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Vero Profumo

Vero Profumo Naja – a safe haven

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I waited and waited for Naja. Two long years to be more precise. Rumours about Vero Kern working on a tobacco fragrance surfaced on social media and perfume groups around 2015. Naja was launched in March, at this year’s​ Esxence. I haven’t attended the fair. Naja was the only perfume there I was truly interested in and I was hoping to get in possession of a sample somehow, without traveling. And Valerie aka Cookie Queen from Australian Perfume Junkies fulfilled my wish with her infinite grace and down to earth attitude. Thank you, Valerie. How does it feel to smell a perfume you’ve been imagining and waiting for two years? In Naja’s case it still feels surprising, even now after wearing it for a few times. Sometimes life teaches you to brace yourself, fasten the armour, tighten the knots and pull up the moat bridge, but Naja always finds a way inside my fortress. It disarms me completely, in the most unexpectedly gentle manner. For a fragrance inspired by Cobra, as a spiritual symbol of the inherent contradictions backing human existence and existence in general (life and death, order and chaos, construction and destruction), Naja is astonishingly luminous and calm. Of course there are subtle tensions at work, beneath the surface, like a whale bone corset underneath an impossibly frothy, vaporous gown, but the overall impression is of grace, balance and serenity. KEEP ON READING

Parfums d’ Empire Musc Tonkin extrait: the quintessential filth

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Perfume as medicine again. And again. When will this need end? This need for appeasing the pain? When will the pain end? There are too many days of it. I know I have no reason for it. From a logical point of view absolutely nothing is wrong, on the contrary. But I can’t get rid of the mental anguish. It’s with me when I’m chewing my food, when I smile to my friends, while I cuddle next to my partner. It’s with me today and it was with me yesterday. It was with me at night, keeping me awake and gripped in fear that it’s going to be with me forever, poisoning me slowly, killing me in the end. I’m fighting against it every time I get out of bed, forcing myself to breathe deeply, to wash my face, to put on makeup and get on with the day. Every time I’m choosing a perfume to wear it’s a conscious effort to cheer myself up, to remember good things, to soothe and console. Today it’s Musc Tonkin and I confess is not really working because nothing much works these days and today is one of those times when I’m just riding the pain wave. I let it engulf me and hope I won’t get swallowed altogether. Still, even in the midst of blackness, I feel the beauty of this perfume. It is more than beauty. It’s mystery. It is not meant to be worn to feel pretty and put together or clean and confident or even sexy and sensual. It is meant to be worn like an amulet. To remind you that are things beyond our grasp, that life is big and terrible in its magnificence. It doesn’t care about you or me, it just is. That we are impermanent and transient and we don’t matter but life in itself matters. That my tumult today is irrelevant, less than the tiniest blip on the radar, but that the fact that I’m alive and part of this big hot humanity soup it’s important. That I’m connected to others and they in their turn are connected to more and this has to amount to something. A sense of some sort. These connections between us, the only sense to life I can grasp. And Musc Tonkin is bodies. A lot of bodies pressed together, warm and alive. Naked and connected, because I’ll be damned if it’s not the only thing that keeps the spectre of death away. When I wake up in the middle of the night, drenched in cold sweat after dreaming about my loved ones dying, hugging my partner’s body it’s the only thing that gives me a bit of comfort. That human warmth is present in Musc Tonkin alongside the elemental, cruel forcefulness of life. It smells both very close, intimate and cozy but also remote and threatening somehow, majestically so. In my mind, although they don’t smell at all alike, I relate it to Vero Profumo Onda. Because they’re built on big, bold proportions and they have an almost mythical aura, it’s as if they capture the time axis from the beginning of the world until the shadowed end. Musc Tonkin is more human, Onda is more transcendent and spiritual, but they both have a shamanic presence, the feel of being swept into something eternal, that’s been part of our souls ever since the first people walked the earth. The mystery within us. The inexplicable yearning we feel when we’re staring at the sea or a starry sky. The electrical vibration between lovers. The way we can speak without words. A sudden, irresponsible but irresistible attraction towards something or someone. Sliding towards darkness in search for the key to our existence. There is no key. The key is simply existing and discovering ourselves. Incessantly and fearlessly. Accepting who we are, our innermost wants and desires. Because if we don’t dig deep, what would be the point of digging after all? And because Musc Tonkin partially smells like a salty, warmed, sexed up vagina I’ll leave you to meditate on this quote from the movie Nymphomaniac directed by Lars Von Trier. The quote is explicit and because of the fact I share this virtual space with other authors I will use asterisks in lieu of some letters but I’m sure you’ll all understand. So it goes : “Dear everyone, don’t think it’s been easy, but I understand now that we’re not and never will be alike. I’m not like you, who f*cks to be validated and might just as well give up putting c*cks inside of you. And I’m not like you. All you want is to be filled up and whether it’s by a man or by tons of disgusting slop makes no difference. And I’m definitely not like you. That empathy you claim is a lie because all you are is society’s morality police whose duty is to erase my obscenity from the surface of the earth so that the Bourgeoisie won’t feel sick. I’m not like you. I am a nymphomaniac and I love myself for being one, but above all, I love my c*nt and my filthy, dirty lust.” KEEP ON READING

