Profuma

"Lipstick, Powder and Paint..."
So warbled already Shakin' Stevens in 1985 and exactly this song title came to my mind when spraying 1889 - Moulin Rouge.
Especially with "Lipstick" I get stuck, so strong is this note to sniff out of all the others.
And so it goes to me like many others: I put my story there, where I just this "Lipstick" - fragrance most likely to perceive.
And so be forgiven me some and of course entirely unintentional similarities or possible whole matches in the choice of words.

If you want to bypass the following story, please scroll down to the short review.


The door slams shut behind Candice LaRose.

Briefly, she still leans against the smooth wood separating her from the hungry mob at the stage and her dressing room, and takes a long, deep breath.
With a little jerk, she sets off and walks slowly and lithely like a cat to her dressing table.
The pink velvet chair in front of it catches her elf-like body, once shaped by ballet.
Her gaze goes up to the mirror over jars, brushes, and bottles, and she looks at herself for a long time until she says to herself, "You've gotten pretty old, girl."

The shows are draining. The audience demands a lot.
Showing weakness is not an option. Too quickly you become a sinking star, if you show the crowd the vulnerable person behind the facade.
They want to see the sparkling, radiantly beautiful and desirable Candice and they want to get her, no matter how she feels about it.

She has been completing this program for many years. But more and more, the party life after the show replaces a completely different ritual.
Escape to the dressing room, drop into the chair, pour a glass of absinthe, sip a sip, and then search the delivered bouquets of flowers for little cards from admirers.

Usually it is always the same senders and the choice of flowers often gives them away even without a card. But also new ones come to it, as on this evening.
An unusually arranged lush bouquet of pink roses and blue-violet iris flowers has never been there before.
The scent emanating from it is intense and engaging, mixing with the cloud of absinthe in the room.
Candice would like to know who sent it to her, but the attached card is empty, except for a question mark.

It knocks five times in particular sequence.
Candice knows exactly who it is and her gaze becomes bright and gentle.

Sally, the cleaning lady arrives as she does every night Candice makes an appearance.
None of the ladies are bothered by the presence of the others. On the contrary. They have become good friends over the years, even close confidants.
They talk about every evening and every performance, about the audience and the very special guests who grace the establishment.
Of course, the unusual bouquet is also a topic.
Too gladly the ladies would like to know who the sender is and in Candice stirs a feeling that she has not allowed for so long. A flare-up of hope and longing. Are there possibly serious intentions behind this unusual floral splendor?
Why else would such meaningful flowers mixed together, if not a message behind it?
Your little heart begins to beat faster with these thoughts.

Candice lives alone in a small penthouse and in the shadow of the city. She has always kept her admirers at a distance, shown none of her true self. Too big is her fear that
one breaks her tender heart.
The short acquaintances have already shown her anyway, how her admirers see her. And none of them wants the real Candice. And none would notice her on the street when she is out as herself, without makeup, in the loose dresses, the low-slung caps or hats, and the flat shoes.
She is lost in the hustle and bustle of the city, like a single pixel in the resolution of a giant image.
She is only seen when she is in the spotlight of the stage in glittery dresses and high heels, giving the audience what they pay for.

While Candice removes her makeup, Sally creates order among the dresses that have been hastily thrown somewhere during the costume change. The shoes are placed in pairs under the dresses draped again in order and subsequently she still puts Candice's home clothes ready.
A pair of jeans, a blouse, a scarf, a pair of trampled ballerinas and a gray coat will be the accompaniment on the way home.

A little later, Sally has already left, Candice still reaches for her small handbag.
A bulge can be seen under the open coat.
She has hidden a very special bouquet of flowers in it, which she presses almost tenderly.
At the door, she pulls the scarf still high on her face and carefully places the coat against the bouquet.
Then she extinguishes the light and goes out through the side exit into the night.

Barely audible, the soles of the little shoes scurry across the cobblestones. The petite shadow is almost immediately engulfed by the darkness of the alleys and the oblivion waiting there.

Tomorrow night, however, the woman will once again become Candice LaRose, the shining object of desire and the star in the small luminous show sky of the vaudeville.
And that same evening, she will also once again become the loneliest heart in town.


Short assessment:
Already at the spray head, I can make out the lipstick note without even doing it.
Pressed briefly and she rides the air around my face, as if she were on the run!
Quite clearly, I can also make out ripe plum and the absinthe. The roses are the hedge, which let the lipstick note run up and slow down a bit.
A wonderful team becomes from all the notes, which I have never sniffed so.
From my skin, which I also provide with the fragrance, a pleasant warmth rises up, which makes these notes even softer and deeper at the same time.
I find the fragrance adult and mature, at the same time elegant and slightly melancholic, somehow cuddly soft and erotic, but at the same time very valuable and always perfectly balanced.

