Shamis

Recently, I had the opportunity to participate in a tour of the Bremen Ratskeller and, during this occasion, I rather accidentally learned the true meaning of the term "Angels' Share": the "Angel's share" or "the drink of the angels" refers to the alcohol content that evaporates during the aging of wine or (mainly) whisky in wooden barrels, thus irretrievably lost. When we were granted access to the Rosenkeller for a very limited time as a grand finale to the tour, I myself enjoyed this "Angel's share." Huge barrels containing centuries-old wines are stored there, filling the air with their stunning aroma. As mentioned, no one is allowed to linger there for long; it is not good for the wines and even less so for people: one gets drunk if one breathes in the alcohol-laden air for too long. It was certainly an experience.

Today, I finally decided to test my sample of "Angels' Share | Kilian" and compare it with the Angels' Share from the Rosenkeller. The scent notes of cognac and oak wood do give some hope that the fragrance is reminiscent of those vapors. But to make it short: I could not detect any similarity. What a pity. To me, Kilian's Angel's Share smells primarily peppery, though in the sense of gingerbread/gingerbread spice and not of pepper salami. I find that quite pleasant: I actually have a small weakness for spicy sweet perfumes. On the other hand, for this reason, I already have several spicy sweet perfumes in my collection, and I have smelled quite a few in that direction. I do not find Kilian's little angel new or even special.

I like the opening best, which immediately makes me think of a gingerbread man. The spiciness is still in the foreground but is increasingly overshadowed by sweetness. I would have preferred a bit less praline and vanilla here. Or is it simply still too warm for such sweet treats? In autumn and winter, it will surely be quite nice to wear. However, with the sonorous name and the peppery price, I did not expect a grinning gingerbread man to emerge from the beautiful bottle.

I'll translate it quickly: by me you are beautiful. And it may also mean that one finds someone beautiful - I sometimes find the expression wonderfully fitting. I always think of people (and animals) who can fully unfold in the right company for them, yes, they can truly blossom. And it absolutely applies to "1902 - Lavande": with me, it is beautiful!

I must now defend this cuddly little lavender scent, about which I was already curious to read everything before receiving it. Apparently, no one could really take it for themselves (and surprisingly, I can confirm quite a few scent impressions of it). It starts with a harsh, herbal lavender blast towards "Ancient Lavender," which fades quite quickly for me. After that, it shows me its dreamy, soft heart of vanilla and something powdery. Very gentle and calming. Very sweet and cuddly. From now on, it reminds me a bit of "Eau de Lingerie" (yes, Lavande is also quite suitable as a laundry scent) and "Muse Poudree"; however, "Muse Poudree" is stronger and sweeter. I generally really like this powdery soft scent direction.

Actually, nothing much happens now; the scent remains quite unspectacular after the initial lavender surge. But sometimes I need that too: just relax and let the scent gently envelop me. How nice that it has found its way to me, and once again a big thank you to the donor). I think we go well together: with me, you smell beautiful!

In 1983, the Munich City Museum hosted the photo exhibition "Grün kaputt". In the accompanying book, under the title "Koniferenland", it was described in words that touch the soul what we do to our gardens: on one side of the fence, a poisoned desert filled with time and money - on the other side, colorful blooms by the roadside...

This very image of the blooming roadside, with herbs and wildflowers and far too tall grass, is awakened in me by the perfume "Salvia". However, not right from the start: when I spray it on, I always alternate between thinking of alpine meadows and seven-herb shampoo - which I like, but it doesn't last long as a scent impression. What follows is the memory of summer walks, past meadows and fields, along the river. To my left and right, it blooms and greens, a light breeze arises, wafting a hint of fragrance to my nose.
This hint of fragrance is all there is. And that is both incredibly fitting and yet, in my view, the greatest shortcoming. A similarly fragile scent being already resides in my collection: "Hermessence Osmanthe Yunnan". A beautiful fragrance that I unfortunately only perceive briefly when I spray it on... I find that unfortunate. I can catch a whiff of "Salvia" a little longer, but only directly on the skin.

I cannot detect the namesake sage in my little hint of fragrance. It seems more like a potpourri of various herbs and meadow flowers. That’s a good thing, as sage is not necessarily my favorite scent note: since I harvested a large amount of it in my garden a few years ago and hung it up to dry in the kitchen, I find it somewhat unpleasant and sweaty, at least beyond a certain scent intensity. Since "Salvia" also has some other scent notes accompanying the sage, I interpret the name here more as directional (in the sense of a herbal scent).

