Puderperle

I hadn't seen it coming. Maybe I didn't want to see it either. Wishful thinking was sometimes more beautiful than the naked reality. Naked and vulnerable. That's how I felt right now. The tears tasted salty as I turned into my driveway. Minutes passed before my legs started to move and heaved me out of the car seat. Like lumps of lead.
Parts of my heart numb, jumbled, scattered in all directions. The colorfully painted future suddenly dissolved like a huge sandstorm. Nothing could be grasped anymore. Nothing really recognizable, disoriented.

I sank into the bath like a shot deer. Rinsing off the emotional dirt from my soul. Everything that didn't belong to me. In the hot steam, the inner current calmed down a little.
My body tingled and my fingertips mechanically applied a thick, soft cream to my thirsty skin. I imagined bright doves caressing me with the beat of their wings. In the background, the soft voice of my babushka sang a lullaby. How the memories of her had already faded, but now they seemed clearer than ever. She had really loved me. I had always been her girl.

I wandered into bed on bare feet. Clad only in delicate cream. The soft scent of the white cotton sheets embraced me. So clean, so pure. No dirt and no noise. Just let my tired limbs fall and be carried.

With my eyes closed, I buried my face in the soft nest, between softly rustling down feathers.

"You're safe here.
You can be here.
Here you are at home",

they whispered to me. Home! I really was at home here. The happiness I had sought on the outside was so close. A plaster of lace wrapped itself around my sad heart.
"Time heals all wounds. Trust the Process" was written on a small note that I found under my pillow. Comforted, I was able to smile again as my soul lulled itself to sleep.
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Takhail translates from Arabic as "imagination".
However, the fragrance only allows a limited scope for inner images, as the association with rich Dove or Nivea body cream already seems to be predetermined. A fresh shower, cleanliness and white bed linen create a feeling of security and of having arrived. Simply feel good. A caring person who genuinely means well and pulls starched sheets up to the tip of your nose to make sure that the cold doesn't find a hiding place.
In the "clean" cotton frame, there are no more limits to the imagination.
Takhail is not old-fashioned, even if the babushka was mentioned. Rather familiar. Despite slightly sweet hints, it could also appeal to men. Nothing stings, nothing disturbs. No synthetic needles, as can often be found in Arabian perfumes at the moment. According to the Smellnice statement, the fragrance is said to be alcohol-free, which is why the dosage on textiles should be considered.
I would not describe Takhail as a detergent fragrance, but rather as a creamy skin fragrance without vanilla and other superfluous flowers.

The bottle keeps you dreaming when you've already made yourself comfortable. Frosted, transparent glass with a pretty, oriental pattern. The little bow adds a romantic touch. The milky white liquid is also harmonious in the overall picture. All in all, an enhancement for any dressing table, beautifully draped next to pearl necklaces and powder compacts.
I can also imagine Takhail as an office fragrance or for customer/patient contact.

The longevity is moderate, the sillage is surprisingly dense for a clean cream fragrance. One or two sprays are enough to perceive it very well. Nivea, on the other hand, behaves like a watery sillage.
The first test triggered a shock love that made me forget all about sandstorms.

Thank you Duftwolke77 for giving me the opportunity to get to know Takhail. Since then, he has moved in with me. Sometimes you know immediately when you have found his home. He is incredibly beautiful.

The review is not intended to offend any lover of the fragrance, it should rather be read with a wink.

What could be nicer than taking the train to work on a Monday morning in summer? The only consolation is the familiar faces on the platform who nodded to me in encouragement. So we shared the same fate and habitually sat in the same seats.
A new passenger came into our compartment and planted himself in a huge rolling box with a handlebar, taking up a lot of space. I wonder what was in this mobile coffin? Little did I know that I would regret my curiosity in a few hours.