Her name is Coco.
And somehow she is not happy with herself and her existence.
She has a nice home, a nice owner, is surrounded by lots of other dogs and has already been around the world.
But she has always had the feeling of not being enough... of not belonging...

A decision now matures in Coco.
Something has to change.
She has to change so that something changes for her owner too.
So an all-round change is needed.

If this change is too time-consuming for you, please scroll to the brief assessment.

I'm now giving Coco a character to make her more tangible in this story.
Let's think about it.
Which shell would suit her and her journey best?

A small gray caterpillar with salmon pink dots comes to mind off the top of my head.
It doesn't stand out like other caterpillars its age. But the dots give it a very special character.

Coco looks for a cozy spot. It has to be perfectly chosen.
It should be quiet, well tempered and dry and she must not be disturbed in any way.
She wanders around for a while, but then. She pauses for a moment.
This white cupboard, with a small door ajar at the front, seems perfect.
Coco crawls in carefully and looks around. At first, her eyes have to adjust to the semi-darkness, but then she recognizes something.
She sees many familiar faces smiling lovingly at her.
Madame Rochas is there, Aunts Lancôme and Cartier, Cousin Dior, Cousin Laurent and Uncle Givenchy are watching her enter the realm she left long ago.
"We missed you..." whispers a tender voice. Guerlain, Coco's long-time confidante, pushes her way forward through the others.
Now Coco knows this is the right place to complete her transformation.

Accompanied by the benevolent glances of the others, she works her way up to the far corner of the cupboard. She uses a small thread to create a suspension point on the ceiling just above. Then she slowly weaves herself in until she is completely covered with her silk.
A kind of lid will later allow her to exit the cocoon.
While Coco's movements in the enclosure now become less and less and finally come to a complete standstill, all those who have been following her work with curiosity now turn back towards the opening of the cupboard.
They all agree that they will protect the cocoon and the companion inside as best they can.

After a few weeks, Guerlain, who is the closest, is the first to hear the soft rustling from the cocoon. She excitedly nudges the others next to her. Within a few seconds, everyone has turned around and is looking up at the corner, spellbound.
Did everything go well? What will Coco look like?
And how will she smell?

The cocoon moves. It cracks softly at first, then more and more.
A murmur goes through the waiting bottles as the lid on the cocoon is finally pushed open completely after a few attempts.
Slowly an outline can be seen.
Broad angular shoulders can be seen, as with all of Coco's family.
A rather flat little hat covers the head and a golden ribbon adorns the delicate neck.
When a short hiss followed by a breathtaking scent is heard, everyone immediately agrees.
She is a true Coco, just a mademoiselle but on her way to becoming a grande dame.
Then she descends.
The flacons form a small alley that leads Coco to the still slightly open door of the cabinet.
Coco can feel the gentle breeze, see the light.
She turns to the others who have followed her and smiles at each of them in the most loving way.
With all her heart, she wants to greet her new life.
She holds her breath for a moment, then steps out.

"What kind of bottle are you?" I hear myself say as a bottle labeled "Coco Mademoiselle Eau de Parfum Intense" plays into my hands in the morning.
I'd never seen it here before. How did it get here?
Is it a forgotten gift?
Anyway... i wouldn't be me if I didn't try out the fragrance straight away. So I curiously press the spray head.
The fragrance mist rises from my wrist up into my nose and from then on, nothing is as it used to be.

It's not just a fragrance, it's a revelation!
What's its name again...?
I look at the label in disbelief.
It says Coco Mademoiselle. But I never really warmed to that one.
What has happened in the meantime?
Only then do I see the sparkling golden letters at the bottom of the bottle.
it says "Eau de Parfum Intense".
I immediately get stuck on the word "Intense".
Within seconds, the fragrance has not only snaked its way up my nose, but has also found the shortest route to my heart!
This is how a Coco Mademoiselle should smell to me. Exactly like this!

The fragrance doesn't give me butterfly wings,
But it definitely makes me feel a little more beautiful.

