Pollita

From outside, from the forest I come here;
i have to tell you, it's very Christmassy!
Everywhere on the tops of the fir trees
i saw golden lights twinkling,
and up above from the gates of heaven
the Christ Child looked out with wide eyes.

And as I strolled through the dark fir,
he called to me with a bright voice:
"Servant Ruprecht," it called, "old fellow,
lift your legs and hurry up!"
The candles are beginning to burn,
the gates of heaven are opened,
Old and young shall now rest from the chase of life,
and tomorrow I will fly down to earth;
for it shall be Christmas again!"
(Theodor Storm)

I thought of this beautiful poem when I first sniffed Boreal. The forest, the fir trees, the candles, the lights, the gate to heaven - Nicholas Nilsson seems to have captured everything perfectly in this fragrance. There is also a hint of coziness from a cup of peppermint tea, which Mr. Knecht Ruprecht was perhaps allowed to taste at some point on his arrival. A wonderful scent to ring in this contemplative time.

I don't think of Boreal as sweet, as some people have written before me. For me, Boreal is first and foremost a scent of incense. I can see this little chapel in front of me, which is always beautifully decorated at Christmas time in our region. I've never been there myself, even though I make a point of going every year. I don't think I've been able to find that all-important peace and quiet since I've been living here on the Eaves. There should be a nativity scene there with all the figures: Joseph and Mary, donkey and ox and the baby Jesus.

This little chapel borders directly on the forest. I imagine the area covered in deep snow as I breathe in the scent of Boreal. And then I enter the chapel in my mind and perceive the fine, balsamic-resinous incense, the burning candles and everything feels so wonderfully contemplative and calm. Just as Theodor Storm puts it in his poem: resting for once before the chase of life, which we all know so well.

Yes, this is indeed a piece of contemplation in a bottle. A green, fir-green incense fragrance. It could actually be the big brother of my beloved Incense Water by Perfumer H. Only with Incense Water, the season cannot be directly determined in my opinion. With Boreal, it's winter. Christmas time. If you like incense, you'll love Boreal.

In keeping with the contemplative time of year, this is not a loud and excited fragrance, but rather presents the peace that we should all find now in a wonderful olfactory way.

I wish you all a wonderful, peaceful and relaxing festive season!

Your Polly

Thanks for the testing opportunity goes to Schoeibksr.

Who hasn't seen this scene from The Matrix? Neo is sitting with the Oracle in the kitchen. Brownies in the oven, almost ready. And the Oracle is smoking a cigarette. The apartment looks a bit like it did in the eighties or early nineties. A bit like Carosello 75, that's how I imagine the smell in this apartment. In fact, it's a bit like what I remember from my own childhood. I smell gingerbread rather than brownies, there are spices, possibly cloves, cardamom, maybe coriander, but they are also still in the oven. I'm holding a glass of punch in my hand. These typical Christmas spices are in there. But the cigarette is also present. Freshly lit, no cold, unpleasant smoke. My grandma didn't bake, but she smoked, even if only secretly. I always enjoyed spending time in her kitchen as a child.

As with Mane, Gualtieri has once again used a typical "parlor accord" here. The fragrance has something homely and cozy about it. However, I smell less animalic here, but more spices, sweetness and this slightly burnt note is quite present.

I dosed the fragrance homeopathically, as I am familiar with the concentrated power of Ms. Gualtieri's fragrances. In this dose, the fragrance is actually very nice, even though I definitely don't need cigarette smoke, especially in my home. Nevertheless, a hint of Carosello gives me a feeling of coziness, of calm, yes, of contemplation, and that's exactly the kind of mood the Advent season is supposed to bring, which is why I find it so appropriate at this time of year. It's a perfume to smell, not to wear, in my opinion. Too special. Nevertheless, it puts a smile on my face and, for a while, makes me feel like that little girl again, beaming in front of the little artificial Christmas tree that my grandma used to put up every year in her attic apartment, which is now mine. I just have to close my eyes. Everything looks just like it used to.

Thanks Schoeibksr for the testing opportunity. And thank you, Carosello.

Is it just me or have you also noticed that Guerlain is releasing an incredible number of new fragrances at the moment? Personally, I still like to think back to the days when it was exciting when a new fragrance was launched. For weeks, it was the number one topic of conversation in the small perfumery in the neighboring town where my mother always loved to shop.

And not only does it feel like there's something new every day, especially at Guerlain, but it's also getting more and more exclusive and expensive. an extrait from the new series, which also includes Vanille Planifolia Extrait 21, costs 550 euros. Unfortunately, vanilla is such an irritant for me, just like musk. And that's why I couldn't avoid testing this new release.

Yes, I admit it. It does smell great. My high rating speaks for itself. It has similarities with my recently found fragrance love Honoré Delights by Ex Nihilo. The combination of vanilla and musk is actually similarly finely realized here. Yes, I like that. At the same time, although much sweeter and not as extravagant, it has echoes of Shalimar. This subtly smoky, serious note is also present here. Presumably the spicy notes, but they only say hello here every now and then. Overall, the fragrance is rather sweet and perhaps has a hint of the base note of a Shalimar, but nothing more.

