Yukimi by Annayake : Perfume Review

When I was a child, time seemed to stand still. Each season was endless, each year lasted a decade. As I grow older, seasons seem to come and go in the most fleeting of manner, each one melding quickly into the next, a year gone in the blink of an eye. So have the seasons of Annayake passed before our eyes and we have invariably arrived to the last one, the longest stretch of the year, Winter.

Yukimi means “snowviewing”, and once again, the name bestowed upon this fragrance fits the composition wonderfully. I’ve never experienced coolness and warmth blending at once with such effortlessness, with no sense of dissonance whatsoever. And what is perhaps most curious is the overwhelming sense of quietness and stillness that this fragrance delivers.
It is the same sense of quietness I experience when I wake up in the morning with the unwavering certainty that it has snowed the night before, for every single sound in nature is eerily muffled. I love mint in fragrances, and its addition in Yukimi is utter perfection, boldly announcing crisp cool winds and steely light. The fruit in the blend quickly brings me back inside the warmth of the house, where mother is throwing rinds of mandarin oranges and peels of apples in the lit fireplace, thereby scenting the air with festive aromas. Cool musks, cedar and soft powder, enveloped by the warmest of amber, enfold me in a bubble no sound can fully penetrate. They form a safe cocoon, offering protection from over-stimulation and the demands of adulthood. Time stands still again, affording me the luxury of reflection.

The woman that will gladly dance among the falling snowflakes, the woman this perfume is meant for, is rare, uncustomary. She is a self-assured innovator. It is not by chance that my mind places her dancing in winter wonderland. Even though she is a grown up, her essence is that of a child. She sparkles, full of joie de vivre. For her, time will still bend, making every season last a lifetime, just so she can suck every single drop of life out of every single day. When snow falls, she’ll still try to catch snowflakes on her tongue. When she goes to bathe in a hot spring up on the hill, she hopes to encounter macaque monkeys, completely unafraid. When she walks home at night, she’ll stop to marvel at the light twinkling inside the stone snow-viewing lanterns, yukimi-gata – even though she has seen them countless times before. Her laughter is crystaline and clear, like snow melting on the first days of spring. Her perfume of choice is subdued, to counter and contrast her playful character. Her perfume is that of innocence and clarity, quiet happiness and sweetness. She chooses something that blurs the lines between her own sweet skin’s scent and the perfume itself. She chooses Yukimi, scenting her neck with a childhood her body has outgrown.

Pictures courtesy of: www.japaneselifestyle.com.au, www.japonia.org and www.hikejapan.com