Brief assessment:
Starts citrusy, but is immediately muted by rose and patch. Tonka adds depth, vanilla rounds off softly.
At the beginning of the line is Coco Mademoiselle, at the end Allure Sensuelle.
In the middle I find Coco Mademoiselle EdP Intense.
The normal CM was always a touch too harsh, too loud and even had thorns or thorns for my nose. The Intense envelops all the fragrance notes that are too loud for me in a kind of absorbent cotton.
For me, everything is now just as it should be. Balanced, round, soft and very sensual.
The typical CM DNA is still very recognizable, but less citrusy, more mature and also much more tender. Nevertheless, it is a sillage bomb and lasts for what feels like a (dreamlike) eternity.

Spritzig and fresh fruity is the start of the "Le Rouge" for my nose and almost a little overloaded in the first moment. But then he takes back a little and the actual wonderful fragrance experience can begin.

Even though the fragrance belongs to the here and now, I see before my eyes completely different images.
I travel in my mind to the year 1910.

The two sisters Interdita and Interdella stroll along the lakeshore.
Their long, figure-hugging robes allow only small steps and from the delicate leather shoes is to be caught in each case briefly the shiny little nose under the moving lace layers under the dresses. Every movement results in a small rustle of the layered fabric and the touchdown of the leather soles on the pebble path causes a soft crunch with every step.

The fabrics are kept classy but monochromatic, the sections of the ¾-sleeves end in white lace that trumpets off the close-cropped arm.
Both necklines have a double collar between them, as if the tailor could not have decided on either alone. One encloses the neck with round flap edge, is buttoned in the middle and edged with black velvet.
Separated by some openwork lace, it is followed by a wide, pleated, collar-like ruffle band that goes all the way up the chest, as if the point of it is to somewhat hide the shapes that follow. Under it a velvet bow makes the conclusion and its loop and the ribbons sway in the movements of the steps.

The sisters are almost the same age. The younger Interdita wears her dress in black and the older Interdella a very similar one in dark red. Only the laces and edgings stand out from the dress color . In addition they carry enormous plate-like hats with cloth flowers of the same color and even the opened and over the shoulders laid walking umbrellas with the flowing lace borders are held exactly in the colors of the respective robes.

The sight of the beautiful ladies in the wonderful robes soon attracts admirers.
Increasingly, behind the two strolling ladies and at a proper distance, a larger group of very elegantly dressed gentlemen is formed, which are randomly or intentionally on the lakeshore and become aware of the two. Here is observed, admired, discovered and whispered and not infrequently acquaintances arise on these paths.
Whether it be fleeting affairs, serious relationships or liaisons forged by families, only one thing matters here: people come here to see and to be seen.

The two ladies take a seat in a small café with garden seating directly on the lake. It is time for a tea and one can risk with the sipping at the cup an endeavoring indifferent view of the way leading past or to the other tables, without the intention behind it being immediately noticeable. Of course, the sisters would like to try their luck here and catch a well-heeled gentleman as a husband. Finally they are still both in the best age, but the time does not rest.
Two gentlemen from the "entourage" seize the opportunity immediately by the crest and sat down hastily beside a lady at the table adjoining in each case to them.
Already on the way the beguiling smells of the two ladies must have struck the two and how they have wriggled through the air to them a few steps behind and tickled their senses. Seemingly by chance, one might think, but who puts on such exquisite little waters, who would certainly also like to attract attention with it.

The gentleman next to the Interdita dressed in black now immediately notices the dense veil of tuberose with a peppery tangy cherry aroma and light caramel note, which contains something in it that makes him think briefly. Doesn't the note remind him of the bakery in the old town that sprinkles toasted sesame seeds over the still-warm butter croissants? It's a delicious scent that makes him want more, and he moves a little closer, seemingly unnoticed. Through the warmth of Interdita's skin, the finest vanilla exudes its seduction in his direction, transporting his senses to a faraway dreamland and a lonely sandy beach, where he meets this incredibly fragrant lady for a tête-à-tête. While he dreams up to his glass of wine the further course of the story, is also the gentleman on the other side after adventure paint.

Opposite and only an arm's width away from the dark-red dressed Interdella, he gives himself to the pleasure of the smell cloud, which floats from it to him over. To him, the first thing that caresses his twirled mustache is a fresh and fruity note that then meanders up his nose and he too swears he hears cherries, only he imagines them swimming in a delicious syrup of jasmine and tuberose, for the scent is all soft and sensual, delicious and beguiling to him. He, too, can hardly believe what is flowing towards him. As if a densely perfumed dark red velvet would be laid over his face and he would float away in the spirit under it into the seventh heaven.

While the two gentlemen are dazedly indulging in their dreams, the ladies have long since noticed what is happening in their immediate vicinity and are whispering animatedly under the protection of their expansive hats. Giggling they tug their dress collars and sleeves, only to catch a furtive glimpse of the dreamy faces beside them.
When they finally rise gingerly from their little table to continue their walk, the gentlemen also instantly shoot up from their chairs, lift their top hats, present their most beautiful smiles and gallantly offer an arm to the lady of their choice.

