Turandot

I can remember that many years ago, there was a legend circulating that Jacques Guerlain and Ernest Beaux were actually quite good friends. They supposedly met regularly over a good glass of wine and discussed their craft. Late into the evening, they would talk about each other's most successful fragrance and agreed on an experiment: Jacques Guerlain would try to copy N°5, while Ernest Beaux was tasked with resurrecting Shalimar in the spirit of Chanel. Both got to work, and Jacques Guerlain "delivered" his take on N°5 with Liu. And what became of his counterpart?? The world is still waiting for Shalimar to have inspired a Chanel fragrance. Well, if it wasn't true, it was certainly well invented ;-) A similarity to N°5 cannot be denied in Liu, yet I can clearly recognize the Guerlain DNA. I find N°5 cooler, more sterile, if you will, more arrogant than Liu, although the pyramid seems to be significantly more diverse. Liu, on the other hand, has for me the Guerlain smile, that harmony that is characteristic of all historical Guerlain fragrances and to which the famous Guerlinade is attributed. This is also the reason why I have now acquired Liu, as I associate N°5 with a time that is definitively over for me, while I only got to know Liu here on Parfumo.

More is more? Just pour it all in! No, even though a cornucopia of specialties is presented to me at first glance. Liz Moores certainly didn't make it that easy. I am convinced that each note has its very specific effect, its justification, and a reason why it must contribute to the completion of Dryad. And I envy all the commentators who understand this scent, can read it, appreciate it, would wear it with enthusiasm, and have set up a monument to it here.

And now I must confess: I am probably too simply structured for that. Dryad doesn't even trigger a mental cinema for me, because I would need to find a common thread for that. With my preferences for minimalism, this is just too much. I am convinced that from the ingredients shown to us by the Parfumo database for Dryad, many other perfumers could create at least two, if not three expressive perfumes without having to compromise on quality.
Chypre, animalic notes, spices, and resins from the realms of the Orient all at once, that overwhelms me. And after hours on the skin, I find only an indefinable medley that no longer elicits any particular reaction from me.

Is this a harsh criticism? No, not at all. It is rather a confession of my rather simply structured preference for scents that hold up a mirror to me, speak to my self, and do not want to overwhelm me with all the glory of the earth at once. Even the forest spirits, nymphs, fauns, and dryads wouldn't need to come with such overwhelming presence to create an olfactory representation. For example, L'Original, Cedre by Lutens, or Feminite du bois achieve this with significantly fewer fragrance notes, but for me with more contour.

Fragrances that we classify as summery usually have citrus notes, exotic fruits, and spices that conjure up the Caribbean or other dream destinations, transporting us olfactorily to warmer realms. We associate them with vacation, carefreeness, warmth, and plenty of sunshine.

None of this applies to Vertine, and yet I can only wear this fragrance in summer - but then with the greatest pleasure, as it manages to provide me with a refreshing breath of air in our Central European latitudes when the heat of humidity subsides and threatening storm clouds promise trouble in the sky. At that moment, Vertine does not create carefreeness, but rather powerful breathing, strength, coolness, and a vastness, as if I were sitting on a hilltop and letting my gaze wander over the landscape to the horizon. I have only experienced something similar with Tirrenico from Profumi del Forte. Calmness and serenity flow through me, along with the certainty that beyond the horizon, it goes on. However, this truly only works for me in summer. Since I enjoy wearing the fragrance so much, I have of course tried it in winter as well. The result was shivering and discomfort, nothing compared to the atmosphere that Vertine provides me in the warm season, which I am already looking forward to.

One downside, however, is the fact that not only has the fragrance been discontinued, but the entire brand seems to have dissolved into nothing. I can only take this opportunity to engage more closely with a perfumer and use Vertine as a reason to start a test series for the works of Francois Robert.

For a long time, I was a devoted fan of iris, as I found the often delicate buttery note enchanting, and over time I had several iris fragrances in my collection. Until - yes, until I grew weary of iris. Instead of being softly creamy, I found it rather powdery and, after prolonged use, even dusty and oppressive. From L' Erbolario to Le Galion, Prada to Guerlain, I was constantly searching for the iris that used to bring a smile to my face, but in vain. I almost resigned myself, but then Gucci announced the Tears of Iris, the first revisions were promising, and the beautiful video in the advertisement did the rest. I participated in a sharing. Should I come close to my iris dream again?

I was about to rejoice. There it was, the finely powdery, lovely, romantic pastel note that makes you forget everyday life, a hint of nostalgia, a bit of shabby chic, and due to the opulence, I already planned to dose the sample from the sharing as discreetly as possible, so I wouldn't fall into the temptation of "more is more" and thus destroy the fragrance's aura.

The disappointment came so unexpectedly that it felt almost like a shock, because after hardly an hour, the Tears of Iris had dried up, and I could only faintly sense the excitement that had moved me just moments before, close to the skin. Gone - simply gone! I don't know what went wrong in the development of the fragrance, as other iris perfumes have always had a normal progression. So it can't be the iris itself. Anyway, I felt like many other fragrance enthusiasts - the longevity is not worth mentioning, and thus the fragrance was stripped of its soul. For the delicate nuance of the scent that lingers after hours, I don't need to get too close to my piggy bank.

I will use up the sample and put the topic of iris on hold for now. Perhaps I will also return to my roots and treat myself to "Hiris" by Hermes again.

How often do we get annoyed when we fall for a beautiful top note in a perfume shop, lacking the patience to test the entire progression of the fragrance, only to find out at home that not much happens after that. Nice, and that’s about it. I think this has happened to all of us, and sometimes we suspect that our impatience is calculated by the creators of the scents to quickly generate sales.

Well, it can also go the other way, and I perceive Fieno as an example of a perfume that doesn’t hit you over the head but reveals its beauty only to those who take the time to get to know the scent at leisure.

The citrusy and rather one-dimensional opening leads us into a heart that, with spicy notes, presents the theme of Fieno in an aromatic and almost clean soapy manner. The rose adds elegance to this theme. In my opinion, this is not the usual rose scent with green accents; rather, it is the exact opposite, and I find that extremely appealing. No one needs to have concerns about the hawthorn here. The note gives the fragrance depth and lasting strength, and I perceive it as a skillful transition to the vetiver-heavy finish, which is warmed and softened by sandalwood. I still notice the aromatic heart note, and yet this almost powdery base is already settling over Fieno, allowing the scent to fade away in a remarkably friendly manner. The perfume develops completely harmoniously, which actually doesn’t reveal a true three-part pyramid, as the notes skillfully blend into one another, as I have also noticed in other perfumes by SMN.

Once again, I am impressed by the care and dedication with which the perfumers of Santa Maria Novella create perfumes full of expressiveness and nobility without chasing trends or pandering to current mass tastes.