Olympia

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.

Recently, one morning I stood somewhat indecisively in my bedroom and wondered what I should spray on today. Since there was nothing special planned for the day, I quickly decided to reach for “Paris” by Yves Saint Laurent, a fragrance that I wear very rarely because I find it beautiful but also a bit old-fashioned, and my colleague once mentioned that it gives her headaches. However, I knew that my colleague wouldn’t be there that day, so I thought I could give “Paris” another chance…
Good decision: It’s so wonderful! I had completely forgotten how lovely it is. Maybe it’s also the season - it’s too floral in winter and too opulent in summer, and I probably unknowingly picked the absolutely perfect day for “Paris.”
It’s always a bit of a thing. The fragrance and the outside temperature need to match; otherwise, it just doesn’t work. Some fragrances only work in winter, others only in summer heat, and some need proper dreary weather.
But how does “Paris” smell now?
It smells of flowers, mainly roses, but there are also other flowers like jasmine or iris. It smells as if you were sticking your nose into a gigantic bouquet of flowers. Not a measly little bunch, but a bouquet that costs at least €50, one that movie stars receive after a premiere, lavish and abundant. The flowers themselves are fully bloomed and radiate their enchanting scent in all directions. No delicate, still-dewy buds, but wide-open blossoms stretching towards the sun. You can smell their nectar, which attracts the bees, and you can also sense that they will soon wither. The flowers are basically at the peak of their beauty and simultaneously just before decay. At least, that’s how I perceive it. On my skin, the fragrance develops a velvety honey sweetness over time, which is easily noticeable and simply beautiful.
Several people I interacted with that day came up to me and said something like: “It smells good in here. What is that?” That almost never happens. And at the gym, the men suddenly became unexpectedly charming: “Should I help you with the weights?” Or was it more about spring? Moreover, “Paris” was unusually long-lasting. I could still faintly perceive the scent even after showering. That’s how it should be. I will wear it more often now. I’m glad I rediscovered it…