The two couples first still lustwandeln side by side the way along the lake. From afar, some scraps of words and laughter penetrate through the lake breeze back to the café.
Later, the groups of two continue in different directions.
What they probably talk about?

I dared a comparison of the two "Interdit" fragrances and I personally like the "Le Rouge" better, because it is for my nose more tuned, more harmonious, softer and gesammthaft rounder. With time, this strengthens my impression even more, when on the skin an almost vanilla veil comes to lie. Then the fragrance is the most beautiful for me.

Listen, however, you can both sisters very well.
They just do not have quite the same character.

I thought long and hard about which fragrance I would like to write about in my 200th review.
Then the package arrived with Jean Paul Gaultier's La Belle Le Parfum.
From the first spray, I knew this would be my fragrance for this special review.

Ommmmm.....

I slowly open my eyes. I seem to be lying down. Soft and smelling of fresh green is my base. Between them I perceive a sweetish fragrance.
Around me everything is peaceful and almost silent.
Now and then are buzzing around insects to hear, the almost silent movement of blades of grass in the wind or little animals rustling under fallen leaves looking for tidbits.
The sun shines openly on my body, warming it deep inside and making it feel and absorb the prevailing peace all around.
I am deeply relaxed.

But where am I at all?

Slowly, I turn my head to the side. I lie in the middle of a meadow. The arms lie stretched out in the grass and the fingertips stroke gently over the stalks. I can almost feel their life. My feet are bare and are lightly tickled by them.
I look up and recognize a proud pear tree, between whose branches and leaves the sun's rays flash through and come to lie on the grass and me.
Some of the fruit has already fallen from the tree and lies around the trunk and around me in the grass. A ripe, juicy aroma emanates from them and mixes with the green of the blades.
Satisfied, I close my eyes and enjoy the prevailing scents around me.
Time and space are forgotten, only the here and now exists.

But where is that?

Curious, I open my eyes again, but I find myself in a different scenery.
Although the fragrance of the pears and the meadow is still omnipresent, but the image I now see is different.

I find myself in the middle of a huge orchid plantation. Not far from me is a greenhouse, whose window sashes are wide open and a wonderful sweet vanilla scent blows to me over.
I can see a figure working with harvested plants, apparently processing their fruit pods so that they develop the characteristic aroma over time. In any case, there seem to be various processes going on, since the floating scents are not always quite the same.
Since only the aromas, but no sounds penetrate to me, it is easy for me to surrender again to the pleasure and forget everything around me.
I sink down in one of the countless created, narrow paths next to the orchid vines on the warm earth and into a twilight sleep.

Until I feel something on my face, calling me from my half-slumber.
Even before I open my eyes completely, I perceive again the grass, the pear scent and the vanilla aroma from before, this time mixed to a warm breeze. Nevertheless, it seems to snow here?
On closer inspection, however, it is not snowflakes but bright white jasmine flowers that float down on me and land on my face, my body and in the grass.
An incredibly beguiling fragrance emanates from them, which instantly unites with the pear and vanilla aroma to a unique, warm veil.
I have probably never been allowed to sniff something so delicious.

This atmosphere in which I find myself, could hardly be more beautiful.
There sink small golden bowls of the bright blue sky down and next to me in the grass.
In each of the small bowls are a few tonka beans, which intensify the prevailing veil of fragrance and make it even more radiant.

Once again, my mind clinches in complete peace and boundless contentment.
The white "jasmine snow" slowly blurs before my eyes and finally the dreamlike fragrance presses my inner snooze button.

Zen meditation thrives on the realization that you don't always have to understand everything, but that it can also be enough just to observe.

Thus, I do not question my journey into these peaceful planes or the images I have seen.

The important thing is to linger for a moment, forget everything around you and enjoy the moment with yourself and what's around you.
It does not matter whether the environment is real or fiction.
Feelings and thoughts that arise generate an inner harmony.

Jean Paul Gaultier's La Belle Le Parfum smells for me of this harmony.

It radiates for me a sensual security, a soft and cozy ambience, where the heart and soul can relax and rest even in everyday life.

A fragrance that decelerates me and gives me pause.

One that reveals to me in an almost mystical way, what there is around me to hear or feel.

It is a peace that can be heard and felt.




In this spirit:
Ommmmm.....

