Serenus71

They are everywhere, people with their smartphones out, cameras pointed at themselves, nicely draped. Everything wants to be shared, the current location, the current number of steps, lunch in the bistro, the price of a ticket for a concert, the stockings worn today and the cat's diarrhea. And even those who are not on the other end of the virtual line, but are physically present, should know that you are there (although most of them are somehow not there, but only their cover stuck to the phone). And that you have recognized the olfactory signs of the times. Brutally loud fragrances, usually with the same DNA, are almost as epidemic a sign of our era as open Instagram accounts and cameras on selfie sticks, upper arm armbands, bicycle helmets or even profanely in your own hand. The industry has taken the hint and is producing these sillage monsters on a conveyor belt, just like the car industry is launching SUVs that scream "me-too" and are unmissable in the worst sense of the word. Truly an exhausting time for people who see, feel and smell analog things.

How nice it is to sit on a park bench, enjoy the mild spring sunshine, immerse yourself in a good book - and suddenly smell a familiar, calm and ingeniously composed fragrance from another time that is not at all Instagrammable. At the other end of the park bench sits a guy of a difficult-to-estimate age scribbling in a notebook, and a gentle breeze from his direction carries Fahrenheit to my nose. This unmistakable, hard-to-describe fragrance, which has fallen out of time in the best sense of the word, manages to marry the character of a spicy lean meadow in summer with a well-oiled, hot-running Kitchen Aid machine and a subtle leather fauteuil. Calming and easily perceptible, but not as pungent and annoying as current fragrances, and with excellent longevity.

I am aware that other people see it completely differently. But for me:
Nice, you red Dior cone, that you exist.

This classic advertising slogan for our national malt beverage also applies to this product. This fragrance lasts - and lasts - and lasts. An unparalleled powerhouse. And can be detected from afar. Longer for sure, but really not better?

No, unfortunately really not better. In contrast to our O., which has remained unrivaled. This Dua-Dupe here unfortunately quickly becomes annoying in its slightly musty and old-fashioned linearity, like a song with the same repetition over and over again. And somehow there's no getting used to it. It constantly smells as if a bouquet of roses had been placed in grandma's cupboard. A mix of flowers, moth powder and powder. Without interruption, without pause. With every breath.

This not bad copy of the top note of Amouage's original shows relentlessly how important a fragrance progression is. The original that inspired this fragrance has a very good finish. The development is the secret. Even if a fragrance is neat, without variation it will eventually become tiresome, especially in this lasting-sillage combination. Other dupe's from the Dua kitchen can do this better than this one, although the Dua's are generally not complexity monsters.

Since I'm probably more sensitive than others to volume and repetition, both olfactory and aural, I can well imagine that others might be happy with this steady and persistent top note. And so I will gladly send the still full bottle to the first interested party or parties, only the shipping costs from Switzerland will be due.

Helga: You, I know that. What you smell like.

Winfried: I don't think so.

Helga: Yes, I do, I know it. But it smells better on you.

Winfried: How better?

Helga: Well, the wood. It smells really good on your skin. More noble, more beautiful than usual. Really sunny and warm, wonderful. Not too strong and not too weak. Unobtrusive, quite a sex appeal. How can you afford it?

Winfried: Who? What sex appeal?

Helga: Well, Tom.

Winfried: I haven't had men for a long time. And I don't pay for them either. Most of the time.

Helga: But his fragrance? It's so incredibly expensive, isn't it?

Winfried: His name wasn't Tom. François maybe. Or René. Definitely not my type.

Helga: You have a Tom Ford in your wardrobe and you don't even know his name?

Winfried: I'm sure it was a Frenchman. René bottled it in Paris, right under my nose. And labeled the bottle Winfried. But maybe his name was different. Baptiste, perhaps. No, not at all.

Helga: Tom Ford has personal bottlings made in Paris? Which smell even better than the black bottles off the shelf?

Winfried: This Tom didn't introduce himself to me. But you're right... i've been approached all the time since I started wearing this thing. ... Don't be angry with me, but... i'm off then.

(In the entrance hall)

Ah, you're still here after all, Mr. Thompson. Nice to meet you.

Please come in, sir. Everything is already prepared.

Wonderful, I've come from a strenuous negotiation and long for refreshment. I see you have a new florist.

Yes, Mr. Titchmarsh prefers irises. I hear his wife's name is Iris. At least according to Mrs. Blackwater, our new housekeeper.

Unmistakable, with this blue overload. Very lovely, reminds me of violets. And tell me, are we about to move on to dessert? It smells so very sweet.

No, the new chef is from France and spent a long time in Africa and Madagascar. There's animal gris à la vanilla.

Please?

Elephant in vanilla broth. Only lightly seasoned.

Ah yes. That's really new to me now.

Don't worry. You'll see, the composition will seem familiar. We've been eating the same thing for weeks. A beast like that makes a lot of money. Come, the master is waiting for you.

(Exit to the salon)

The name of this Dior spin-off from Sauvage is open to debate, and the spray can with compressed air instead of a pump will not please everyone. However, the fragrance itself, which fortunately is only based on Sauvage but stands out from it, is very appealing - and lasts a very long time. And still is.

Once you've managed to spray on a not overly large dose, this Dior opens spicy and fresh with grapefruit, bergamot and plenty of pepper. A strong opening, which is then quickly complemented by the heart notes of lavender, rose geranium and vetiver. This mixture of different types of pepper and green components make this Sauvage not a citrusy-fresh fragrance, but rather a fresh and spicy fougère fragrance. The base with ambroxan and cedar underlines this character and adds a slightly balsamic note, although the Very Cool Spray is less ambroxan-heavy than other Sauvage offshoots. Thanks to this and the citrus note, Very Cool Spray is less synthetic and somewhat fresher than the eau de toilette.

The sillage is very decent, perhaps even on the too strong side for certain occasions and the office. The longevity feels endless. Sprayed on in the morning, still clearly perceptible the next morning before showering. You really have to be careful not to overdo it with the compressed air sprayer.

The Very Cool Spray is advertised as a summer fragrance, and it certainly fits the bill and stands out from the many really citrusy-fresh fragrances. However, it also works excellently in the colder seasons and is a year-round all-rounder for me.

So if the Very Cool Spray is still available or reappears, I think it's worth giving this unorthodox spray can a chance. Even if - like me - you're not an excessive fan of the Sauvage family. This one may have the same father, François Demachy, but it still has a different twist.