My ten autumn perfect perfumes

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I’ve always loved autumn, even as a child. Of course, a child loves most things anyway, but even if the arrival of autumn meant the end of summer holiday’s freedom and the beginning of a new school term, I still loved autumn. The colours drove me wild with excitement. I used to spend hours collecting the most beautiful fallen leaves for the collage projects we always had going in the art class during autumn months. I loved the smells too, the smoke of burnt dead leaves, the damp scent of foggy mornings, the tangy sweet aroma of soft fruit fermenting on the ground, the huge yellow and white chrysanthemums from my grandma’s garden, and that dark, mossy forest smell of autumn soil slowly warming up in the gentle, pallid glow of October sun. KEEP ON READING

Molinard Habanita: A Giant in a Field of Gnats

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Science & Technology
Guy Smoking A Cigarette

Habanita is a giant in a field of gnats.

But man, it took me ages to understand it, let alone enjoy it. At first, I was repulsed. It smelled harsh to me. Indistinct and muddy – like a fistful of wet, mulched leaves. There was a sticky grey -brown cast to it that lent it a slightly glum feel. Who the hell wants to smell like this, I thought to myself.

But something kept making me want to wear it, and now, with time, I’ve come to love it. And I don’t mean love it from a distance. No, I actually wear Habanita once a week. Coming from a gal with as many perfumes as I have, that should tell you something. KEEP ON READING

Vero Profumo Rubj: the scent of my birthday

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Today is the 10th of July, the day I came into the world some thirty something years ago. It so happens I’m scheduled to publish a post here, on Fragrance Daily, this very day. A birthday it’s a good thing, especially if it finds you in good health, good spirits, with a loved one or more beside, within employment and with a roof over your head. And of course, rocking some fabulous perfume. Life can’t really get any better than this, and I’m feeling very thankful and happy on my special day. KEEP ON READING

Florals that Bloom in the Summer Heat

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I’m not normally that into florals – especially the white kind – but I have to admit that there is something about the summer heat that is making me crave them right now. The hot sun seems to activate their lurid, blowsy side and to dim their rather prim, pretty aspects, and this is an effect I like.  So, despite myself, I find myself charmed by the lush, almost tropical miasma of white petals radiating off my hot, sticky skin. I will enjoy them while I can because I know that as soon as cool weather approaches, I will want to set these aside. KEEP ON READING

Italian style-the Angela Ciampagna line of fragrances:an overview

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Let’s talk numbers today: there are at least 360 niche perfume brands on the market presently, as opposed to about 100 less than 10 years ago, according to a press article published on the Reuters website in 2014.
The competition is getting hotter by the day and any newly launched brands would better have a very coherent and believable artistic statement behind and some damn good perfumes in order to establish a successful presence on the market. Brilliant customer service and an engaging online presence are playing an important part too.
Consumers are also getting more discerning thanks to the increasing amount of information available, especially the customers that are active buyers of niche perfumes, a term that I dislike for his pretentious connotations, but it’s sort of universally used and accepted so in lack of a better alternative it’ll have to do. KEEP ON READING

Guerlain’s Nahema: Not as Good as it thinks it is?

in Reviews/Thoughts by

Nahema, one of the most famous rose creations by any perfume house, let alone the hallowed house of Guerlain, is a perfume that I am struggling to wrap my head around. Part of the problem is that it smells nothing like the image I had built up in my head based on descriptors used over and over in the many reviews on this famous perfume, words like “lush”, “honeyed”, “sexy”, and “bombastic”. On my skin, it reads as a pale, vegetal rose choked back by a bush of oily green thorns and the pale green talc of hyacinth. In fact, it bears more than a passing resemblance to the spicy, resinous green floral of Chamade than to other perfumes in the fruity, oriental rose category such as Amouage’s Lyric Woman. KEEP ON READING

