loewenherz

At the beginning of the year, I accompanied a lady friend of mine shopping in an advisory capacity - she had the bitterly wrung out resolution to start the capri pants and bikini season in a really super fit condition this year. So we bought running shoes and tops and trousers, a nice yoga mat with a matching water bottle - and then a second water bottle, because the one belonging to the yoga mat did not fit to the other things. They also wanted to arrange a training session in the gym - very soon, for sure. The afternoon reminded me a bit of our university days, when after researching literature, copying, stapling, punching and filing (I still studied very analog), nobody could really expect to read all that stuff, could they? The other day I saw the stuff - with the label still on - lying in the trunk of her car

If only I had known Cliniques Chemistry that day He would have done everything perfectly in his clean, straight gym look, with the subtle rubber of yoga mats and running shoes - unused, that is. He has the straightness of an hour of Pilates, the freshness of a morning run on the riverbank and the tautness of Michelle Obama's upper arms. All of this is as stylized, almost artificial as the (recent) fragrances of the House of Clinique are: unagitated, unobtrusive, undemanding. Chemistry is the dimmed, unisex-made version of the 90s men's shower gel sports fragrance archetype: ozonically fresh, sometimes almost metallic, soft and effortless in its finish - and therefore really suitable for workouts, if you (or women) absolutely want to wear a perfume. If I had put that in the bag(s) on that day in January - where could the BMI be now?

Conclusion: many things I would not like to have in a perfume - I, who prefer not to wear perfume when doing sports. For those who like to smell of something fresh and artificial that goes well with yoga mats and running shoes - here we go!

Once upon a time, very once upon a time, the white-flowering gardenia and its unmistakable fragrance were the hallmark of the Lord - and of only one. Dandies such as Beau Brummel wore them with the artfully entwined neckerchief in the buttonhole - and their anaesthetic scent (in the dosage of that one 'Boutonnière', the French name of the single flower worn in the buttonhole). It was only later, when the gentlemen stopped decorating their lapels with flowers, that their sweet scent was given a female connotation, and today - it must be admitted - it certainly takes a little courage to wear gardenias (as a fragrance, let alone a 'boutonnière') as Mr. Gardenias.

The flower of the gardenia has a waxy, almost fleshy appearance - and its scent is so dense and heavy that it is hardly suitable (like lilies of the valley or lilies) as a decoration for a table where food is served. There is something dramatic, almost theatrical about the scent of the gardenia - as if a pale young man were sinking in a consumptive mood on a recamière after having lost the family latifundia at baccara - or as he receives, in the shade of blossoming trees, the blurred message from his beloved that her ambitious father wants her to be engaged to the son of a marquis in his stead.

The apparent variety of his listed fragrance ingredients is a little deceptive, because Penhaligon's Gardenia is actually - almost - a soliflore. Anyone who has ever smelled a gardenia blossom will certainly find hints of hyacinth, lily of the valley, jasmine and tuberose, but to mention them here as just one of a number of scent chords - let alone one arranged at olfactory eye level - is understating the case. Gardenia is the whole voluptuous drama of the waxy old-white blossom, is devotion, passion, sacrifice and loss. And as I said before - to consciously carry all this today as Lord is certainly not easy. But as a lady it is also not.

Conclusion: a scent a bit like the quotation from a Regency novel, when second-born sons went into the military (and became third-born priests) - they just had little hope of marrying the count's daughter. Even though they secretly mourned this - with a gardenia in their buttonhole - in the shade of their father's apple tree.