Parfmarie

of my grandma.

I am infinitely grateful for this sample. Whenever I tested Ani Extrait de Parfum in the perfume store, it was always too much for me. Not quite tangible, overloaded, simply not my style.
When this sample unexpectedly reached me, I must admit I was skeptical, to put it mildly.

On days when I wear fragrances from my collection that last under 8 hours, I usually carry a travel size, a sample, or a decant with me so I can refresh my scent during or after a long workday.

Today, I wore my beloved Lesquendieu Le Parfum in the morning, but unfortunately, after 8 hours, only a very soft, sweet-creamy base was perceptible. So, unsuspectingly, I sprayed Ani Extrait de Parfum on top, rationally assuming that the scent notes would complement each other well.

Suddenly, it hit me. An emotional chaos spread within me, tears welled up in my eyes, and I suddenly realized what this scent reminded me of: my grandma. And in the best sense.

My grandma passed away in 2024. I had a complicated relationship with her, and it was never really easy, but she always tried to be a good grandma, and she was.
She always wore "Roma (Eau de Toilette) | Laura Biagiotti." Warm, spicy, vanilla, with that characteristic oriental sweetness that filled rooms and lingered on clothes for days.
When I wear Ani Extrait de Parfum today, there is this faint echo. Not identical - but related. Generations experiencing similar things, just at different times.

Ani Extrait de Parfum opens surprisingly lively:
Bergamot and green notes create an almost sparkling start, accompanied by blue ginger and pink pepper, which immediately add spice and energy. The freshness is not citrusy-volatile, but full of tension. Here, Nishane's typical intensity already shows.
Cardamom brings an aromatic warmth to the heart, while blackcurrant contributes a dark, slightly tart fruitiness. The Turkish rose here does not come across as classically floral but structurally - it connects the spicy and fruity elements with the upcoming sweetness, yet remains comparatively in the background. In the base, I also experience the famous vanilla base for which Ani Extrait de Parfum is so loved: opulent, deep, and supported by benzoin, amber, musk, patchouli, sandalwood, and cedarwood. A balsamic, slightly resinous warmth emerges, which somehow feels gourmand. The patchouli provides structure, the sandalwood creaminess, and the musk softness. The sweetness is pronounced - but it is grounded by the spice and woods, making the scent remarkably balanced. The performance is - typically Nishane - impressive.
Above-average longevity, noticeable sillage, especially in the first hours. Ani is not a quiet scent. It wants to be noticed without coming across as aggressive.

The comparison with Roma Eau de Toilette seems natural to me. Both fragrances share this warm, spicy vanilla base, this oriental embrace that immediately conveys a sense of security. Roma may not be quite as balanced, but rather a bit monotone and especially powdery, somewhat vintage. Ani Extrait de Parfum is more powerful, more clearly defined, modern. The freshness in the opening is more pronounced, the vanilla darker, denser, almost dramatic, but everything rounded off, and that is what makes it this special masterpiece that can evoke emotions.

For a long time, the flower was too sharp, too piercing, too bright, and too harsh for me. Often, the note felt uneven on my skin/in my nose, and it simply failed to make me happy in any fragrance. But then I came across Néroli Cuivré.

In my view, the key to success here lies (among other things) in the hazelnut. I've noticed in other fragrances that I particularly love hazelnut as a note, especially in floral-fruity contexts - for example, in Guidance 46 or Oriental Enigma Eau de Parfum. In classic gourmand-heavy compositions, it often feels too dry, too dominant for me.
Here, however, it works perfectly, as it is precisely this note that makes this fragrance so desirable for me.

In the opening, alongside the hazelnut, cardamom surprises. It’s not a classic, citrus-soapy neroli narrative, but rather creamy, soft, lightly milky roasted hazelnut, though not gourmand in the usual sense. Cardamom adds a fine, aromatic spiciness - cool, but not sharp.

In the heart, neroli and orange unfold together with magnolia. Another crucial point in the development of this fragrance. Neither neroli nor orange feels piercing here. The hazelnut from the top note remains like a buffer, softening the often sharp freshness of neroli for me. The orange brings juicy brightness without tipping into synthetic sweetness. Magnolia adds a creamy, slightly lemony floral softness that ties everything together.

The result: fresh, floral, fruity - but at the same time creamy and gentle.

In the base, the fragrance then becomes warmer. Benzoin provides balsamic sweetness, while cashmere wood contributes that typical soft, skin-close woodiness. And then there’s this subtle, almost abstract note of copper - not a literal metallic smell, but rather a warm element that gives the fragrance a modern structure. This note reminds me of the shimmer of tanned skin in summer when the light hits it.

The longevity of Néroli Cuivré is solid to good, with moderate sillage - present enough to be perceived as pleasant. I wouldn’t describe it as skin-close, but it is never dominant at any point - just always easy to wear, and that’s what makes it so special for me.

Néroli Cuivré is the first neroli fragrance that truly convinces me.

It takes the sharpness out of the note without threatening to lose its radiance. It combines freshness with creaminess, bloom with warmth, light with metal (how intriguing is the listed copper note?). A fragrance that feels modern but not cold. For me, it’s a successful balancing act -
and proof that even seemingly difficult fragrance notes can suddenly be just right in the right composition. My collector's passion has been reignited, as just when I thought I had smelled (almost) every direction and knew for sure which notes I liked and which I didn’t, this fragrance comes along and teaches me otherwise.