Vero Profumo Onda Voile d’ extrait-an exhalation of soul

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Onda means wave and just like the sea, it fills me both with a sense of awe and calm.This perfume landed in my life as it was fit for such a creature: through a stroke of luck, chance, providence you name it. A touch of the miraculous at play, because I’m a firm believer that miracles mostly disguise themselves in small, modest happenings without opening skies and silver trumpets announcing Messiah’s return on Earth. The “little pink pouch of wonders”, that was the baptism name I gave to the containing vessel. It was won in the virtual space through the means of a Facebook draw which took place in preparation for the launch of Vero Profumo Mito Eau de Parfum. My name was one of the fifty blessed ones. The odds of winning were high, but when you think that hundreds had participated so were the odds of losing.
I thought I won a sample of the newest Vero Profumo  fragrance, which was yet unnamed officially. But hurried fingers unloosened the pink string off the pink pouch only to discover that the little unlabeled sample has brought her friends in both their extrait and the eau de parfum formulations. And what friends they were: Rubj tumbling out lasciviously, all red hair, bitten full lips and white heated skin rubbed with sweet jasmine, orange blossoms  and musky cumin, Kiki giggling like the happy girl she was, drunk on lavender flavored fizzy champagne and sucking on caramel lollipops and finally Onda which I hadn’t dare yet try, putting the anonymous friend on skin instead. We now know she was called Mito, an aristocratically cool blonde, dressed in sensual, creamy white silk, strolling through the magnificent gardens of her mansion.
I loved them all, especially Rubj in her Eau de Parfum variant, irresistible in her carnality, a July goddess of love. I adore wearing it in the heat of summer when it blooms to the apex of her seduction forces. Rubj EdP  the sample became my first Vero Profumo bottle, a gift to myself on my July birthday a year later.
But Onda, which I tried the next day, gray laden skies weighing heavy with rainwater, me perched on the musty smelling, worn velvet armchair my partner bought cheaply at an auction, Onda simply stole my soul. There, bathed in a kind of steely colored light, surrounded by heaps of old jumble, that we somehow managed to fit inside our small flat, I felt like I was slowly submerging in an alternative world both ancient and modern, cold and warm, alien and familiar, luminous yet dark. A game of contrasts, circling one another in a mesmerizing whirlpool, all chasing towards the primordial center of perfect balance.
That sample of the Onda extrait became my most prized possession, my fingers would tremble in fear of dropping and thus loosing the contents of the precious vial, it was almost comical how tightly I was holding it every time I would apply one tiny, priceless drop.
Onda  became a spiritual portal, the High Priestess of a mysterious land of marshes, salty water, loamy earth, musky furs, deep reaching roots, blackened,  charred smoky logs and dessicated honey. Fiery ginger and succulent bergamot brought bold strokes of golden, hot light.
It was as scary as it sounds but I was attracted beyond the point of return. Spellbound, because it was much more than a perfume, the same way some books or movies or works of art become experiences. Mere beautification and even seduction were left behind by the transcendental Onda, who moved on both horizontal and vertical axis, connecting historical eras through its ritualistic primeval-starkly modern structure and connecting soul to the inherent, insolvable mystery of all human existence.
Somehow the Eau de Parfum didn’t have the same effect on me. The addition of passion fruit, interacting with the rooty-grassy vetiver and the dry honey, brought out an urinous edge which made Onda more aggressive and all too intimate and human, losing its spiritual edge, the distance that made the extrait intangible and iconoclastic.
I’ve hoarded that sample of the pure parfum for two years, unable to justify buying a bottle, purely from financial reasons.
Then in 2013 the Voiles d’extraits were launched, with the same structure and notes as the extraits, just less concentrated. Finally I had a way of owning the fragrance I’d became completely obsessed with. Very similar to the parfum, just a bit more buoyant and the balance of cold-warm tilted slightly more towards the cold side, Onda is even more extraterrestrial in the Voile version. It’s very diffusive and all encompassing, so you’d better be prepared to trail an otherworldly sillage behind you for hours on end. Onda leaves no room for fear. It’s completely odd, hallucinogenic, hard to define, outside the scope of beautiful, ugly and so on. Wear this and be prepared to be swept away into the dark bosom of the Universe. KEEP ON READING

Slumberhouse Sådanne: Perfect Pop Moment

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It was 1996 and I was eighteen years’ old. I was listlessly watching Top of the Pops with my brother when it happened – onto the screen burst the most exhilarating pop song I’d ever heard. I remember it like it was yesterday. “I’ll tell you what I want, what I really, really want”, shouted the busty redhead at the top of her lungs. “What? What?” we screamed back at her with pure joy.

It was a thrilling moment for me – the song had all the bright, poppy, teenage elements all its peers in this category had, but there was also something deeper too. The message was girl power. It sounds silly now, at a distance of fifteen years, but back then, the message that it was more important for a girl to love and respect herself than to get some random boy to fancy her seemed new. It seemed like the first time anyone had said it. The equation of pink, frothy pop + serious intent = perfect pop moment. KEEP ON READING

Rozy Voile d’Extrait: Rose as a Mirage

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Yes, I am rather late to this particular party, but wow – Rozy Voile d’Extrait is just incredible! This is a Vero Kern masterpiece worthy of all the praise heaped upon its shoulders. A bit of background – I had been playing around with the Rozy EDP for a few weeks now, liked it well enough, but wasn’t enthused enough to commit pen to paper yet – but then someone reminded me that the Voile d’Extrait versions are easier to understand, so I decided to try the Voile. And, by God, this is good. It’s better than good actually – the Voile is interesting, textured, intriguing, and ever-changing. KEEP ON READING

MAAI by Bogue: Bridge between the Past and the Future

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There is a road that stretches exactly 674 kilometers from Rimini on the North-East coast of Italy up through the Alps to Zurich, in Switzerland. This journey, were you to make it by car, would take you seven hours to complete, and by the end of it, you would have taken in most of the independent and artistic perfume making that still exists in Europe today. We are talking here about small, mostly self-taught perfumers who, instead of designing according to briefs set by the big fragrance conglomerates, create perfumes that take big, bold leaps into the dark and are limited only by the outer boundaries of their imaginations. KEEP ON READING

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