I noticed that all pairs of eyes were fixed on him in horror as he pulled a can with warning signs for highly toxic ingredients out of his rucksack. Whistling, he tipped the contents over a small bowl of fruit salad and mashed everything into a compote with a plastic spoon. "Shit," he said as he tried to remove splattered mud stains from his turquoise velvet suit with spit on his thumb. It didn't work, of course. The stuff stuck like Pattex. One clumsy hand movement and the fruit salad smacked against the ceiling and rained down on us. Ungrateful as we were, we tore open the squeaky hinged windows, breathing through our mouths. What a cloud of chemical odors! The summer thermometer rose and the fermentation process increased. When the ticket inspector arrived, he threw the gentleman off at the next stop. Aha. Canned fruit, but no ticket. The crowd applauded and waved at him through the window. Pulling out his box, he waved back cheerfully with his free hand. Maybe one day we would be able to breathe again.

Don't ask me how I made it to the office with watery eyes and a messy updo. Melli was startled when she saw me. I must have looked like a raccoon with the runny mascara.
"What's happened to you? Go and freshen up a bit, the new guy is about to be introduced. He's running a little late."

Oh right, the new colleague had his debut today. Regina, our good soul, whispered to us "We have to be nice to him, I've heard he's the heir!"
"The heir? Of what? The company?" My pulse quickened as I saw myself breathing through a paper bag in the mirror. The train trauma was still deep-seated. How was one supposed to make a good impression in that elevator?

An hour later, the entire staff gathered expectantly in the conference room. I suppressed the thought of déjà vu, but why could I still not get that pungent smell out of my nose? My head hurt terribly.

"Yes hello, I'm the Erba Pura," I heard a loud, euphoric voice. I could hardly believe my eyes, because there stood the young man from the train in his turquoise velvet suit with a mud stain on his lapel. He was undoubtedly handsome. He rubbed the palms of his hands together so that the shirt stretched well over his pronounced muscles under the jacket.

"Regina, that's not the heir, he's just called that," whispered Melli. Regina stared like a question mark and switched her hearing aid back on.

"Yes, what can I say? I'm the new guy and I've brought something for my debut. 70 kilos of stable fruit salad. Homemade." That's nice, but my goodness why was he shouting into the microphone until there was feedback?
He grinned proudly and gestured to the rolling box, inviting us to help ourselves. Aha. The mystery was solved.

The moment Inge took the lid off the tub in the box, a murmur went through the room and she toppled over backwards. Ricardo was no longer able to catch her because the high concentration knocked him over too. The vapors hit the employees like dominoes.
"What on earth are needles doing in salad?" the manager asked, gasping as he pulled his tie off his neck.

Well, it wasn't needles, but ambroxenide. What Erba found to be stable literally stabbed the brains out of his colleagues' sockets. According to my research, ambroxenide is a synthetic substance that serves as a fragrance enhancer.

Erba Pura is my personal nemesis. My nose smells a chemical, pungent fruit salad. Sweet, loud, screaming for attention. Exactly - through the microphone. Nothing more and nothing less. Nothing here is delicate or subtle. Longevity: I'll say it in Erba's words: "Perfect beast fashion!" Sillage brings the long-dead from their graves. Shaghaf Oud is a pantser by comparison.

Outdoors, from a distance or separated by a pane of glass, Erba Pura is fine. Even in homeopathic doses, such as walking through the scented mist, it is still acceptable. In closed rooms and in close proximity, in the worst cases it can cause headaches and nausea, shortness of breath and even cardiac arrest in bystanders in higher doses. Ok cardiac arrest was an exaggeration, but that's what it feels like. Accordingly, this review can also be seen as a trigger warning.
However, if you are confronted with the fragrance unprepared, e.g. in a drinks store, I would like to comfort you with the thought that every trend passes. And that everyone has the right to wear what they like.

