From the lion's den into the cauldron
Sorry, Les Folies du Parfum, but I was catapulted directly from the lion's cage into the witch's cauldron. In the opening, a peculiar mixture of herbal, animalic, and slightly alcoholic facets awaits me. The rum is definitely noticeable, but quickly drowns in this unusual composition. In my mind's eye appears a quirky, slightly tipsy herbal witch who has lived in a dusty storage closet for decades. This room hasn't seen daylight in a very long time. Thick bundles of dried herbs hang on the walls, and the shelves are filled with jars of strange curiosities whose contents I'd rather not question. The cauldron begins to bubble and steam. Incense increasingly takes command. A leathery note joins in, as if the old witch were just cleaning her worn leather boots or tightening her belt. Eventually, she even rummages around for sweets. However, these still seem quite distant. And honestly: I would never ring this lady's doorbell on Halloween. Only after several hours does peace settle in. The witch has fallen asleep and snores peacefully to herself. The animalic note and the incense become softer, the herbal aspect remains, and a more pleasant sweetness emerges. Nemea smells distinctly mature from start to finish. Not necessarily elegant, but idiosyncratic, tart, and uncompromising. Do I like this fragrance? No. Does it fascinate me? Definitely. The composition strikes me as high quality and possesses a remarkable development. Nemea obviously does not want to please everyone, and it is precisely this independence that I appreciate about niche perfumery. My nose died a hundred deaths during this skin test, but it did not give up. Because even fragrances that I would never voluntarily wear can tell a story that I won't easily forget. But the witch is very welcome to stay in her storage closet.
