mediterranean light - Diptyque's L'Eau des Hesperides

It is beautiful when a house that normally doesn't work on you releases something you adore. Diptyque scents normally exhibit a headiness that turns into headachiness on me, even though I can tell that the fragrance is well-crafted. I really loved Tam Dao for the first hour, but a repeated sinus headache meant I couldn't wear it again. Therefore, the fact that the three scents in this collection are all eau fraiche concentration led me to try them the way I normally try fragrances, with very happy results.

This scent carries a lovely sweet greenness, like stripes of seagrass on the coast of an orchard of mixed fruits. Mandarin, lemon and rosemary carry well together, and none of them get overwhelming. Normally citrus notes are OH SO DECIDEDLY CITRUS, but a bit of mint brightens and freshens the whole thing, with petitgrain anchoring it in coolness. Red thyme, which I've used in skin preparations in its essential oil form, along with white musk and the smallest hint of cedar add a bit of warmth to balance out the concoction. It sounds as though it would be heavier than it is; all in all it's a nice refreshing bit of olfactory joy, and I'm happy to wear it.

As a side note concerning the name:
Anyone who knows a decent amount about Greek mythology knows that the Hesperides are garden-nymphs, in a garden that carries echoes of Eden. The fruit of that garden is scattered throughout several legends, as the Hesperides' garden was supposed to live in the distant west, and held the irresistible golden fruit of immortality. (Hesperis, in Greek, is defined as the avatar of evening.) The Latinized version of the tale held the golden fruit to be apples - considering the Greek weather and palate, that isn't likely. Apples were so rare in Greece before the 7th century BC, and wild apples so bitter, that I have a hard time accepting that it was originally an apple. It has further problems when you consider that early Northern Europeans called nearly any foreign fruit an apple. To Chandler Burr, the fruit of the Hesperides is an orange. Bitter orange, maybe... I'm not a scholar of ancient Greece (anymore), but according to "The Meaning of Trees: Botany - History - Healing - Love" by Fred Hageneder (pg 81), the quince is the golden apple: the quince tree itself was named chrysomelon, which translates almost directly. Considering any in-depth research into Greek history will provide the quince as a preliminary symbolic fruit before the apple reached wide cultivation, I'm willing to accept Mr. Hageneder's assertion that the quince is, indeed, what the Hesperides' garden contained.

To me and on me, there is nothing dark or moody about this scent - the citrus aqnd herb combination does elicit the fruity freshness of quince, brilliantly executed by Olivier Pecheux, along with having the late-light coolness of a Mediterranean sunset. Smooth, vacation-y, and lovely, all at once.