Opardu, the fake reality.

When the rivers flow towards all possible directions and you don’t know where’s right and where’s left anymore; when every morning you walk into a soft fog and you observe yourself as it from aside; when you think and dream in another language, – everything becomes half real. Just another moment and you’ll wake up. Just another moment and all snowy mountain peaks will collapse and the blue sea will turn dark. Missing being there and missing here while there.

And then you don’t know your name anymore and you don’t know the people in your nightmares anymore and you don’t know who will tidy up the chaos in your head.

Puredistance Opardu, which sounds like the French I have lost, is just like another movie scene in the middle of fake reality. It brings the atmosphere of the last century with fabric wall tapestries, people with straight backs and women with a secret. Opardu is too beautiful to be true. It’s so rich yet extremely fragile, that you want to sit aside and admire it from a distance. Slowly.


Opardu opens with amazing lilac and white flowers. A whiff of freshness with a smooth and hardly noticeable candy note. Creamy gardenia, milky tuberose and not overwhelming yet consistent jasmine also carry a huge musky cloud. Indeed, during the first half an hour you can clearly perceive white soapiness which reminds me a lot of the great discontinued Sicily by Dolce&Gabbana. However, the scent doesn’t get banal and doesn’t only smell of clean linen. The flowers bring a lot of sensuality and a soft butter-like feeling. In fact, the perfume is so thick it seems you can almost touch it like a bath full of milk or like a handful of a luscious body butter to melt on your chest.

Opardu is calm and mature. It makes me think of serious people who seriously talk about outer space without getting their head spinning.

Opardu has an incredible quality and lasts for ages. The flowers in it never show their angles and no, they never remind of an air freshener. On warm skin they rather turn into a soft white fog. And then it lingers almost as if it was a reproach for the lost beauty or for you ceasing looking for it along with soft voice and decent manners.

It’s like a prayer to something you have lost or you would have liked to know. Or simply to something that never really existed.