Men
Estivalia
Acordes principales
Descripción
Estivalia by Antonio Puig is a floral fragrance for women. Launched in 1973, this composition was created by perfumers Jean François Latty and Rosendo Mateu.
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Comunidad
123 votos
- Positivo 90%
- Negativo 7.3%
- Neutral 2.4%
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Propiedad
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Unisex femenino
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Masculino
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A fresh aroma that reminds one of spring; my mother used it when I was a child. When freshly applied, the vetiver notes are perceived with greater intensity, which after an hour of application (over a moisturising cream base) fade to give greater prominence to the flowers, highlighting the soapy aroma of the jasmine, which at times gives a sensation of musk.
My mother also used it during my childhood, and I sometimes did too. Indeed, it was very floral and spring-like, but for me there was something dark, something wild and unsettling that I did not know how to define in it, which made it more attractive than other fresh florals of the era. Now thanks to Fragrantica I know it could be vetiver. I suppose this, among other aromas from my childhood, would be the culprits of this addiction I suffer in the present…
My mother also used it when I was a child! I started using it in my adolescence, and now my sister, at 13, has started using it because it reminds us of our mother. I believe it is being discontinued in Chile. It is fresh and exotic, a very unique aroma, it plays with vetiver and is intense but not invasive.
My mother used it when I was a boy; I remember the bottle, seeing it, and smelling it always. This will have been about 35 years ago, memories.
By the way, yesterday I reviewed Guerlain’s Aqua Allegoria Gentiana, and I believe that concept of a refreshing cologne yet distinct from citrus led me to Estivalia. Like Gentiana, it is far more complex than it first appears. Both Gentiana (from my faint memories) and Estivalia share a woody, slightly animalic, clay-like dry-down with a masculine touch that is utterly intoxicating.
I went in specifically looking for Estivalia, and what a joy it was to see the good reviews. It was a wonderful fragrance. During the seventies and eighties, Puig created a series of excellent popular perfumes, made with no pretension other than being accessible products, and I believe they are absolutely modern. It is rare to find a Spanish house that did not have a couple of Puig bottles in the bathroom. For me, the brand’s feminine scents are associated with spring and summer: colognes with great personality, each distinct from the other, with a sillage and longevity that are more than decent. I think an Estivalia or an Agua Brava fulfils the objective of keeping you scented for a few hours, something that cannot be said of most perfumes today. Specifically, Estivalia was a very fresh and floral fragrance but with a very marked character. It was not a generic floral with the typical ‘mushy’ similar floral notes we have smelled in so many perfumes; Estivalia was a floral and refreshing fragrance but with a delicious dark and dampened touch. Almost narcotic in its freshness. Have you ever entered a closed room in a large old mansion that is nevertheless cleaned regularly? Estivalia reminded me exactly of that: an old house surrounded by vegetation, with a pool or irrigation ditch, a mansion with lots of activity where everything is old but clean, where some rooms have a vivid dampness, that dark dampness that almost slaps you in the face, mixed with the floral touches of a seasonal bouquet placed in a vase. A beautiful mixture of wet gloom with the sharp tinkling of a flower. Normally floral fragrances repulse me in summer, however this Estivalia was pure summer, a summer sheltered from the heat, like a genre painting of quiet everyday life with a touch of romance, adhering to the original definition of the word. For me, Estivalia is a Memento Mori made into a fragrance, but a happy Memento Mori, full of tenderness and youth. My mother used it in the eighties along with Anouk and Zinnia, also by Puig. Anouk always seemed horrible to me, and I remember begging her please never to use it again, to give away the bottle (it smelled to me of acidic hair lacquer); however, I loved Zinnia (very fresh and crisp) and Estivalia. ‘Gloomy garden on a summer day’, I love the definition given by LaDamedeNoir; whenever I have remembered it over the years, the image that has formed in my head to describe it is very similar. And the bottle? A cheerful, jovial and elegant design, with a playful and classic touch that for me is a small work of art. I do not know what I like more, the design or the colour; I think they are combined perfectly here to give clues about the fragrance you will find inside. I cannot explain how wonders like this are discontinued when they are timeless fragrances that pass the test of time more than victoriously.
