Sniffsniff

This morning the DPD man with the Corona mask casually draped around his neck rang my doorbell to deliver a much-anticipated scented parcel from Austria. I was once again irrationally or irrationally unreasonably on the road and had blindly swallowed a leftover bottle of Patch Flash from Tauerville. To my salvation: First of all, the price was more than hot, secondly, I'm on an olfactory pilgrimage through the patchouli country and thirdly, I've never had a Tauer under my nose - and that's not a condition after all!
What follows now should be common knowledge. Hurriedly the package is torn open, the bottle is gripped, pfft, pffft, pfffft.
Oh, oooh, hach. I love Patch Flash from second one. It's rich, intense, really powerful. And it's right where he wants to be for a long time. A great development does not take place, no single nuances peel ingeniously from the thicket of the fragrant whole. Patch Flash lays all the cards on the table and that's probably why I like it right away. I'm not a special friend of fragrances that I have to wait a long time for, that annoy me with penetrating Indian head notes until after two hours something like a pleasant base emerges. My approach in this respect is completely un-Hinduistic. Life is finite and I want to smell good in the here and now. And for my taste I manage to do that quite well with Patch Flash.
The fragrance starts with a chord that makes me think of real beeswax. My aunt made very high quality beeswax candles and every year at Christmas I got a big box with a lavish year's supply. I smell it on my wrist, take a deep breath and immediately sit again inside in front of a big box of hand-rolled candles. The sweet and caressing smell of high-quality wax catapults me back to the Christmas days of my childhood. I am speechless and ecstatic. But I smell even more, fine spices, a bit of tart resin. Very fascinating and very, very pleasant. But the leading role is played by another protagonist, whom I had not really expected. A beguilingly fleshy rose pushes itself into the picture and takes the words away from me, the self-confessed rose despiser. This rose is not a synthetic flower that so often makes trouble in the usual waters of complacency. This rose resembles the deep red blossoms of the rosebush that grows in front of my bedroom window and beguiles me with its irresistible scent all summer and deep into autumn.
But one question remains unanswered - where is the actual leading actor hiding? Wasn't there a certain Patchouli who tried to flash me?
Probably my nose is rather mediocre, because - I hardly like to pronounce it - I hardly notice patchouli here. At least not as a loud name giver. Patchouli Flash is altogether a very warm, deep and intense fragrance. Absolutely dense knit. And I would suspect that patchouli is responsible for this, without pushing itself directly into the foreground in the familiar dull-earthy manner. There is nothing gloomy here, at best mysterious in a positive sense.
Patch Flash has absolutely no hints of hippie incense stick romance. Whoever has been flirting with such a fragrance will probably be disappointed.
For my part, I'm thrilled all around, because the fragrance negates my expectations and instead presents me with something completely new, which captivates me all the more.
Particularly noteworthy is the overall quality of the fragrance, which manages to create an absolutely natural impression. Here nothing syntheteths at all - and I appreciate that very much!
Durability and sillage are also rated as very good.
Well, I'll make a permanent place on my comedy show..

Nothing is as constant as change, after the tide comes the flood. And so on and so forth ...
I have recently noticed that my fragrance selection behavior seems to be knitted according to a certain cyclical pattern. These are successive phases in which a particular fragrance component comes into focus and causes me to stagger from the hundredth to the thousandth. First vanilla, accompanied by excessive gourmand excesses (a bit of chocolate here, a shovel of caramel there), followed by an incense-laden winter. Sacral, unsacral, **> not important. With wood, cinnamon, jasmine, iris, wearable, unbearable, pleasing, experimental and now and then tends to be unbearable. And then suddenly there was an end to eau de altar boy. The buffet grazed, my olfactory stomach well filled. No, that's an understatement. I literally gorged myself on the incense, sorry, I smelled
And as chance would have it, a new victim hopped right in front of my shotgun, which from now on had to be dissected in all its varieties. Patchouli. It's funny that I've kept the subject off my mind for so long. In my youth I was first at home in the punk scene before I was drawn to black metal via gothic. So I spent weeks in some private basement clubs, where the smells of various smoked goods mixed with spilled red wine, stale beer and the patchouli-soaked clothes of the girls present. I associate wonderful memories with this time, but this patchouli oil from the (only) "scene shop" in the wild Lüneburg, which was common at that time ... no, leave it alone Incredibly dull and musty. Absolutely morbid stuff.