There is little in this world that can plunge me into the dark depths of my being like the approaching deadline for a tax return. The deadline was August 1 and all those months before I waved it off: Oh well, I still have plenty of time.
As a state-certified procrastinator, I now saw myself sitting on the living room carpet, surrounded by folders, unsorted receipts, letters, paper, paper, paper.
It was July 31st and I had at least taken the first step towards joining the paperwork. Unfortunately, like every year, I realized that it was no fun at all. Surprisingly, I am still shocked every time. Not even the sitting position was comfortable. So the first thing I needed was what? Exactly, drinks. Not just any drinks, but today I came up with the most creative ideas. Blueberries with honeydew melon that tasted of nothing and turmeric milk in the smoothie, lavender honey added... hm, that worked. I was getting better. I couldn't get bored and so I came back to the paper bomb wrapper with five different creations.
But it still felt like an invisible wall was stopping me from typing in my numbers. Cleaning the bathroom also felt more important at that moment. Afterwards, I remembered to finally sort out my kitchen spices by expiration date. The number is quite manageable and so at least a brief feeling of superficial happiness arose. But it still wasn't enough to motivate me. Every time I looked at the clock, the inner pressure increased noticeably. What did I need to finally get on the seat of my pants and get through this bureaucracy? I certainly didn't have any ammonia to pull me out of my cerebral palsy. Neither did Erba Pura.

The lovely Senses from the forum certainly seemed to have known, because she informed me that Bugatti had just launched a new fragrance. It is said to be similar to the sunny Cheirosa '62. As Câline had really disappointed me with her latest litter, I grabbed my keys and marched straight off. After all, I had no time to lose. There was the new Bella Donna Dolce Amore. Sealed and without a tester. I was initially confused by the pink packaging, as the bottle was printed in gold on the Internet and the rest of the Bugatti fragrances ranged from light pink to Bordeaux with a sweet, tangy drugstore berry scent. Not my cup of tea. I checked again online before I dared to make a blind purchase. Faith moves mountains and so I inwardly hoped I would like it. Since it's cheeky to deal with files on such a beautiful summer's day anyway, I needed an emotional comforter. Yes, Bugatti now had a big job.

The bottle is vaguely reminiscent of Goddess Eau de Parfum with its angular design. The lid is beautifully solid gold with an oriental pattern on the front. Looks good.
"Please please please please me, you have to help me" I begged as I sprayed. Pftpft...
Ohjaaa a very familiar DNA of Cheirosa '62 greeted me. But only in the background. Sweet, creamy, nutty roasted, reminiscent of suntan lotion. Copa Capana, Pina Colada... ok, I was dreaming again. However, the top note has a special character that stands out from the original as a pure dupe. To my nose, it is indefinable fruit that reacts slightly sourly with my skin for a brief moment. Fortunately, this is still kept within limits. Floral notes are added, but I can't define them. Not even ylang-ylang. As the fragrance progresses, the similarity to Cheirosa '62 diminishes and the fruits and flowers now form their own creamy scent.
Rays of sunlight penetrated the dark clouds of numbers and caressed my suffering soul to the sounds of the South Seas. I felt emotionally picked up and comforted in my suffering. Even if there aren't any, the mere appearance of coconuts just makes me happy.

Having numbed my skull with Bella Donna Dolce Amore and exchanged first impressions on Parfumo, I was finally able to move my finger to the button to start the laptop
As the sillage is typically quite light for Bugatti, I added another layer. Actually, this transparent quality also makes it a good companion in high temperatures. Not too sweet, not too fruity, not too flowery, not too sun creamy, but a good balance. Nothing stings, nothing annoys.

By now it was late in the evening and after 2.5 hours I had to put it on again to make it more noticeable. Even on my clothes. Thanks to my new fragrance friend, I was now looking for the "Hawaii", "hammock" and "sandy beach package" facilities in the midst of time pressure and a productivity high.
I couldn't even find the expenses for first aid measures for sunburn. Well, there was still a free text for friendly lines to the tax office.

Time flew by and when I had finally checked after the twelfth time, I clicked on my favorite button "send" with glowing cheeks. I really had to laugh when I saw the time stamp on the submission: 31.07. at 23:59.
Hey, done is done, right?

But even better was the indication of who had helped with my tax return: Bella Donna Dolce Amore of course! Without their emotional support, I would probably still be mixing chive-pineapple-tomato smoothies or something.