I came to this wonderful fragrance as a gift. It was no coincidence, but fate - a union of my favorite scent notes in a bottle that breathes perfume history.
Originally composed in 1903 as the first creation of the house Lesquendieu and named after its founder Joseph Lesquendieu, the reinterpretation from 2016 is no less timeless. It preserves the classic core of the fragrance. It carries a classic signature without being old-fashioned.

The opening is fine and cultivated. Bergamot opens with elegant freshness - clear, but not loud. It does not come across as citrusy and zesty, but rather delicate. Almost immediately, a fine tea accord blends in - transparent, yet slightly bitter. The floral softness of jasmine joins in, neither opulent nor indolic - rather fine. A leathery birch note gives the fragrance its depth and character. This birch feels slightly smoky, slightly rough, like fine suede.

This is where the paradox arises:
Gentleness meets structure.
Delicacy meets poise.

The fragrance has a brisk progression and unfortunately only moderate longevity. Soon, a warm base unfolds from labdanum, tonka bean, vanilla, and amber, carried by a dry cedarwood note. The sweetness is present, but never sticky. It feels rounded, balsamic, and elegant. The tonka bean imparts an almond-like softness, while labdanum contributes a resinous, slightly leathery depth and complements the preceding birch note.

Lesquendieu Le Parfum is sensually rounded. A fragrance that harmoniously combines opposites - spicy, sweet, woody, and floral, but none of it dominates. Everything is in balance.
It is mysterious without being dark. Sensual without being loud. Elegant without appearing distant.

For me, it unites exactly those accords that I love the most: bergamot, tea, jasmine, labdanum, vanilla, and amber. And it is precisely this combination that makes it so special - it feels familiar yet unmistakable.

There are fragrances that please.
And there are fragrances that stay.
Muskaria clearly belongs to the second category - those perfumes that not only unfold on the skin but also remain in memory.

The opening is warm and immediately caressing: Bergamot flashes briefly before a spicy depth spreads instantly. Very present - and clearly recognizable to me - is the impression of nutmeg: dry, warm, slightly sweet, almost creamy. Although it is not explicitly listed, it is precisely this nutty spice that shapes the character of the fragrance from the very beginning and runs like a red thread throughout the entire experience.

In the heart, Muskaria condenses into an oriental warmth, carried by rose, ambrette, and a fine leathery note that gives the fragrance its body and sensuality. The rose here is not a fresh bloom, but soft, dark, and embedded - more velvet than silk. Frankincense and spices lay over it like floating smoke: not sacred, but intimate, close to the skin, almost corporeal. The musk does not come across as clean or abstract, but creamy and erotic, as if it were emanating directly from the skin.

The drydown is, for me, the heart of this fragrance - vanilla and benzoin provide a rounded, balsamic sweetness that never becomes sticky but rounds off and deepens the spicy core. Patchouli gives structure and grounding, while leather and musk ensure that the fragrance remains persistently present. The result is a sweet-spicy, oriental scent that is completely at ease within itself.

Despite its potency, the fragrance never feels overloaded or too intrusive. The longevity is above average - on the skin, but especially on textiles. My clothes smell of Muskaria for days - warm, spicy, and enveloping. The sillage is noticeable but not aggressive: a scent that is perceived without shouting. It attracts rather than dominates.

Muskaria is, for me, a true masterpiece. Sexy, soft, deep, and perfectly rounded. Nothing feels angular or disconnected - each note flows into the next as if the fragrance were crafted in one go. It has a sensuality that is not flashy but works slowly, almost hypnotically. I had to restrain myself from wearing it day after day, it has made me so addicted.

This fragrance has once again confirmed my impression: Gritti seems to be made for me. Hardly any other brand consistently manages to launch new scents that truly touch me. Muskaria seamlessly joins this enthusiasm and enriches my collection. For me: a highlight of the fragrance year 2025.

Akigala Mandarino is for me a fragrance that refreshingly stands out from the classic niche scene - and so far has flown under the radar of many fragrance enthusiasts, even though it absolutely deserves the hype. Moreover, it features rather ordinary scent notes. No major experiments, no surprises, just a very good composition.

The fragrance starts with a vibrant, fruity symphony that immediately reminds me of a sun-drenched basket full of fruits: mandarin brings a zesty-fresh citrus energy, accompanied by sweet-tart raspberry, juicy apple, and exotic passion fruit. These top notes strike me as lively and optimistic, without being overly sweet or artfully exaggerated.

Next, we have freesia, jasmine, and lily of the valley, which create a floral, slightly airy layer. These floral components are carefully dosed: they lend the fragrance a certain lightness and elegance without overshadowing the clear, fruity character.

In the base, we then find the eponymous Akigala wood, which gives the fragrance its woody-spicy accord and thus also depth and structure. Together with amber, a warm, earthy core is created here that harmoniously rounds off the initially fresh impression and provides the perfume with a long-lasting foundation.

To me, the fragrance comes across as very stylish and modern. The fruity top notes are catchy and accessible, the floral heart notes add class, and the woody-amber foundation ensures that the fragrance does not lose its personality even in the dry-down, scoring with solid longevity and moderate to good sillage.

In my view, the fragrance is excellent for all seasons and transitional times. It is unisex wearable, contemporary, and suitable for everyday use, without falling into mediocrity, and for that reason, I believe it deserves significantly more attention.
Although Akigala Mandarino possesses considerably more depth and finesse than many other fruity releases, it has not yet been celebrated to the same extent as other niche fragrances of its generation. Its balance between zesty freshness and subtle woodiness, paired with an elegant but not overwhelming sweetness, makes it a modern classic in the making that appeals to both newcomers and experienced noses.