Peer group or not, I preferred to bathe in the freshly launched Gucci Rush (which seemed incredibly mysterious, dark and wicked to me at the time - today I find it cheerful, flowery and bell-bright) and felt vastly superior to the stinky clubs in terms of fragrance.
Probably it is this late pubertal cellar trauma that made me fade out the patchouli theme. Until, yes, until I found a blind test video on a perfume-affine YouTube channel, in which a fragrance that proudly carries the capital P in its name wasn't rated that bad at all.
I immediately ordered the fragrance blindly and since, as is well known, luck is often with the stupid, this result of a short-circuit action was then an absolute bull's eye. Patchouli from Micallef. I was hooked. Incense? Who's frankincense? I need to know what else Patchouli can do. All varieties, the full range. If I were a famous painter, in retrospect, they'd probably say this "awakening moment" heralded my "earthy period".
And so my patchouli tour finally led me to my esteemed Italian friends from Avigliana. With Alambar and Vanhera I already have two fragrances in my collection that are among my absolute favourites, but with Alkemi and Nerosa I didn't warm up at all. A certain risk that Patchouliful might join the latter could not be denied. Nevertheless, the next blind buy followed on the heels, luck seems to make you careless immediately.
But obviously the very stupid ones are the ones who have the most luck, because I also like Patchouliful.
Although it does not trigger cries of rapture in me, it is warm and spicy and earthy and gives me a feeling of closeness and security.
In addition, Patchouliful looks very natural and cuddly, nowhere do ugly synthetic corners stand out, which could cloud my fragrance experience.
The top note starts with a tangy bergamot, which is already accompanied by pleasant spicy notes. Cinnamon is most prominent here, while the clove remains somewhat in the background. The cinnamon remains present the whole time and only fades away together with the base. Nothing becomes earthy and musty here, on the contrary. After about 30 minutes, the iris appears on stage and lightens the fragrance a bit with its light powdery texture. With time Patchouliful becomes sweeter and sweeter, but never slips off towards stickiness and keeps its slightly tart base note. Musk, cistus and cedar form the base and are well balanced. The cedar is round and soft and has nothing of freshly sharpened pencil. Also the resin note does not push itself into the foreground, but is accompanied by soft musk, which gives the whole thing a Miniprise Animalik for beginners. I think a little vanilla would have suited the composition, but you can't have everything.
Cinnamon and patchouli dominate a well-balanced woody base and create a truly wearable and thoroughly everyday unisex scent, which is probably even more effective in winter than at our current temperatures of around 15 degrees.
I perceive the Sillage very positively, the scent radiates properly and remains well perceptible for a really long time. Even after five hours, clear scent sequences keep coming into my nose. Patchouliful has power and performs with a lot of energy to my great joy. Because let's be honest - what is more senseless than a perfume that I can't perceive myself after 30 minutes? I have a few of these paperboard creatures in my collection and I feel that they have cheated me of my right to fragrance. It doesn't help me either if I scent half of the teachers' room and don't even notice it myself. After all, I paid for the expensive booze and not my colleagues.

Oud. This is a fundamentally polarizing issue. While the lovers of warm animalism and oriental authenticity rave about it, the oud negroes find clear words: "Cowshed, camel call and doctor's office."
In my case, the word oud has an ambivalent meaning. When I think back today to my failed attempt with Oud Ispahan, the hairs on the back of my neck spontaneously stand up in the direction of alert. Gucci's Oud Intense is very much appreciated by my husband and I love the fragrance in him - it even happens that every now and then I reach for this bottling myself in my quiet little room. And then there is the magnificent London of Widian, of which I still guard half a millilitre like the holy grail. It will certainly be worthy of a bottle sometime in the distant future - but I digress.
I always appreciate Oud when he manages to give a fragrance a certain edge without pushing himself into the foreground and drifting off towards penetrance.