I met Estivalia through my mother and thanks to her I acquired a taste for perfumes. What a delicate and strong personality Estivalia had; the vetiver mixed with the green and the wood gave it that fresh and dark game that I loved. I speak in the past because it was discontinued two years ago in my country, a great pity. If I had known, I would have armed myself with several bottles. Another beauty that remained in the past.
A classic of my adolescence, I heard it recently… pleasant memories.
Estivalia, how pure your name is and what memories you’ve brought me… Walking today through a market with free time, I found bottles of this wonderful herbaceous water. 25ml bottles for a euro, I took one and worriedly noted how everything has changed, the difference between today and yesterday. Has so much time passed? At home I opened it and noted it’s terribly imperious, less sweet than I remember, and with an abrupt vetiver that’s nothing friendly, but full of life, a life of the underworld. Or my sense of smell has changed, or it has; I remembered it more amiable, feminine, and less harsh. Now it’s the quieter sister, less loaded with Alliage Sport by Estee Lauder. It softens with minutes but maintains a masculine, stubborn, and gloomy touch, like a Roger Corman film. An archaeological wonder for the price of a tip, I have it here to close my eyes and return to my deepest root, as it was the first cologne I had as a child.
@casablanca, those male notes you noticed correspond to the Estivalia I remember: earthy, floral but very sombre, with clay nuances. It was wonderful.
Review based on the 2013 version (doubts about the code). Rosendo Mateu, a Catalan perfumer, joined PUIG at 15. For 40 years he created Spain’s emblematic perfumes in the 60s, 70s, 80s, 90s, and 2000s. Antonio Banderas owes him several fragrances, and he created myths like Agua Brava, Anouk, Brummel, Qorum, Sybaris, Vetiver, and Zinnia. And in 1973, Estivalia. Since 2010 he is one of the few Maître Parfumeurs in Europe, creating bespoke scents. I don’t know the 1973 version, but with the 2013 one I get an idea. What was the woman of the 70s who used a masculine fougère? What can they teach us now in a world of sugar and ambroxan? Estivalia portrays a powerful, strong, independent woman, with clear ideas, who relies on herself, enjoying herself without seeking acceptance. I think of Luz Casal. It’s drastic, even for me. It’s not a fresh citrus, not summery, not aquatic, not ozonic. It’s an aldehydic fougère slap from a strict male school, with some nebulous floral androgyny that makes it transgender, with a wild animal woodland tinge. It’s a panther, leopard, tiger, puma, lynx, jaguar, feline scent on the prowl. Glowing eyes in the darkness, lion-like mane, black stockings, movements that attract and confuse. Abstract jazz is heard in the jungle. It has all the moss of the forest, bitter herbs of the undergrowth, lichens, and ferns. It has the roundness of an old Dior or a classic Lauder. It’s so fougère it seems like a floral animalic chypre, with epidermal, bronchial, sinus, and animalic tissue flowers that the current world doesn’t want to smell. The Estivalia I have is from 2013 and I can’t believe it. There must be an error in the code; such a scent hasn’t been made for decades.
Gerard was born deaf-mute and with a learning disability. Hearing him express himself was a spectacle; in the park, dignified and proud at eight or nine years old, with unruly red hair, gesticulating and jumping at the laughter of children. I was thirteen, I took a liking to him because one day he gave me a hug. Perhaps because I never laughed at him, or because he lived nearby and I greeted him. His purity had no prejudices: he could shout in a fruit shop (‘Oh, mother of God’, his family was very religious) or jump with joy at seeing me, drawing a smile on his freckled face and following me as if I were a superhero. I went to his house many afternoons to play on the console (some of you might remember ‘Street Fighter 2’). His mother lived alone, his husband disappeared shortly after Gerard was born. She was a plump, kind, and very well-dressed lady, but the most intense memory is how well she smelled. A fresh, delicate, floral, and woody aroma, full of contrasts. I closed my eyes when she served me Nutella sandwiches to perceive it better. Very different from my mother or my cousin (who used Alada); it wasn’t just a ‘good smell’, it said many things, hid mysteries and adventures. I now know it was Estivalia, and it suited that large, elegant lady very well, with a slight tinge of sadness that imposed its kindness. Over time, I drifted away from Gerard. He remained on the street with his gestures and joy. But my priorities changed in the summer when I became fond of children’s discos. Before, we waited in the square eating sunflower seeds. I remember with shame the day Gerard approached with sweets and offered me one. I accepted, but basically ignored him (Gerard didn’t fit into my world of tough guys), and I felt bad seeing his red head disappear. I forgot him with the ‘Yellow Tractor’. I don’t know how many months passed, but I remember the morning my mother told me something had happened to him. On a narrow two-way street, Gerard got stuck between a parked car and one that was passing. He fell and the next one ran over him. He ended up face down, without injuries, eyes closed and mouth open, as if sleeping, as if all his tenderness had been lost forever. I went to the mortuary with my parents. Gerard’s mother came to me, weeping, broken. She gave me a desperate hug, looking for a pillar. Estivalia penetrated my nose again, but this time it didn’t seem fresh or majestic. I thought it was dangerous, random, raw, and meaningless.
