Heija

Just a few days ago, I had decided that I couldn't do much with sweet gourmands, and then this one comes along. Caramel butter with a hint of vanilla and a rather dominant fruit component for me (red berries or cherry). Perfectly balanced with the edgier spices, woods, and a bit of leather. After an hour, I find it simply delicious, not for eating, but for snuggling up to. And it lasts and lasts and lasts. The long longevity and strong presence can certainly be perceived as heavy. I am actually sensitive to that and wouldn't feel confident wearing Black Creme out of the house. But for me alone - delicious.

I love this boastful, honey-drunk little moth. Pepper-nutmeg-cinnamon-smoke-dust! Bam! Right in the face! And then we go on a journey. From the whole explosion, a powdery and wing-delicate remnant remains. Dry flowers find their space, saffron and rose make the fragrance broad and fluid. Perfect stage for the lead actor: honey. Or is it bourbon whiskey? Patchouli and oud ground the sweet intoxication. The mixture shines bright and far, especially at the beginning; just don't spray yourself from head to toe. Then it becomes perfect, accompanying you all night without being annoying.

When testing, I wanted to resist all the suggestions and see no images. But this one is just too well-captured. Cool, damp earth and natural wood are immediately there for me. Perhaps a half-timbered attic with an open window in winter. Very restrained fruit, a few flower buds and green blades of grass. The impression of cold air lingers surprisingly well. And as much as I resist, there is the bird. Fortunately without any dirt, rather animalically cozy. Over the course of hours, a skin-close, floral creaminess develops from the forest freshness.

Five stars for the first half hour, because it's an experience. Sweet-tart like licorice, smoky-woody like whiskey, with an almost hidden lily on an ethereal, smooth-oily base. Truly attractive and exciting. Unfortunately, I have to agree with the previous review that the fragrance fades too quickly, at least these great contrasts. It lasts for a few hours, but soon becomes too dusty and tobacco-heavy for me. I still recommend a test, maybe it performs better with different skin chemistry.

Fallen apple so juicy that you can almost smell it as vinegar, caught in warm spiciness. Fruity, floral, and woody notes blur into a sweet but not at all heavy feel-good scent. An all-rounder for when you want to appear unobtrusive yet a bit dressed up.

At the beginning, citrusy and piercing like a room fragrance. It remains synthetic throughout but becomes softer with every passing hour. Hints of apple tea and sea salt develop on a powdery musk base. An aquatic-floral 90s flashback that puts you in a good mood.

Subtly floral, elusive freshness. A hint of almost gourmand citrus. Peach and bergamot blend very beautifully into something quite unique. Floating never wants to fully settle on my skin, never wants to bond. After three hours, I would also need to respray. The concept is therefore excellently implemented. Unfortunately, it just leaves me cold.

Fresh opening with just a hint of pear and a surge of hot, steaming cleanliness. Actually, the fragrance is too much for me, too intense. But I don't want to stop sniffing my wrist completely, either. There is little change for a long time; after a few hours, floral-woody musk steals through the veil of soap. The skin smells like it's freshly lotioned, the hem of the blouse like it's been air-dried. Not an everyday scent for me. Impressive.

Inevitably, I feel an unused bar of white soap in my hand. Floral notes soften the strong aldehyde component. This clean sharpness is reminiscent of laundry detergent, but never becomes pungent. Rather, it opens the senses to associations: white curtains in the sunlight, behind them the lilac garden. Unfortunately, the fragrance fades on me as quickly as the memory of the last beach vacation. But it awakens the anticipation for the next one. Too close to the skin in winter, perfect in spring.

At the beginning, a lot happens all at once. Fine fruit candies, rubber and leather, roasted almonds. It all feels briefly overwhelming but is then bundled together by a brilliant, misty consistency. For about an hour, the sillage is very high in my opinion. A gentle, sweet smoke surrounds the wearer. A hint of cool scratchiness ensures that the gourmand notes do not become overwhelming or sticky. With the dry down, the fragrance becomes quieter and very beautiful once more with a distinct cassis and wood base.

My first two test runs ended at the sink. Cardamom, bergamot, jasmine, and sandalwood caught me too sharply on the first attempt. On the second, the smoke wouldn't leave my nose; unfortunately, I didn't smell the accompanying whiskey. Third attempt, sprayed on more distal skin areas on a cozy Sunday: The sharpness is now a zesty, citrusy freshness with a spicy kick. Heart note and base evoke memories of church pews made of patient dark wood. Instead of bourbon, I smell traces of incense. Unfortunately, it doesn't suit me, but on a friend, it becomes even softer after a few hours and seems more like high-quality body oil.

I'm slowly discovering that I'm probably not a fan of strong gourmands. But I have to hand it to Pistachio Haiku: it’s not the perfume's fault, as it successfully does exactly what it’s meant to do. I actually find the first impression quite great: roasted nut (my nose can't precisely identify a pistachio), a well-maintained wooden veranda, and a lush garden on a rainy day. After fifteen minutes, it briefly becomes overwhelmingly green and sharp. Then I apparently leave a trail of coconut through the apartment. Too strong for the more sensitive noses in my household. For me, too, the warm nut dominates again, appearing increasingly sweet. But the fragrance oscillates. At times warm and sweet, feminine to my senses, then briefly masculine and sharp, woody in the direction of oud. After about five hours, I mostly think of Christmas when I lift my scarf. (Again: possibly not entirely the perfume's fault, I tested it in December.)

I spray and think of the summers of my childhood in the village. Yellow and white blossoms full of creamy pollen, green brush reaching up to my arms. Then a hint of fruitiness and everything seems so fresh that I imagine mint with it. After about ten minutes, the fragrance becomes surprisingly subtle and significantly more herbal. It stays like this for a really long time, definitely five to six hours. The sillage is perfect for my taste. I don't fill the room with it; only with every movement of my head does it quietly remind me of its presence. And the woman sitting next to me at the garden party sniffs her way centimeter by centimeter closer to me, finally asking about my perfume. It finally convinced me yesterday at around 24 degrees and a light breeze. Because in the early evening, I finally perceived the woody, almost oily warm base, which my skin, in contrast to the test strip, had not wanted to release until then.