About a week ago I received a bottling of a lovely perfume, which was accompanied by a generous addition of "Oud Alif". I was skeptical. It could mean "all or nothing". The name already showed the oud with confidence and in combination with "Alif" it immediately aroused the association of a heavy oriental with the extra portion of cow barn
But those who don't dare ... and so on. Two courageous splashes later a question mark appears. Where's Oudo? He has announced his appearance pompously and now he leaves the eager guests standing in the rain. While I am waiting for Oudo and, quite frankly, I don't miss him very much, my nose hears a woody and leathery scent accompanied by a very fine fruity sweetness that makes him unisex as unisex can be for me. But where does this fruitiness come from, which gives the tangy-woody leather accord a friendly twist and makes it wonderfully accessible? It must be the chocolate-saffron combination, because the pyramid doesn't allow anything else. Patchouli is present all the time and harmonizes perfectly with all the other protagonists. It's not cold, damp earth, but desert sand that contributes decisively to the cuddly warm feel-good aura of the fragrance. Now I discover Oudo, who has crept quietly among those present and tries to make the best of the situation. He apologizes, explains that after feeding the milk cows and washing the barn he had to jump under the shower to get rid of his - with respect - somewhat strong smell. Well then, dear Oudo, let's forget about it. Take a glass and enjoy the evening. If you smell so fine, you're forgiven
The late guests are usually the most beautiful ones anyway.
Oudo was still frequently asked about his scent that evening, received compliments from various ladies and gentlemen, but always remained modest and reserved. To push himself brazenly into the foreground, that was never his style.
He joked, celebrated exuberantly and stayed a good eight hours, even though he had to fight a little against his tiredness in the early morning hours

These days I often have to think about my last holiday in the Italian port town of Levanto. A charming little seaside resort on the Ligurian coast, the gateway to the famous Cinque Terre. I see the many lovely people I met there in front of my inner eye and imagine how they all now suffer from domestic quarantine and wish that this nightmare would pass quickly.
I associate a particularly beautiful holiday memory with the small perfumery in Via Dante 33, which also bears exactly this name.
The lovingly decorated shop is barely 25 square metres in size and is run by a lovely lady in her fifties. For three evenings in a row, I pressed my nose against the shop window pane and admired all the big names behind it. I let Creed, Amouage, Acqua d'Italie, Ligne St. Barth, Ortigia, Nobile 1942, Laboratorio Olfattivo and many more.
Quickly the desire grew in me to return to winter Germany with a fragrant souvenir in my luggage. And so it finally happened that on the fourth evening the eternally impatient husband made his way home alone, and entered the small shop with childlike anticipation. Immediately I was greeted by the lovely owner and asked in Italian about my fragrance preferences. To this day I still don't know how I managed to articulate my needs halfway understandably with my rudimentary knowledge of Italian, but it worked amazingly well. Vaniglia, incenso, ambra and senza fiore were obviously enough of a clue for the petite and neatly dressed lady to immediately make a small and exclusive selection for me. We quickly agreed that my fragrance should carry the label "made in Italy" and set about testing it. So much in advance - none was bad, I could have bought them all.
One of the fragrances presented was finally Alambar. I liked its sparkling and subtly fruity sweetness
I kept the paper in my hand during testing and for a long time Alambar remained my favourite. "Buono, eh?" The likeable Italian woman winked at me knowingly and gestured to me to test it on my skin. No sooner said than done. When I sniffed my wrist after 30 seconds, my enthusiasm was suddenly dampened. The freshness had given way to a diffuse smokiness that did not appeal to me at all at that moment. A pity. Checked off.
So I kept on testing and left the shop a little later with a wonderful sweetheart.
On the way home, which was a small test of my fitness by climbing a steep vineyard, my nose kept wandering from my wrist over the back of my hand - what was that? The smoky Alambar had recovered its pleasant effervescence. Cinnamon? Yes, but not Christmassy, but only so gently dosed that it gave the scent a pleasant depth. Cocoa? No. Obviously my nose isn't fine enough to detect it. It's a slightly tingly citric scent that reminds me of an ice-cold glass of cola with a slice of lemon. Maybe vanilla coke? Because I'm beginning to suspect my beloved vanilla, too. I often have the problem with Amber that I find it stuffy to musty. It can really thicken the air and I find this unpleasant and often this perception is accompanied by headaches. Not so with Alambar. The fragrance always remains light and transparent without losing its performance. It has a good silage and lasts for eight hours on my skin. Shit, I really like it
The inevitable had to happen. And so on the last evening of the holiday I was drawn back to Via Dante 33, and secretly I was glad that the holiday was now over, because otherwise it would probably have meant financial ruin for me. Back in Germany again, I find Alambar to be a really wearable everyday scent, which certainly doesn't only fit into the winter, but can also sweeten spring and, in light dosage, summer. However, I have to note that the fragrance develops completely differently on different days. This is especially true for the presence of the smoky note described at the beginning. While I hardly notice it on some days, it is present on others for quite a long time. Before our school went on the "corona holidays", I used to wear the scent at work. I was conjugating a Latin verb table with a seventh grader when he suddenly looked at me and asked: "Do you smell that? It totally smells like baloney." In retrospect, I'm pretty glad I couldn't see my stupid face at that moment. And he wasn't all that wrong, because with a lot of imagination you can actually make something "Mettwursty" in his smoky phase of Alambar. Unfortunately, I have to admit that the scent suffered a little because of this statement in his standing with me. Some associations simply can't be shaken off that easily once they have settled in the brain. It actually took me three weeks before I was able to wear the scent again in an unbiased way. Now I'm sitting here in the sun, wearing Alambar and I still think it's great even as a vegetarian.

