Tauer

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L’Air des Alpes Suisse

Tauer blue mini pentagon bottle with mountain graphic label, on iced over evergreen bough.

I thought there would be hot cocoa.

L’Air des Alpes Suisses is chilly and gorgeous, and stays that way.
The ambergris is a gust of cold wind carrying snow and pine, with a weirdly enjoyable sweet whiff of gasoline–and it echoes. The camphor in the woods somehow resonates, the way a struck bell vibrates the air in the room, with a slow two hour fade to the skin.

The linear sound wave quality is very cool, a good example of synesthesia in perfumery, though I keep wondering if it will resolve at the end.
(Is there a tease of warmth and chocolate in there, or is that my own wishful thinking?)

I like it very much, but I bet it’s a completely different scent in August.

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An electro-pop dance hit out of Zurich that’s oddly soothing, with a gorgeous little video.

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Sotto La Luna – Tuberose

Decant vial on paper test cut-out of Tauer cobalt bottle, and scattered whole cloves.

Sweet, buttery green tuberose sharpened by spice with a serrated edge.
Turns creamy on the skin with nice projection and lasts all day, but the geranium sticks to the cuffs with a funny veggie side dish note.
Pretty, but makes me crave fried chicken.

The structure is similar to Tuberose Flash, from the Tauerville collection, which I absolutely love. so I sprayed that on my other wrist to compare. Flash’s benzoin softens the jasmine and patchouli, where the ambergris and spices in Sotto La Luna brightens them.
Of course, I went for the spice cabinet next. and hit the raw materials. The clove was obvious, the sweet bite on top, but the cinnamon was more subtle–just a dusting of warmth.
That was fun.
(I’ll stay with Flash.)

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This is so weird and unexpected–I like it.

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PHI Une Rose de Kandahar

Mini cobalt Tauer pentagon bottle, in pink sand, with a desiccated yellow rose.

This one makes me feel like I’ve painted gold leaf on my wrist.

Opens with luxury spice and roses, and an almost gourmand roasted almonds and dried apricots.
The cinnamon eases into cured pipe tobacco and the roses dry to sweet musky petal dust; they stay at arms length for hours, until ambergris and patchouli make it all wet and shiny again, for the rest of the day.
At night, the roses come back, a soft glow on the skin with a breath of chocolate woods.

In this chilly weather it’s ridiculously rich, and I’m always aware of it, like bracelets that jingle with movement.
I can’t wait to see what it’s like in the summer.

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I wish I could dance.