ESTIVALIA Hello, A Bofifa: It is not the same for a scent to accompany and pay tribute to life, as for the same scent to accompany and pay tribute to death. (As in your case, Estivalia). That is why, for most of the people I know, chrysanthemums are not liked. Everyone says they are the flowers of the dead. Chrysanthemums bloom at the beginning of autumn and that is the reason they are used so much on All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day. I love chrysanthemums (because I like all flowers), but their scent is associated with tragedy in our culture. By contrast, Japan adopted the chrysanthemum as the imperial seal flower and there is a Festival of Happiness that honours this flower. Besides, you were ‘sensitive’ due to the experience you recount. But we all have priorities and evolve, the more a child… so do not be hard on yourself. And said all this, so that the Fragrantica moderators do not throw me out, I will say that I have had ESTIVALIA for a couple of months. (Never used it before) ESTIVALIA: It is clearly a unisex scent. Strong opening on vetiver (and vetiver oil) and other herbaceous and wild essences, with a citrus touch. It softens after a while and fixes quite well on the skin but much softer. It remains a ‘green’ perfume. No floral note is highlighted, not even the jasmine. For me, the exotic notes, more than the flowers, are provided by some woody resin. It is a fresh scent, but not excessively fresh. It has a hint of melancholy and I do not associate this melancholy with the fact that I have smelled it in the past. I do not remember this specific perfume. I associate it with the fact that these aromas are not usually smelled in perfumes today and were typical of the 70s/80s. If I had to define it, I would say it is a green forest, after the rain, full of ferns and vines that mix with evergreen trees and moss. Huge wet stones appear in the forest. It is a perfume for daytime use, preferably spring-summer, but could well be used at any time. For any age range. I think it is a little ‘mythologised’. I like it and will finish the bottle I have, but it does not excite me. I will not repeat. Good fix and longevity… although one should not exaggerate. Cordial greetings
Hello Bofifa: it’s not the same for a scent that pays tribute to life as one that accompanies death (as Estivalia does in your case). Many people don’t like chrysanthemums because they are flowers for the dead in our culture, even though they bloom in autumn and are used in festivals. I love all flowers, but their scent is associated with tragedy here. In Japan it’s the imperial flower and there’s a happiness festival. You were sensitive due to your experience, but everyone evolves, especially children. Don’t be hard on yourself. I’ve had Estivalia for months (never used it before). It’s unisex, with a strong opening of vetiver, herbs, and countryside essences with a citrus touch. It softens and fixes on the skin, remaining green. It doesn’t highlight flowers or jasmine; the exotic notes come from woody resins. It’s fresh, not excessively so. It has melancholy, not because of the past, but because these aromas aren’t typical today, they were in the 70s/80s. I’d define it as a green forest after the rain, full of ferns, vines, evergreen trees, moss, and wet stones. It’s for daytime use, spring-summer, but works in any season and age. It’s a bit mythologised. I like it and will finish the bottle, but it didn’t thrill me. I won’t repurchase. Good fixative and longevity. Best wishes.
@Bofifa, your story moved me. With your experience. I don’t know Estivalia, so I can’t review it or imagine its scent just from the notes… But it’s clear, with your review, that scents revive moments, good and bad, transport us there, form part of our lives and emotions. Your experience with Estivalia has touched a nerve; I’m emotional. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to smell it without thinking of Gerard, even without knowing him. Truly. Sorry for using this space without a review.
