L’Ombre dans L’Eau (Diptyque)

I wasn’t interested in Diptyque until recently. About a decade ago, I tried a few scents and they weren’t what I wanted. They were too simplistic, and they all smelled like somewhere I had been before. The sense of déjà vu was so intense it left me feeling irritated.

I revisited Diptyque on a whim when my husband and I were out shopping one day recently. I left the counter with Eau des Sens (a conversation for another day) and a very generous sample of L’Ombre dans L’Eau, which turns out to be exactly what I need in my atmosphere right now.

When I wear perfume, I wear several. I put a little of one thing on my neck, something else on my arm, something else on my ankles, like that. I like to smell different scents when I move around, and that way I don’t get too tired of anything. I like the process of figuring out which scents work together, and of amplifying aspects I enjoy in a perfume, and of downplaying what I don’t.

L’Ombre dans L’Eau goes very nicely with Chanel Nº19, or at least I think so.

Of the two, L’Ombre dans L’Eau is far more literal a scent. My sample is the EdP version, and oh, it is green and so sour and snappish. I can’t get enough of it. The rose is there, too, but I appreciate how the sour greenness never goes away. It makes me smile.

I’ve seen reviews of L’Ombre dans L’Eau, and it’s interesting how memories affect perception of the scent. For some, it is a greenhouse. Others smell sunshine. It’s childhood, in a garden they know.

Do I need to say that’s not what it is for me? I smell the darkness, and the damp. The snapped branches, the crushed leaves, in my memory they exist at the edge of the woods. It has rained, the sky is dim, it is no one’s garden. The overgrowth should have been enough to tell anyone this place belongs to trees, and vines, and thorns, not to a girl. I’m there, though, and I can see it backs up to a home, fenced in but visible, where there are roses and where a woman lives who would never welcome the sight of a child appearing from the bushes.

The yard is quiet, lush, hers. She is not around, but the imprint of ownership remains, despite the rain having provoked each and every leaf to strive against it. Getting caught inside would be terrible, but I need to see the roses.

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