The last day before a vacation is usually more stressful. Linda had a lot to think about before heading to the beach. She was a cleaner at Câline and liked the staff. But she liked the pleasant smells that wafted out of every laboratory even better. Disposed test tubes smelled of roses, coffee or vanilla. There really were worse jobs.

Hunger was driving her, and since all the dishes were already in the running dishwasher, she grabbed a plastic bowl from the lab. Coconut milk and a few hazelnuts to soak. She didn't get to eat because of the workload, as a new fragrance was in production. It was to be a copy of the popular Cheirosa '62, "the girls will love it" exclaimed the boss euphorically. Sweet, salty pistachio dipped in caramel. That's how it should smell. The creative heads were spinning.

"If I'm no longer needed, I'm off on vacation now," Linda waved to the group.
"Only if you tell me where you're going," was her reply. "To the French sun," she winked.
The employees winced and gave each other promising looks.
Linda had no time for interpretation. Perhaps they had been sniffing the tonka beans for too long. The side effects of working in a perfume laboratory sometimes take on strange forms.

She had no idea that the relaxing effect of her week-long vacation would be gone sooner than she thought.
What was in the air? A strange note that she couldn't place. But it didn't matter, because everyone was expected in the conference room to attend the presentation of the new Câline. The CEOs and managing directors of several drugstores shook hands vigorously in anticipation of what was about to be unveiled. Linda caught herself recognizing dancing dollar signs in the eyes of those present.

The presentation started. "Soleil de France" appeared as a cover sheet in Câline's typical glass bottle with small framed roses at the base. Very beautiful! The perfumers looked at Linda with a smile. Wait a minute, had she been the source of inspiration? Belly brushed, she looked forward to the first test. Would she soon be able to call a signature fragrance her own?

Every step of the production process was documented photographically and projected onto an XXL wall.
"... and here you can see the coconut milk, which was responsible for the creaminess in the top note..."
Wait a minute... Linda rubbed her eyes. Was that her cereal bowl that she had forgotten before the vacation?
Her heart was pounding in her throat. The pictures showed every detail of her breakfast, beautifully crafted with all the other scents. No one seemed to know that the filled bowl had been sitting around for almost a week. She needed security. It couldn't possibly be. So she got up quietly and went to the lab. Several bin bags were already lined up waiting for her, because she didn't have a replacement. With trembling fingers, she found what she was looking for... a strangely deformed cereal bowl. The plastic seemed to have melted. Then it came to her, boiling hot: she had left her breakfast on the hob.
The nausea was not only due to the rising fear of being discovered, but also to the acrid plastic smell that combined with the remains of rotten coconut milk.

Of course, she didn't tell anyone about it and after this shock, she sat down again inconspicuously in the hall. Those present seemed to have fallen victim to mass hypnosis as they passed the pretty bottle around in a thick cloud of scent, emitting "aaahs" and "ooohs". They outwitted themselves brainstorming clever marketing on social media. To top it all off, Linda received the first bottle as the namesake. To thunderous applause, she only wanted one thing: to throw up.

So what does the French sun smell like? The pyramid sounds like a dream. An alternative Cheirosa '62 ? Ha, of course I'll buy it! Youtubers were already producing videos before the constantly sold-out fragrance even reached my drugstores. My excitement grew immeasurably, I wanted it so badly. Especially at such an affordable price. What the heck, if the shelf life turned out to be like the well-known body spray, then just buy two bottles.

When I finally tested it, I was full of joyful anticipation of a gourmand sun cream fragrance. However, the test was like a belly flop into a swimming pool with ankle-deep water.
An austere note pervades the top note, which unfortunately does not disappear until the drydown. What is that? Fermented coconut milk? Melted plastic? Spoiled hazelnuts? I can only identify it as such. I've never smelled anything like it. Unfortunately, it's far too pungently penetrating to ignore. The sweet, salty pistachio in the background. The heart note is already similar to Cheirosa '62. But the disruptive note remains. It really steps on the gas again in the drydown. The longevity is moderate, I would have liked it to be shorter in this case.