Just before Christmas, the boarding school where I work has a big party. A long-awaited ball night, where hearts burn and break before you have to say goodbye to each other the next day for the next three weeks.
Great cinema. Especially since the event is split into two parts. The classes 5 to 8 have their own little ball in a protected frame. And I had the honour to accompany the whole thing morally and photographically. Of course, evening dress is obligatory and my little divas spared neither trouble nor expense to dig up each other's water. The little 5th graders were still a little shy and timid, the 8th graders with their courageous make-up were already optically so mature that they could have easily mastered many a club door. I was speechless for a moment. But one stood out of the sea of pubertal party frenzy that had become flesh. She wore the luxuriant curls of her long dark blond hair tucked to one side, had her dark blue saucer eyes discreetly accentuated and filled the room with the warmth of her radiant smile. She wore a knee-length dress, off-the-shoulder on one side, whose fine black fabric shimmered slightly and harmonized perfectly with the delicate black Mary-Janes on her even more delicate feet. When I complimented her on her outfit, I became suspicious. We were standing in a proverbial cloud of perfume. But it can't be It smells so deep, so grown-up, sensual, dark, soft, mysterious, enveloping. It's definitely not my perfume. It's good too, but different. I literally inhaled the veil of scent and there was no doubt. The little lady in black scented me so expertly. Without hesitation, I asked her the question of questions. Slightly embarrassed and flattered, she smiled at me and replied: "Miss Dior, I took the eau de parfum specially today."
I see. Miss Dior smells all grown-up? This unbelievably deep and dark patchouli, which gets a warm and cuddly aura through the rosewood and never looks gloomy despite the darkness? Miss Dior! Once again I am speechless. There is still something discreetly floral that resonates, but does not dominate. A soft rose hiding behind the rosewood and only smelling softly across. I also perceive a fine vanilla, although it is supposedly not there at all. The scent is slightly sweet, but it's a soft, round sweetness - not the sharp knife of melted and resolidified sugar that other popular scents from the fruity floral shelf tend to ram directly into my olfactory center.
I often walk past her that evening and each time I do so with a conscious smelling and perception. And each time I find the scent more and more unsuitable for this beautiful young girl. The fragrance tells stories about the being and the experiences of its wearer and to collect these stories it takes more than 14 Lenze. The fragrance is so sensual that it needs an opulent femininity to give it an even more opulent femininity. Fragrant reciprocity. Or something like that.
The decision has long since been made to test the fragrance at the next opportunity. When I see the bottle, my eyes practically roll back on their own. Would you like a little more Girlie? Another little ribbon around the neck of the glass?
I immediately spray on the skin and immediately disillusionment spreads. Where are the dark tones? Here nothing smells in a minor key, here a bright rose in a shrill major screams right into my face. She makes a very artificial appearance. Pepper, tangerine? No idea. It smells to me of all the worldly pleasing monotony. The sensual femme fatale tragically blown away by the wind. Au revoir, Miss Dior! You're that annoying teenager I was picturing before we met
About an hour later it is finally time. The Miss chills her base (I actually hear this more often) and surrounds me with this wonderfully seductive aura, which so abruptly captivated me on the ball evening. I am instantly reconciled with the nasty top note and am happy that Miss cooperates with my skin.
The fact that I have to wait a while for this scent moment doesn't really bother me, as the fragrance is extremely durable in this form and also doesn't weaken in terms of sillage. On my scarf, I can still perceive it clearly even after a week.
This Miss is definitely wrongly leading a shadowy existence here. I like her. But it's not the Miss, it's the Missus