fragrance puts me in such a calm, almost meditative mood for hours through its quiet beauty and perfect balance. The distinctly noticeable, but by no means artificial, cherry blossom, the soft vanilla, and the dark wood create a wonderful scent accord that gently envelops its wearer without overwhelming her or her surroundings.
With a bit of imagination, she herself becomes a geisha and walks with tiny, delicate steps through the cherry blossom gardens of everyday life.
Too far-fetched?
Give it a try - provided you are lucky and can, like me, still manage to find a bottle or at least a tiny decant through convoluted means…

Olympia is a little person in
xs-format and is often described by those around her as “small and delicate.” She loves to wear flowing summer dresses in bright colors: yellow, orange, turquoise, tightly cinched at the waist. Her feet (shoe size 36) with salmon-colored toenails are either in sneakers or flat strappy sandals, and her hair always looks strangely unstyled. She loves perfume, especially floral and sweet scents, although she swore off gummy bears and the like a hundred years ago. Because of all the artificial flavorings and such. Plus, that stuff sticks in your teeth. Instead, she constantly drinks cappuccino and reads novels from the nineteenth century: Tolstoy, Balzac, Fontane, ah…
From time to time, she is surrounded by a cloud of "I Don't Need A Prince By My Side To Be A Princess | Kilian," a scent she particularly appreciates for its simple yet impressive composition. Honorine Blanc, the master of subtle sweetness, has done a wonderful job. Three ingredients are enough here: marshmallow, green tea, ginger. And all three are distinctly noticeable and distinguishable from one another. This gives the fragrance, despite its sweetness, a slightly bitter, somewhat Asian touch. Green tea mochi in a bottle, so to speak. And Olympia has always had a weakness for the land of the rising sun. In her hometown, there is a Japanese café that she loves to visit. There, one bows when receiving change, the pieces of cake are tiny but delicious, and the atmosphere is polite, graceful, and quiet. How lovely and fitting it is to smell like "I Don't Need A Prince By My Side To Be A Princess | Kilian" in such a place. And then to dive back into “Anna Karenina.” Ah…

A scent like from a dream sequence:
Alone in the jungle. How did you get there? No idea. Perhaps you are the sole survivor of a plane crash or the Earth has finally become uninhabitable and you find yourself on an alien planet. What surrounds you is not of this world, you sense it immediately. Mighty tree giants entwined with lush green undergrowth. Meter-long vines and wide-open, palm-sized flowers with phallic stamens. Everything drips and glistens with moisture. The air is still. You sweat, even though you move only very slowly and cautiously, afraid of startling animals. But there are no animals. As far as the eye can see, only abundant plant green seems to stretch its fleshy leaves towards you. Gently, the vines brush against your face. The flowers exude a sweet, intoxicating scent that makes you more and more tired. You can barely keep your eyes open, but you know exactly: If you fall asleep here, you are lost. So onward. There must be an exit somewhere from this green labyrinth. Over there, it seems to get brighter. But it is nearly impossible to get there. The damp thicket becomes ever more impenetrable. Your feet get caught again and again in the sprawling green
mesh on the ground. The scent of the flowers intensifies. The heavy sweetness rises to your head and makes your senses fade. Just a few more meters to the brighter spot where you would be safe. You stretch out your arms and fall. Everything spins, then only black. You could make it if only this scent weren't there. It lulls you and holds you back…
Then you wake up. Still quite dazed, you recognize the green scent of the jungle. It comes from your wrist: Aura.

On a brilliantly beautiful, yet still fresh morning in May, I wore Burberry Her Eau de Toilette. As often before work (luckily for me, I don’t start too early), I sat in the sun in front of my favorite café to enjoy the first cappuccino of the day. I was still lost in thoughts about the lovely weather and the upcoming weekend when suddenly the man from the next table spoke to me:
“May I give you a compliment? You smell wonderful! I only sat at this table because you smell so great.”
Yes, he really said “wonderful.” Not “good,” not “nice” or “pleasant,” but “wonderful,” a word that I myself rarely use. Too rarely, it seems to me now…
Of course, I was very pleased with this remark and immediately wrote down the name of the fragrance for him, hoping that he might gift it to his wife or girlfriend.
Because I can’t imagine Burberry Her Eau de Toilette on a man. For my nose, despite its green freshness, it is too feminine. You can clearly smell the pear and the peony, but everything feels dewy and cool-fruity, not sweet or lush at all. Like a garden on the morning of a beautiful spring day - already fully bloomed, but not yet warmed by the sun. Instead, it’s green, overgrown, and mysterious.
It certainly doesn’t smell only natural; synthetic fragrance notes were surely used generously, but this does not detract from the overall impression of the scent at all. The sillage and longevity are excellent (probably precisely because of the synthetic components), otherwise the man from the next table would hardly have been inspired to give such an enthusiastic compliment…
In any case, it brightened my day and showed that one can indeed delight others with their passion for fragrance.