I couldn't believe what I smelled and initially assumed that my nose was faulty, so many customers can't be wrong. However, several tests on different days in different stores and testers produced exactly the same results. It is therefore not a copy of the Cheirosa '62 body spray or the Sol Cheirosa '62 perfume.

Câline I would have gladly carried my money after you. But not for a plastic accident. I suggest a reformulation. There is potential, but next time without a melted cereal bowl with spoiled ingredients. They have no place in perfume.
At this point, love from Linda. It's not her fault.

My eyes were already squinty from working on the screen. So a little walk couldn't hurt. The walk through the forest next to the park should also be good for the soul.
I paused for a moment when I heard a cheerful whistle. Someone seemed to be in a good mood. Drawn by this, I tried to identify the source.

Past the flower bushes, I spotted it at the edge of the forest under the warm rays of the sun. But what was it? It could have been a scene from a commercial: A man stood hunched over a large wooden tub. He was moving rhythmically to the sound of his whistle. You certainly couldn't call it dancing. But he seemed to be a funny fellow. There were at least 100 lemons scattered around him, some of them already squeezed.
When he came up, I had to stifle a laugh. With his face covered in shaving foam, he took bright white laundry out of the bucket and wrung it out thoroughly. Only now did I see the lines tied in the air from tree to tree. The white shirts now fluttered just as happily in the gentle breeze, smiling graciously at the grass beneath them. A soapy freshness embraced me. I was spellbound by the spectacle that presented itself to me. He didn't seem to have noticed me, as he was busy cutting up more lemons and dripping them into the wash water.
The citrusy scent tickled my nose, making me sneeze.
He wheeled around "Who's there?"
Shit, I had ducked too late. Embarrassed, I stepped out from behind the bushes.

"Forest," he introduced himself.
"What are you doing here?" I asked.
"I'm doing my laundry in my favorite place." Sure. With a soapy face. As if it were the most normal thing in the world. A long strand of hair fell into his face.
"Are you some kind of forest gnome?" I asked. Maybe that was a bit cheeky, because instead of answering, he told me to close my eyes. I would never have done that to a stranger. Especially not at the edge of the forest. But the atmosphere was so friendly and inviting that I only half-closed one eye. It rustled. "What do you smell?" he asked with a laugh when he noticed my cheating.
"Is that lavender?" Yes, it was a bunch of lavender that he held under my nose. It had a calming effect. "You can crumble this into the washing water," he urged me.
And before I knew it, I was part of his spectacle. He scattered bright flowers from an organza bag into the air, which trickled down on us and giggled softly.
As some of them stuck to his chin, he remembered that he hadn't shaved yet. His new accomplice had thrown him off his game.
Now I saw him properly for the first time. Oakmoss green eyes. Yes, he was as likeable as his nature.

After the work was done, he invited me to sit next to him on a wooden bench. The laundry fluttered around us like white pennants at a festival in Sicily. We drank diluted lemon juice and enjoyed the lavender soap air caressing our faces.

Tomorrow I will bring my dirty laundry.

Hortus. A masculine fragrance for me. It opens citrusy, fresh and green. I love lavender in fragrances. I find it gives an attractive note, a depth to it. The first thought that overcame the top and heart notes: a pleasant aftershave.
Slightly soapy and a slight hint of powderiness from the violet in the transition to the heart note.
I would be lying if I said I could smell the flowers it contains. I would have guessed juniper or something coniferous.
The sweetness is so minimal that it almost goes unnoticed. I would rather say the scent is tart. But not rough. Thought of pepper, but that's not listed either. It must be osmanthus and oakmoss. Woods ground and make it warmer towards the end.
Longevity is actually decent on my usually hungry skin, over 7 hours now and still lasting. Sillage was also quite good.
I can definitely imagine the fragrance on a man. However, a little sweetness wouldn't have done it any harm.

Update: After 9 hours, it is slowly starting to wear off. This guy has stamina.

Thank you Parfumo for the chance to test the fragrance.