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At first spray, Hanae Mori "Butterfly" seemed pleasant but common enough. My jerk reaction: "Ah, another fruity gourmande scent". Although "HMB" was released amongst the cellophane freshness of '90s scents(reaching for chypre),the current market hasn't been lacking in those fragrances with "yummy" appeal.
Given this, I was a bit quick to disregard it and sniff onto the next.Things would've gone as usual, except...
"Hanae Mori" grew on me--hauntingly,in a sense. Without my realizing it,the smell developed like some luscious dessert baking on my skin. I would catch drifts of the creamiest, tartest confection I could ever conjure--it couldn't have seemed more provocative if it had a "drink me" sign floating above it, or had been sniffed out by truffle swine.
Just before I could grow sick of it's honeyed-sweetness, flashes of wood and sunlight sparked in my head and I felt like I was walking out of a hayfield into a forest.Berries and bark swirled my cilia, until I reached a dusky dry place, that manifested as...dried leaves...or the pollenesque wings of a butterfly. Amazing, really.
So that is what "Hanae Mori" is to me; flowerbuds in spring, the overipe sweetness and solar haze of summer, the spicy crispness of autumn, the luminous snowbank or holiday pie baking in the oven. It is a rare violin, an ancient nordic church on a hill of berries, the aura around a child amongst cherry blossoms or pop star posters in a plastic house. "Hanae Mori" is every story and will end up seeming all the more extraordinary because of it. It's sort of like becoming friends with a rare and unusual person--the kind you weren't sure you could trust at first, simply because she seemed too patient and gosh darn sweet.
08 September, 2006