Intriguing and mysterious, a Spanish gem. Estivalia is like the sea breeze crossing a lush forest, a fresh caress on the skin. A unique balance between herbal, woody, and citrus notes, with none dominating. The moss and vetiver are perfect: the citrus gives an open-air freshness while the flowers embellish that humid woodland. The TV advert captured it well. It’s harmonious, with a masterful moss/vetiver duo that emanates melancholy and citrus freshness, touching the emotions, yet also floral tranquility. As it develops, the floral notes accentuate. It didn’t grab my attention the first time, but upon re-examining it, I admired its beauty. Today it would be obsolete, a pity, because for me it is pure poetry. The bottle is magnetic and striking. The current formula approaches the original but loses that special side by reducing notes. For lovers of the 70s and intriguing florals, it doesn’t disappoint.
The perfume that stole my heart in my early years. That soft jasmine and patchouli blend is perfect for youth or anyone who prefers very subtle scents.
My early teenage perfume. I adored those soft jasmine and patchouli notes, ideal for that age or for anyone who prefers very subtle scents.
The fragrance of emotions and personality, a unique work in commercial perfumery, now gone. What a pity; this fragrance today would be a bomb, especially for people who no longer know what to wear from the thousands of versions we have on the market, most of which smell the same. Puig cared deeply for these fragrances, both their image and their juice. It was Puig.
What a terrible smell; they gave it to me several times as a teenager and I never could stand it. Better to go without perfume than with that scent; it would turn sour and felt far too masculine.
What a disgusting fragrance. They gave it to me a couple of times during my adolescence and I could never cope with it; I preferred not to wear perfume than to smell that aroma. It would end up breaking down, too masculine for me.
When I was little, one of the perfumes I saw most often in the house was Estivalia; I remember my mother and my aunts loved it very much. I also recall one day I sprayed it to try it and found it very strong, with a woody smell. Recently I went to the website and reading the reviews found the one by Bofifa, which touched my heart and brought back my few memories of Estivalia, so I bought a bottle online. Upon trying it, I felt a blend of notes that transported me, as some comments said, to the depths of a dark, damp forest where ferns and moss grow. I perceive it mainly as feminine with a touch of unisex, but unlike that time, I don’t find it strong, perhaps a little intense due to the vetiver.
Hello, does anyone remember Moana Bouquet? Does there exist a similar or identical fragrance today?
The scent of my mother when I was little. I loved it. I still remember that smell, which at the time was modern and youthful for a woman.
My beloved Estivalia, I hope you remain available in your full range: ODT, deodorant, soaps. I still have a half-used bottle because I refuse to finish it without being able to buy more, and the scent remains intact. I only approach you to smell you again when the house is empty and nothing distracts me. This fragrance should never have disappeared: it is iconic, wild, vintage but not powdery, rather rugged, modern, youthful, and with that romance of the woods and wildflowers, like when, on summer holidays in the villages, we ran under the rain of the north on crisp days. Perhaps a new iteration with a softer vetiver would suit better today, yes, but I hope it is recovered and commercialised again, even if reformulated. It is the scent of my older sister as she prepared to go out in her adolescence, alongside Verté by Puig, which I also hope never disappeared. These are scents you never forget and want to smell again, with your eyes closed so the memories flood back with greater intensity. Pure nostalgia. Only Azur by Puig remains available, whose longevity in 2023 is a sigh.
I will always remember my mother with this perfume every morning before she went to work and when she said goodbye with a kiss; I always felt that scent to hold onto her embrace. The day I need my mother, I will need to have, even if it’s just the faintest trace of her, but it is discontinued.
It was my favourite scent for years, from adolescence until my daughters were born. I still have it etched in my memory. Unfortunately, it was discontinued and I miss it terribly.
I used to wear this cologne during my secondary school years in Chile, aged 15 to 17. It’s discontinued; let’s write a letter to Antonio Puig to bring it back, haha. There is nothing quite like it. There was a blue Natalie sold around that time (2004-2006) which was very similar, but that has also disappeared.
Does anyone remember Pure Gold by Montale? I have one on each wrist, and although the notes don’t match (except for the jasmine), they smell identical on the skin. It’s curious… I find it slightly sweeter than the original. Does anyone fancy comparing them?