The new extraits are also intended to be combined. Maybe that's the reason why there is no fresh or floral counterpart here. And that's exactly what I miss here. Because a little bergamot, a little lemon, a floral note here and there, a leathery touch, would actually have done this noble and gentle vanilla beauty some good. Because as it is, I unfortunately also associate it with the well-known Ikea scented candle. In high quality, of course. Anything else would have surprised me with Guerlain, but after a while this image is also in my head and I can't get it out. Especially in the projection, Vanille Planifolia Extrait 21 smells like Ikea at first sniff. I wouldn't be surprised if people who notice you with this scent wonder whether you've just been in the Ikea scented candle department?

And that scented candle association just bothers me in the end. I would have taken the rest. Gritting my teeth at the price, of course. But I've already had enough of just such candle fragrances, such as those from Profumum Roma, which aren't exactly cheap either, and I've sorted them all out again.

Perhaps it's the sheer mass that's the reason why such a tiny but enormously important touch of class is simply missing here?

A big thank you to WitweBolte for sharing and the testing opportunity

I generally don't like vacation fragrances. Especially not those that are supposed to evoke a Caribbean feeling, the sound of the sea, beach flair or even cocktail bar associations. There are certainly some fragrances that I associate with travel and southern climes, but not this kind. Such fragrances are either too artificial and sweet or too aquatic for me. Rarely does one with coconut & co. actually stand out and surprise me positively.

But there's this girl with magical powers that I recently wrote about. And today she immediately enchanted me again. And with a vacation fragrance of all things. And with a coconut note to boot. Okay, I admit it. If anyone can do that, it's her and no one else.

Olivia Giacobetti's Eau du Brésil is truly magical. I was completely unfamiliar with the Cinq Mondes brand. When the lovely Spatzl asked me what nice thing she could send me to test, I didn't even have this one on my radar. Of course, coconut. Actually a no-go for me. If only I had taken a look at the perfumer. But Spatzl seemed to have guessed that I should get to know this fragrance anyway. And she was spot on.

This fine South American won't make it to the purchase candidate, but I could very well imagine wearing this wonderful fragrance in summer weather, preferably on vacation. There is nothing artificial here, and I emphasize nothing artificial. First of all, the fragrance is citrusy. The limes, which I often perceive as more sour and fresh, initially seem like oranges or mandarins to me. Juicy, almost slightly sweet, they open this tangy fragrance. And that's exactly how it stays for quite a while. It only becomes a little fresher in the base before slowly but surely withdrawing completely. The woody note is incredibly restrained. I also only find musk here in a very subtle form. This fragrance is simply wonderfully refreshing and so genuine. The coconut note says hello so subtly and shyly that the nose doesn't even notice it, unless it really wants to. But when I get into it, there is a hint of coconut that actually reminds me of a freshly sliced coconut.

I remember it so well. When I was a child, the beach vendors on vacation always knew how to impress my mother. She bought overpriced fruit every day. And if it was a coconut, I always jumped at the fresh coconut water with great pleasure and loved it.

And here we are back on vacation. A big thank you goes to Spatzl for the testing opportunity. I would like to recommend this fragrance to all coconut and vacation scent skeptics. I am convinced it will surprise you too. Blindly, my suspicion would have fallen on Hermès. Well, have I made you curious?

In the eighties and early nineties, fruits still gave a perfume a sensual appeal. Here a little plum, there a little pineapple and the whole combined with a lush floral heart and a velvety, soft and provided with a teeny bit of schmutzel base.

Such a one is also Clandestine by Guy Laroche, which sends me on the first sniff back to the hair salon that my entire family, from grandma to me, had visited in the eighties. The salon had two owners, I. and I. My grandma and my mom loved going there. For me, it took a little while to appreciate those visits because as a kid, due to my super thin baby hair, like so many other kids in the eighties, I got the typical boil cut. It was cruel! Only when I was finally allowed to grow my hair, despite great protests from my mother, I also began to enjoy going to the hairdresser.

Exactly such a scent hung there in the air. Probably a combination of the hair care products, perhaps also the signature scent of one or both owners or - what was then also common - they sold fragrance plus matching care series in the store. I seem to recall that they actually sold perfume.

Clandestine, like many fragrances from that era, manages to make the fruit shine in a wonderful way. There is nothing sticky or too sweet here. The scent is somewhat reminiscent of the forbidden fruit in the Bible. Sinful and yet so enticing. Add to that florals at their very best. A powdery, dry iris that reminds me of the opulently perfumed hairspray sprayed back in the day. Heliotrope and jasmine bring a fine sweetness, as does ylang-ylang, and even the roses and tuberoses, which are not always my very best friends, are tucked in here in a wonderfully noble way.

The base is dominated by musk, together with fine balsamic amber. The civet note is so discreet and refined integrated that I could even with it.

As soon as I have Clandestine in my nose, I'm back in the hair salon. I'm a little older though and starting to enjoy it. My first hair color in dark, rich red-purple, hach yes, that had something. Thank you Clandestine. And thank you, dear MrsCherry, for the testing opportunity.