ShinyAbraxas

As is often the case with me, an irresistible urge to test arises whenever a seemingly exciting, controversial fragrance is negatively dismissed with more or less fanfare. Therefore, thanks to the majority of my predecessors, you have led me to this Vétiver reference.

During the first test, my curiosity was immense - the surprise was just as great. I found myself again in the wooden shed known as the neighbor's smoking chamber in a forest on a mountain in the Austrian nowhere. Such was my childish association. My more adult association had me sitting on the couch with friends indulging in their newfound love for whisky - a love I still cannot share, unless I smell it without drinking.
Single Malt Whisky Lagavulin. Strong, peaty, very smoky. Just this opening thrilled me so much that I looked forward to the first few minutes with each subsequent test.

After a few moments, once my nose has adjusted to the peatiness, it comes to the forefront:

THE Vétiver. The earthiest, rootiest, smokiest, darkest green-brownest Vétiver I have ever encountered.

Fumidus begins where Encre Noir leaves off. Even black ink appears bright and radiant in comparison. Although the comparison is a bit flawed, as Fumidus is self-sufficient and stands almost until the end as a dark Vétiver rock in dark surf after its malt whisky opening. In the initial tests, the Vétiver was so overwhelmingly present in my perception that I could filter out little else. By now, after some time, I also smell earthy-mossy patchouli in the drydown, which subtly underscores the richness of the central moment of Vétiver here.

This fragrance is so straight for me - I can't help it - in your face, that I would find it hard to come up with more flattering words. Yet I find it magnificent precisely because of this brutal presence.

But is Fumidus wearable for me? Merunnsia wrote "original and masculine!"
So if I wanted to bring out the most masculine part of myself, for example, while taking a chainsaw course, then yes. However, I have already learned to fell trees with the fire department, so I am still waiting for the right opportunity.

After the first test a few hours ago, the following experimental setup was consequently necessary: left wrist Kiss My Name, right wrist Sécrétions Magnifiques.

Do you remember how, as children, you would write words on each other's backs and guess them? Drawing each letter one by one with your index finger, separating individual words with a sweeping gesture? Kiss My Name could be the adult version of this game, my first thought upon reading the name of this Monegal; it was accompanied by notions of lightness and carefreeness, playfulness and sweetness.

The surprise was all the greater when I suddenly felt like Barbie. The opening is squeaky-fruity-floral-pink-loud. This fruitiness, which comes across as very intrusive and therefore almost artificial, reminds me of Lady One Million - the plastic strawberry, the Escada summer scents, as well as melon shower gel, although I couldn't name individual fruits. Underneath this unreal-looking fruit basket is a floral sweetness, from which I can at least recognize jasmine and tuberose. How far the recognizability goes becomes apparent as the experience unfolds:
I read here and there about the fecal side that a jasmine blossom, which I find so pleasing, could take on, which I have never encountered before. At this point, I perceive not excretions, but a penetrating metallic-rotting note. It was this metallic hint that immediately made me think of Sécrétions Magnifiques and led to the aforementioned experimental setup.

In direct comparison, the metallic aspect of Monegal appears much more harmless compared to Etat Libre d'Orange, yet I can now, after about the fifth to seventh test of the "magnificent secrets," appreciate this much more than Kiss My Name, which knows how to repel more sustainably with a chord of rotting flowers in stagnant water. The metallic note is intentionally at the center of the experience in Sécrétions Magnifiques, making it exciting and presenting a challenge - completely in contrast to Kiss My Name, where unpleasantness takes an even more unpleasant direction. It should be mentioned in passing that I find Sécrétions Magnifiques increasingly tolerable, if not necessarily wearable, with each subsequent test.

However, the metallic note soon runs out of breath, leaving behind jasmine and tuberose flower heads that float with a few leaves and stems in a lukewarm pond, rotting away. In the drydown, Kiss My Name comes across as trivial and arbitrary with a blurred, sweet floral accord that is not worth mentioning, were it not for that final chewing gum association - chewed out in just over one and a half hours.

Truly - Madly - Deeply.
Reading this triad evoked sounds from the depths of my acoustic memory that now seem so foreign and disconnected. A high male voice sings in a synth-pop melody within me:

I'll be your dream
I'll be your wish
I'll be your fantasy
I'll be your hope
I'll be your love
be everything that you need
I'll love you more
with every breath
truly madly deeply do
(…)
http://www.dailymotion.com/video/xio1l_savage-garden-truly-madly-deeply_news

1997. Savage Garden. Truly Madly Deeply, their international breakthrough.
2011/12: We find ourselves in the midst of two declarations of love:
One melodic and one olfactory.
Lilian Driessen, the renowned Dutch designer, wife and muse of Alessandro Gualtieri, creator of the Nasomatto fragrances, is MariaLux. Together with her husband, she created this olfactory triptych; three proofs and declarations of their connection. She wrote:

Dearest,
EVERYTHING I OWN SMELLS OF YOU.
This project has been created with all my love:
This is me, it’s my lovestory.
Where something beyond and infinite
Becomes so small in your hands.
You can hold me, use me, abandon me,
Conceal me behind your dreams.
Take me, carry me, wear me.
To lay me down again.
You will smell of me and I’ll belong to you.
It’s you, your lovestory.
Yours truly, madly, deeply,
MariaLux

Now to the third act of this love play: Deeply - "pained profound love".
The crux and the liberation that MariaLux offers me lie in the restraint of any ingredients.
Casually it unfolds:

Deeply shoots onto my skin straight into the gourmand universe, and I am left astonished. The almond-like sweetness, reminiscent of Amaretto, which spreads rapidly, does not want to give everything away in the first minutes, allowing a cinnamon spiciness room to show itself. Claws flash; nothing here is purely soft; there is simultaneously rebellion, pushing boundaries, and showing sharp teeth. This rebellion was not meant seriously; it simply served the game of love. As the claws retract and the mouth closes, the sweetness-guarded spiciness unites with a confident mid-green that resembles the leaves of fruit trees in nearly full bloom. Their leaves breathe fruit. A surprising moment, until, yes, unfortunately - until something vanilla-like spreads in my perception, which fortunately does not add extra sweetness. From here it becomes wider and wider, deeper and deeper. No stopping, free fall into the abyss. Thanks to a parachute, I land softly in an ambery base with a patchouli touch.

Those who are fond of gourmand fragrances should fall. Without net, parachute, and ground. Close to the body, warm, soothing, captivating.
But wait - in this inevitably pulling emotional whirlpool, I forgot to mention that somewhere in the downward movement, a bright sparkle of floral nature flashed, to slightly slow the pull and remind of the lightness of love.

To all who are well-disposed towards gourmand fragrances, Deeply comes highly recommended for testing. I had the "Truly-not-gourmand" parachute with me, my luck. But ultimately, the pain-filled, profound love remained closed off to me. My misfortune.

Disclaimer: Do not expect an objective - but be comfortable with - an emotional-personal impression:

Winter Woods is...

…a chalet somewhere in the mountains,
in a deeply snow-covered forest,
glancing at the crackling, creaking, smouldering fireside,
nestled down in a fake fur blanket,
with a bright red, sun-soaked-complex-spicy red wine (alternatively Chai tea) in my hands,
an I-just-feel-so-content-with-me-in-this-moment experience; I wouldn't wish being anywhere or anyone else.

Comforting darkness and a more and more increasing depth surround me perfectly.

Wood, smoke, resin, sanctity, earthiness, sparse sweetness and a bunch of pristine incense plus a subtle but enforcing animalistic note, whose erotic undertone is crescendo-ishly filling this chalet's small little room and cozying my senses for a prolonged time…

…that's why I'm so oh oh ohhhhhh in love.

Impressive sillage. Longevity: almost for forever.

Since I started exploring the world of fragrances, I boldly apply unfamiliar samples just before leaving the house for work.
What has so far led to highly pleasant, beautiful, or even just mediocre experiences nearly knocked me backward out of my house slippers one morning:

Just after the first two small sprays, someone dumped a truckload of juniper over me. Berries, leaves, branches, cones, trunk - everything was so concentrated that if I had been sitting in a bathtub full of juniper bath additive (without water), there would have been no noticeable difference. The only option was to flee forward: into the fresh air and into the car. I better not mention the traffic risk I posed during that heavily intoxicated 15-minute drive to work. Because during the drive, an incredibly pungent rose joined in, which I imagine to be the cheapest rose soap. In the elevator to our office, I imagined the surely delighted reactions of my two office mates, which did not take long to arrive: "WHAT is that?! Are you serious?!" and "You can't be serious, right??" were the first words that followed my innocent hello.
"Yeeeeah, I know, I'm already getting a headache, but we all have to endure this now."
At least the ethereal juniper eventually dissipated and left behind: soapy, screeching rose. A hint of jasmine. Soapy, screech… Wait! Indeed, for a few seconds the fog cleared, and a friendly, bright, mild jasmine blossom granted my tormented sense of smell a moment of peace. Relief was abruptly replaced by the soapy rose. Rose soap. Here my olfactory perception capitulated, so I was unable to detect patchouli or incense. Instead, I was accompanied by a slight throbbing headache until after lunch. My colleagues were quite rarely found at their desks that day…

But as we all know, one does not learn from mistakes the first time, and so I will continue to start my experiments on office mornings. After all, you get free field research with colleagues.