This is a story about two cars and two fragrances by Guerlain.
Après LOndée (parfum)
The door opens on a greyish- purple car. Its interior emits a rush of violet and wood aromas, sweet and fresh like rain.
The anise is exceedingly fine and mellow--nothing syrupy or licorice-like.) The violet is realistic and fruity, natural and cool.
(Thanks to my recent experience with Parfums Berdoues Violettes de Toulouse, I recognize this violet note immediately.)
These two notes dominate Après LOndée throughout its development--one on either side--pulling right and left on the steering wheel.
The car begins its drive. We pass through tangy, sunny Bergamotville.
We gaze out the windows as we drive through Flower County toward the city of Vanilla, through its outlying towns of Carnation and Iris.
We catch a glimpse of the hidden villages of Neroli and Jasmine.
Violet and Anise drive slowly along the wet streets through showers of rain interspersed with sunshine and floral breezes.
Too soon, the trip has ended, and we pull into Vanilla. It is a drive that I would gladly take every morning.
L'Heure Bleue (parfum)
The car is dusky blue-violet. Anise takes over the controls.
Violet is sitting quietly on the passenger's side. Tonka and Vanilla are overflowing from the back seat.
Anise drives very fast. Wowee! Florals are flying past the windows in a glorious blur of color.
We stop and pick up one of my favorites, Heliotrope, with its elusive PlayDoh note.
He has been on the road for awhile and hasn't bathed. His aroma is filling the car.
Violet doesn't approve of picking up hitchhikers, especially big, strong ones.
"I am starting to feel faint, she says."
It is getting dark, and soon nobody can see anything, but the smells are still whizzing by, blowing in the windows as we drive full-strength, full-speed ahead.
L'Heure Bleu is one of the world's most exciting scents. Enigmatic and thought-provoking, it dares you to formulate a strong opinion of it.
Can anyone say, "Oh, it's O.K. but it's kind of blah," or "I don't remember if I tried that one?
Meahwhile, back at the car, Anise sees Carnation hitchiking. He pulls over.
"No," says Violet. "Don't pick him up. There isn't any more room."
"Aw, come on," argues Anise. "Let's do it."
Vanilla, Tonka, and Heliotrope agree. They form a unified opinion. Violet is the odd vote, and the odd note.
"I'm leaving," she declares. "Let me out."
Carnation piles in. They roar down the road at full throttle, into the dusk, trailing their mingled aroma behind them.
It is dark; it is too late to walk home. Violet cries by the side of the road.
Après LOndée (parfum)
The door opens on a greyish- purple car. Its interior emits a rush of violet and wood aromas, sweet and fresh like rain.
The anise is exceedingly fine and mellow--nothing syrupy or licorice-like.) The violet is realistic and fruity, natural and cool.
(Thanks to my recent experience with Parfums Berdoues Violettes de Toulouse, I recognize this violet note immediately.)
These two notes dominate Après LOndée throughout its development--one on either side--pulling right and left on the steering wheel.
The car begins its drive. We pass through tangy, sunny Bergamotville.
We gaze out the windows as we drive through Flower County toward the city of Vanilla, through its outlying towns of Carnation and Iris.
We catch a glimpse of the hidden villages of Neroli and Jasmine.
Violet and Anise drive slowly along the wet streets through showers of rain interspersed with sunshine and floral breezes.
Too soon, the trip has ended, and we pull into Vanilla. It is a drive that I would gladly take every morning.
L'Heure Bleue (parfum)
The car is dusky blue-violet. Anise takes over the controls.
Violet is sitting quietly on the passenger's side. Tonka and Vanilla are overflowing from the back seat.
Anise drives very fast. Wowee! Florals are flying past the windows in a glorious blur of color.
We stop and pick up one of my favorites, Heliotrope, with its elusive PlayDoh note.
He has been on the road for awhile and hasn't bathed. His aroma is filling the car.
Violet doesn't approve of picking up hitchhikers, especially big, strong ones.
"I am starting to feel faint, she says."
It is getting dark, and soon nobody can see anything, but the smells are still whizzing by, blowing in the windows as we drive full-strength, full-speed ahead.
L'Heure Bleu is one of the world's most exciting scents. Enigmatic and thought-provoking, it dares you to formulate a strong opinion of it.
Can anyone say, "Oh, it's O.K. but it's kind of blah," or "I don't remember if I tried that one?
Meahwhile, back at the car, Anise sees Carnation hitchiking. He pulls over.
"No," says Violet. "Don't pick him up. There isn't any more room."
"Aw, come on," argues Anise. "Let's do it."
Vanilla, Tonka, and Heliotrope agree. They form a unified opinion. Violet is the odd vote, and the odd note.
"I'm leaving," she declares. "Let me out."
Carnation piles in. They roar down the road at full throttle, into the dusk, trailing their mingled aroma behind them.
It is dark; it is too late to walk home. Violet cries by the side of the road.
