Hermessence Vanille Galante, sad fishing nets of my father.

I saw The Postman when I was seventeen. That impression, that sea, that poetry! Brilliant Massimo Troisi, fascinating images, a sad and beautiful concept. Such a pure and windy mood, the postman’s bicycle, the bar in a yellow light, the big sky.

Hermès Hermessence Vanille Galante is the movie morning scent with fishermen island shores and small lives within them; with the postman Mario’s wobbly bicycle, his sad and shy face, his silent language and the woman he loved so much. There was also his touching kindness for which you begin to wonder how one can live in the sun and nonetheless carry the non-existence in his face; how one can look at the flowers growing between the rocks and have absolutely nothing.


Vanille Galante is a salty breeze blowing straight to your face; it’s a cliff in front of you; it’s dreamy thoughts on the beloved one. It’s reaching for someone to share with because your thoughts are too large. It’s sincere innocence, it’s ignorance of bad and fear of good.


In the most poetic and heartbreaking movie scene in which Mario records various sounds of nature, there’s a sound he calls sad fishing nets of my father. That’s how he finally resolves the metaphor enigma after many attempts with his friend Pablo Neruda. Fishermen and their empty nets is probably the saddest metaphor ever; such as strange but deep Mario’s face, sounds of small and big waves, rustling bushes, clean thick yellowish glasses, nightshirt, letters, bicycle, wind, letters, water, infinity.


The Hermessence fragrance is very interesting and balmy. However, even if it’s dedicated to vanilla, it’s not edible and not candied. Vanille Galante is neither sticky nor nauseously sweet – it’s… salty. Salty in the way it’s mixed with salty air rather than with wet sea mud. The perfume flies like a gust of wind from the sea which also brings a feminine feeling: some light flowery vanilla and ylang-ylang. At the end everything calms down in a beautiful woody base with a bit of tobacco, cognac and masculine silence to bite the bullet.

It’s a perfume-poetry. Perfume-sadness…as tiny as a life of a postman with a big deep soul.


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