Turandot

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.

As summer approaches its peak and the heat in the apartment is already fought off in the morning with lowered blinds and shade-giving awnings, I always feel a bit melancholic. The trigger for this is unmistakable signs that the time we longed for during the still bare and damp spring is drawing to a close. Instead of a concert of birds, nature only provides us with the chirping of crickets, instead of mild breezes, sometimes oppressive heat roars, and when gladioli unfold their splendor in gardens, fields, and even in the supermarket, all that remains is the hope for a beautiful Indian summer, a golden October, and the wish that the current heatwave does not bid farewell with frightening storms.

And yet - this time, which I can indeed enjoy, is not only melancholic but shows us year after year how powerful nature is, not only in adversity but also in pouring out its cornucopia of treasures over us. A stroll through the city market, a walk along farmer's gardens, the rich harvest of the orchard meadows, which shows us what the abundance of blossoms in spring promised, leaves me in awe every year. And it is exactly this power, this splendor of colors, scents, delicacies, and aromas that the sun makes possible, all of this I find captured in Cala Rossa, this so unusual fragrance.

Mediterranean feeling does not only mean thyme, rosemary, basil, and plenty of limoncello, but also the salt of the sea, the aromas of various minerals that the sun-heated rocks of the coasts radiate, which are not interchangeable with the flat sandy beaches typical of so many holiday regions. Those who do not just want to lie on the beach but also venture into the hinterlands of Italy or Croatia will know what I mean. And this very fluidity embodies Cala Rossa for me.

So powerful, so aromatic, so full of energy is hardly any other perfume for me. Unconventional, herbaceous, unrestrained, and yet harmonious, the perfumers of Santa Maria Novella have managed to capture summer beyond tourist paths. Already in the top note, neither bergamot nor citrus is employed, but the medley of Mediterranean herbs opens the fragrance energetically, almost masculinely. This remains the case throughout its development and concludes with a green-spicy finish. I marvel at the listed fragrance notes, for in essence, we know each of these individual notes. Nothing is exotic or reminiscent of the chemistry lab of modern niche perfumes, and yet the totality of these ingredients results in a completely unusual and, for me, appealing fragrance that touches me every time I indulge in it.

Now I enjoy summer as long as it lasts, and with Cala Rossa, I can bring it back to me all year round. And for those who want to capture this mood with me, I recommend reading the poem "Abseits" by Theodor Storm again. It encapsulates in rhyme what Santa Maria Novella has immortalized in a fragrance.

The Dior fragrances from the Privée line that I enjoy in summer, at least in decants, are Sakura or Gris, and also Rose Kabuki. But they are still not real must-haves. Perhaps because they have become too similar over time and are now being released in increasingly confusing quantities. So now, Eden Roc.

A summer scent from Dior that I often wear is Escale à Portofino, which not only exudes refreshment but also a holiday mood, and I was curious to make a comparison, as Eden Roc is also meant to be a tribute to a holiday destination for the rich and famous. The hotel at Cap Antibes could surely tell interesting stories, as many illustrious guests have come and gone since 1870. A crime story featuring Hercule Poirot could take place in such a seaside hotel. One could therefore expect nothing less than pure luxury.

Well, being rich and beautiful does not necessarily mean being loud and flashy, and in this respect, the scent fits into an atmosphere of understated elegance. I don’t see myself on the beach of the Côte d'Azur but rather in the air-conditioned hotel lobby, where even the concierge sends a shiver of awe down my spine with his nobility. I smile at the memory of a seminar weekend with Estee Lauder that I got to experience as a very young saleswoman in such a hotel temple.
Eden Roc therefore does not radiate cheerful holiday vibes, Mediterranean joy, or a desire for a trivial flirt; instead, I see a super-exclusive rehabilitation clinic before me. It is elegant, clean, serious, and certainly not for patients on a budget.

I just found an offer for 40ml at 98.00 Euros, but I don’t think the scent is worth that much to me. Sure, it is also wearable on hot days, has an interesting turn towards cooler and calmer components after the somewhat banal citrus opening, and unlike Sakura or Rose Kabuki, it is also well-suited for men. But it is still not a true enhancement to the Privée line. And so, I can only wait to see what the next pastel-colored Dior fragrance will be that continues the endless story.