Fragrance Reviews by Ayala

What started up promising – both fig and iris are favourite notes of mine – lead to a disappointment. I was ready to pull out sentences that I was hoping to type out for a long time, such as “the best Guerlain since l’Instant” or “Love at first sniff” or “the first perfect Aqua Allegoria that I actually can wear and not just like from a distance”. I’ll probably have to wait a while longer before standing behind such statements on any Guerlain released since the retirement of Jean-Paul Guerlain.

Figue Iris opens with sweet but crips fig notes. It’s more of a purple fig than a green one. The iris is there from the start, first crisp and clean, chiming with the fig in a harmony that brings to mind the melancholy of lilacs in early summer rains, and makes me wonder if Fig Iris hasn’t by any chance taken its inspiration from Apres l’Ondee (and do I detect some anise there as well or was it just a ghost in my imagination?). I would have bought that bottle right on the spot if not for the voice of wisdom from within telling me to wait and see at least when do I crave it next before making a purchase.

A few days later, and sure enough I was there again in front of Figue Iris. Again, this time I went home just with a spritz, which turned out to be a smart thing: Figue Iris turned linear and uninteresting through the base notes, as well as cloying and overly sweet, in a dryout that is nothing short than a mockery of the legendary Guerlinade. Let me just remind you that this is coming from a woman who just loves the Guerlinade and can never get enough of that iris-tonka-vanilla base in all the Guerlain scents. My favourite fig remains Philysykos, and my favourite Iris is yet to be found…

I've read nothing about Iris Ganache before trying it, but apparently the name alone set me up for disappointment. I was really hoping for a creamy, sweet Guerlain iris. What I got was a scrubber that at first reminded me (quite fondly, I may add) of Gaultier Classique and than turned into Angel meets Insolence. A deadly combination. Although not as "in-your-face" as the last powerhouse pair, Iris Ganache was still a scrubber. And I rarely use the term for any perfume: Persistent, cloying, overwhelmingly synthetic and chokingly sweet. I love Guerlain but their latest releases are for the most part a far cry from what they used to be. Even their other iris scent - Iris Fig - which started promising ended up with that persistent modernized Guerlinade that just hammers your nostrils until you can't anymore and must run to the sink to wash it off.

I have to admit that my Opium substance abuse is pretty limited to the “Opium Lite” of the summer versions, Fleur de Shanghai being one of my all-time favourite perfumes.
Opium in its parfum form (which is what I am reviewing here) can be likened to a smoldering smoke of incense and spices and a thick chai tea. It opens with clove buds stuck in the peel of dried orange, familiar like a pomander and intensely so. Pimento berries also add a more complex aspect to the mostly-eugenolic character of the opening; pepper suggests dryness and cinnamon adds sweetness.

The heart notes are floral, most notably orange blossom and carnation. But to say the heart feels floral would be an exaggeration. Although jasmine, rose and ylang ylang are present, they are hidden behind plenty of carnation and more cloves; the floral notes in this oriental in particular have the role of smoothing things out without sticking out or showing their true colours.

The underlying resins are what make Opium stand apart from Tabu and Youth Dew though; if Tabu concentrated on the patchouli and vetiver and Youth Dew is all about indole and eugenol (even more civet than in Tabu) – Opium returns to the cradle of perfume civilization by using a large proportion of opoponax with its powdery, animalic and resinous-sweet qualities, backed up by the dry and sweet bitterness of myrrh and the woody-dry qualities of patchouli. There is a touch of sweetness that is never overly done originated in vanilla and benzoin resin. Both notes serve to accentuate the hint of sweetness present in opoponaz and myrrh. There is no animalic element here that I’m aware of. The pairing of eugenol and resins creates a deep reaction, perhaps connected to the history of incense and Chinese herbal medicine which is quite appropriate with the name borrowing from one of the most ancient and potent drugs used in human history (it was used as far back as in the Sumerian civilization, which is also the oldest civilization to have used incense).

vresse opens bubbly and sparkling yet at the same time also powdery and with an underlying dryness that grabs you by surprise. It has the fuzzy texture of unripe peach skin, crisp and for some reason this misleading sensation of being soft while in fact it is rough and sober. The original name Champagne describes it perfectly as it has all the characteristics of the fancy sparkling wine, including the fruitiness and the elegant white-wine dryness.