And yet: should the path lead me again (ideally in summer) to Cologne and possibly even to a very specific perfumery - I would love to spray myself from head to toe with "Salvia". I would leave the perfumery, eat something good in one of the beautiful breweries, drink a cool Kölsch, and let the scent work its magic on me. I might just weaken after all... After all, it is my absolute favorite from the small collection.
Not everyone likes natural gardens. Not everyone likes "Salvia". I do - both.

A few years ago, I had the opportunity to attend a weekend seminar organized by Weleda: it was a whirlwind tour through their entire anthroposophical medicinal product range, and our brains soon began to glow from all the input. To protect us participants from total sensory overload, however, some relaxation moments were incorporated - a mutual hand massage, stomping with our feet while clapping our hands in completely different rhythms, and also a - I suspect - guided meditation where we were to close our eyes and imagine we were a tree.

I hadn’t thought about this meditation exercise since then, until - yes, until I sprayed Tilia. While at that time I was mentally a birch, with the scent of Tilia it quickly became clear:
I AM A LINDEN TREE!
And completely so... The start is, however (just like in the meditation), still a bit uneven. A little dull, that might be due to the coriander, and it feels as if the individual (scent) components still need to find themselves. Then, however, it becomes very "real." I not only smell linden, no, I actually feel like a linden tree. Or are they rather impressions of a linden tree? First, it becomes sweet like linden blossoms, linden blossom honey, linden blossom tea. Then it becomes fresher and airier; before my inner eye, I see fresh green linden leaves swaying in the spring breeze. In between, a hay note joins in, as if the blossoms and leaves had dried a bit in the midsummer sun...

For me, "Tilia" is an extremely multifaceted linden scent that does not limit itself to the typical linden blossom, no, it encompasses the whole tree. Yet, as successful as I find the representation of a linden tree here - it will not be joining my collection. Reason: for one, somehow, three (!) linden blossom scents have already sneaked into my collection, even though I am not a particular fan of this scent note. Above all, however, my clear favorite from the small series "Salvia," which I simply find wonderful with its alpine herb note.

This is what happens when you have to stick your nose into everything out of curiosity: first into Taurus' raffle thread (and let no one say he didn't warn us participants!). Then, after luck was on my side and the bottle found its way to me surprisingly quickly, into the fragrance... "Curiosity Killed the Cat" was promptly the first thing that came to mind while sniffing. But don't worry, dear cat and perfume friends: at least in the English version, there is a second part to this saying that gives it a decidedly positive twist, which I will mention at the end ;-)

The positive first: no one needs to linger long over this test candidate - you can practically spray it on and then immediately turn to the next better test fragrance! The likelihood of it making it onto the wish list is rather low, and even if it does: it’s not expensive. So you can safely test it out. I find the fragrance notes particularly creative. There are three of them (not everyone can manage that), and all are more or less made up. This gives hope that the name of the fragrance has at most a loose connection to reality. I don’t know for sure, as I haven’t visited or sniffed Russian forests yet.

As for the scent itself: it immediately reminded me of a cheap, vaguely sweet hair tonic that, if I recall correctly, would have fit quite well in the Seventies. I could also imagine a shower gel from the low-price segment, where they couldn't agree whether the scent should be "masculinely distinctive," "excitingly aquatic," or perhaps better "sensually sweet." So, just a bit of everything, and let the discerning customer decide what to make of it... It doesn't really matter, as the longevity - we keep our promises! - is moderately cologne-like. At 1.99 euros for 85ml, you can certainly reapply often and generously :)

Conclusion: an almost extraordinarily ordinary fragrance that, thanks to its short longevity, doesn’t annoy, doesn’t make me feel nauseous, and isn’t overpriced. The fragrance direction "synthetic-green" can be passed off with a lot of goodwill, although the emphasis must of course be on "synthetic." To the question of all questions, "Is this perfume or can it go?" I would answer:
1. no idea
2. yes, it can go!
So, quickly filled a sample for a brave forum friend, and then the bottle can continue its journey to a dear forum friend - who, like me, shouted "HERE!" very loudly during the raffle.

Despite everything - it was fun! The raffle, the waiting for the surprise bottle, the commenting, and not least the lightning-fast passing on of the black Peter. And in this spirit, I conclude my comment with the second part of the proverb:
"Curiosity Killed the Cat,
but satisfaction brought it back."