In the office, the phone was ringing off the hook every minute, and within seconds I was answering customer questions, forwarding calls or opening dossiers. Somehow the superiors managed to squeeze in with their requests and make the mountain of work grow even more.
The work colleague at the neighboring table was once again the PC out and judging by her big, pleading eyes, I should throw there also briefly an eye on it, because's with the ticket for the service in this giant company experience simply takes too long.
Oh yes and as if all this were not enough, came still the message to the minutes at today's board meeting, because the colleague is sick and that 1 hour before closing time!
Where is a cloning machine when you need one or the thing to stand in before asking for "Scotty, beam,"?
I know there are two hearts beating in my chest, but that doesn't make me work for two either!

So after a long day I go to sleep completely flattened.
At some point, I wake up. I hear birds chirping. Everything is still dark around me, but I get up anyway and want to get to the bottom of the bird calls.
"Tomorrow it can't be yet," I think, have finally just laid down. But in the early morning hours there is a lively confusion of chattering voices of various bird species in our neighborhood, through which forest and a stream runs. A dense and sometimes loud carpet of sound, which gradually becomes quieter with the full awakening of the day and, except for individual sounds, finally slowly fades away.
I take a few steps and it gets brighter. Then white mist. Am I awake or dreaming?

Without thinking about what might be lurking in the fog, I step through it and into bright light. Not glaring, but bright enough that I can't make out anything else yet. Almost simultaneously, a fragrant haze of fruity notes reaches me. I think I sniff something slightly citrusy, but also a darker accord as a counterpoint to the first bright impression, perhaps blackberry?
Then, with the next step, the next note blows me away. Floral. An unmistakable tagetes, which mingles with the first fragrance impressions and that absolutely harmoniously. I walk on, the bird calls becoming increasingly louder and room-filling. The light is now becoming more pleasant and softer on the eyes.
Where am I?
I look around me and spot jasmine bushes with white flowers lining my path, all cut into balls. They almost look like large snow globes. Between each of them is a bunch of daffodils. The scent they both give off is very thick and absolutely overpowering, almost narcotic. Still the first scents are also in the air and everything blends into a single flowing veil that seems to cloud my senses, because what I now get to see, I can hardly believe.
In the now wholly flattering and warm light I recognize some formations. Velvet seeming, soft and alluring. I head towards them, drunk on the wafts of fragrance. They are rose bushes, but with blossoms of the finest pale suede! They are absolutely masterfully crafted, as if they were the delicate petals one would usually expect. And just look at the scent!
I just have to touch them and bring them to my nose.
With each discovery I make, they all seem to reunite and grow, taking scent perception to new levels. Just when I think the highest impression has been reached, the next one comes along. For example, a kind of cotton wool on a tree waits up, which smells like musk and as the next increase oversized incense sticks, which exude incense.

My senses now take their leave entirely and I have to lie down. I sink blissfully into the soft ground, deeper and deeper, until I literally sink into it.
It all feels so "right", so boundlessly peaceful, comfortable, cozy and warm.
The warmth literally vibrates.
If I were a kitten, I'd be purring right now.
Warm? Vibrate? Purr?

I cautiously open my eyes.
I'm lying on my back, my cat on my chest. She purrs contentedly, her fur vibrating slightly away as she looks into my puzzled eyes with a cuddly look.
Was that just a dream earlier?
Where did that incredible scentland go?
I haven't even finished exploring yet and I want to go back right now!

Later in the bathroom and to crown the daily care and as the icing on the cake of my outfit, I reach for the perfume, which formally pushes itself into my hand.
I slowly press the spray head!

Zzz...sss...ccc...hhh...!

First everything is dark, then I see fog and then bright light.
Where am I?
I open my eyes.
I'm in the here and now, but my senses back in scentland from my dream.

Almost floating, I walk out of the house and to the bus.
When everyday life grabs me all too greedily again today, I simply disengage and disappear briefly into fragrance paradise.

Note: Parfum de Peau by Montana is for my nose like a shape-shifter for past and present. It has style and class, elegance and sensuality that can appeal to many ages and certainly smells enticingly good on certain gentlemen as well.
PdP carries a touch of classicism in itself, which comes with a certain attitude and (life) experience even better to the fore.
If you dose it sparingly, the individual notes come through better instead of smothering each other. He is also quietly still a very dense fragrance fabric, which indeed radiates warmth and security.
All seasons/temperatures should probably like it, if it doesn't impose itself on the warmer among them.

I find that he is one of the few fragrances that at all times skillfully manages the balancing act between retro and modern.

Parfum de Peau by Montana - my fragrance paradise...!