t’s been a while since I last wrote a blog. Just too busy with daily life and too much on my mind. But now, finally, during the holiday. (Those are the moments when my mind clears up)
Love for Italy
We are now traveling through Sardinia, and whether I like it or not, traveling through Italy is always a heavy task for my nose, whether it’s the scent of the Pinus Pinea (Italian stone pine), the delicious aromas from the many open kitchens in the city center, the sweet, almost syrupy smell of ripe grapes in the vineyards, or the pleasant scent of a fig tree. Even marble has a smell in Italy. The scent of marble is quiet and mineral-like, like a mountainside that has just released the rain. There’s a soft powderiness around it, an echo of lime and centuries of compressed earth. It smells like silence that has become solid, and time that does not pass. In short, I’m crazy about Italy. Always a feast for my nose.
The poetry of scents
The poetry of scents is the whispering of memories without words. A scent can, in a single breath, break open time, throwing you back to a summer you thought you had forgotten or to a face you haven’t seen in years. It floats invisibly, but touches deeper than color or sound—directly into the silent archive of your heart. The spicy beginning of freshly ground coffee, the syrupy memories of ripe figs, the ripples in your memory of rain falling on warm earth. In short, scents are magical.
The scent of figs
warm, soft and light sweet
I have read the book Perfume by Patrick Süskind many times with great pleasure, a book known for its intense description of scents and the obsession of the main character Jean-Baptiste Grenouille to create the perfect perfume—with all the dark consequences that entails.
If we were to ask Süskind how he would describe the scent of figs, it would be something along the lines of: The scent of figs hung heavy in the air, thick as honey about to crystallize. The sweetness was not innocent: beneath the syrupy skin lurked a warm, intoxicating moisture, like the flesh of a fruit that had stayed too long in the sun. The green sap of the stem cut sharply through it, sharp and bitter like freshly crushed leaf, giving the sweetness something piercing, something that lodged itself in the nostrils. In that scent trembled the heat of an afternoon when the air itself seemed to ferment. You tasted the shadow of the leaf, the sandy breath of the earth, and somewhere deep — invisible but unavoidable — a hint of overripe, almost rotting flesh, carrying the promise of both seduction and decay.
The scent
soft and intoxicating
Personally, I would describe it a little less gloomily but with the same passion. You open the cap — and the world tilts.
A blast of syrupy sun hits your face, thick with honey and milky sap. Green sap splashes up, sharp as a knife cutting through fresh leaves. Beneath it pulses the warm heart: fleshy, sultry, almost sinful, with the slow sweetness of a fruit that has waited too long.
It’s not a scent, it’s a trap: soft, intoxicating, and irrevocable.
Figs in Baunei
Tonight I was walking through Baunei, a mountain village on the island of Sardinia (Italy), when my olfactory system was triggered (I caught a scent in my nose) so wonderful that I had to stop. A fig tree! Figs are magical when it comes to their scent, which is also why this fragrance has been used for centuries in various perfumes. Just like in our Vato Loco, a delightful summer scent that carries me along through various memories and experiences. And that’s exactly why this is one of my favorite fragrances. The combination of tobacco leaf, poppy, green figs, leather, coconut, monoi, and cashmere makes Vato Loco such a beautiful, complete scent that is appreciated by many.
Once again, the question: how would Süskind describe this; Here it comes — a single, intense breath in which the entire perfume explodes:
A dark velvet of tobacco leaf hits your nose, rich and smoky, followed by the rough, sweat-soaked trail of Russian leather. Just when you think you might succumb, coconut breaks through—fat, sweet, and soothing like whole milk, while Tahitian Monoï kisses your skin with sun-drenched flowers.
Then the green fig cuts sharp and lively through the haze, a green razor-sharp blade bleeding between the red plumes of poppies. And just as everything threatens to explode, the powdery cashmere descends like a soft blanket, tempering the turbulent play — a whisper of gentleness in a storm of scent.
You inhale and know: this is not a perfume. This is an addiction.
If it were up to me, Süskind would get to describe all my fragrances.
Who is the oil baron?
Bas, built in 1971. As a producer of beard oil and other beard care products, I am constantly developing new products and looking for the edges of my creativity. I do this with great passion and above all with great pleasure. Pushing your boundaries every time, navigating between the possibilities and impossibilities of the cosmetics legislation and guidelines of the EU. Continue to innovate and amaze. This demands a lot of your creativity and sometimes causes my brain to be quite wrinkled. This made me decide to share this with you from time to time through my blog. So that you have a look behind the scenes and understand where all the nonsense comes from.