And indeed, Yvresse develops like wine, with very subtle changes between the nose and the body being quite subtle. The bubbly, peachy and cool qualities are maintained throughout its life on the skin. And the underlining notes, although a classic chypre accord of oakmoss, vetiver and patchouli are very light and subtle in nature. It is most similar to Chant d’Aromes by Guerlain – a very light, albeit melancholy floral chypre. With its touch of roses and sophisticated soft powder, Yvresse also winks towards another creation by Sophia Grojsman for YSL – Paris. However there is something more original about its overall composition, that makes it different from the other more bold Grojsman perfumes I have experienced – it is just more sheer and lighthearted and romantic without taking itself so seriously.

If Yvresse reminded me of bubbly whispers of Chant d’Aromes, Y immediately shouts the chant out loud. The similarity here is not in the base notes but rather in peachy top notes and the floral bouquet – the innocent yet intoxicatingly sweet honeysuckle and gardenia. There is also a slap of green aldehydes which give it a dominant, bold entrance which is distinct and at the same time similar to other big-time green aldehydic chypres – there is a reference to Miss Dior and Ma Griffe yet without the intensely animalic base; the brisk sharpness that can be found in Private Collection and it also reminds me somehow of AnaisAnais and Laura Ashley’s No. 1.

Although it starts off very floral Y turns to be a lot drier than expected as it develops on the skin. The big statements of gardenia and honeysuckle are replaced by a more sophisticated dry and sober disposition. The heart notes reveal a more green and dry aspect of the rose and the hyacinth, anchored by the dry and green notes of vetiver glimpsing from its base. The phase is not as mossy and Chypric as might be expected. There is very little presence if at all of oakmoss not to mention the other notes listed. It is more woody and dry than anything else - almost to the point of becoming leathery. Vetiver and patchouli are in charge for quite sometime, before the dryout arrives with the re-emergence of warmth by way of oakmoss, civet and benzoin.

On my skin, M7 starts boldly oud-y and medicinal in a good way. Uniquely woody and definitely a scent that stands out in comparison to any other mainstream men’s fragrances. It is as close to Arabian oud perfume oils as a department store fragrance ever gotten, and that was before niche fragrances have gained the momentum they have reached today. It lasts at this state for a good 2-4 hours at which point it becomes overly sweet as the synthetic musk base takes over. On my skin this is when it turns into raspberry candy. Inbetween the medicinal agarwood and the sugared raspberry there is a short phase where a mineral note of vetiver emerges, dry and almost salty. Although marketed for men (the infamous full-frontal male nude is unlikely to be forgotten, and perhaps was intended for masking the previous expose of YSL himself in an ad dated 1971). Based on my experience I can only assert the presence of agarwood, vetiver, amber and/or labdanum, musk ands raspberry.

Un Jardin Après la Mousson stroke me at first as yet another peppery-dry Elena scent (similar to recent creations, such as Osmanthe Yunnan, Paprika Brazil and Kelly Caleche). It seemed indistinct in that context for the first 2 seconds. And than came a surprise (well, not quite surprising because earlier reviews of the scent suggested note in that direction; yet still the effect was quite strange): this is neither watermelon nor melon, but rather – a ripe, juicy cantaloupe. Think of what it would smell like if you were just popping a fresh slice of Trident’s Watermelon Twist sugarfree gum into your mouth while spraying Omsanthe Yunnan all over yourself and you’ll understand just exactly what I’m talking about (Alternatively, try Bvlgari’s Eau Parfumee Au The Vert, if you can’t get a hold of Osmanthe Yunnan for this curious experiment).
Like so many of Elena’s creations, Un Jardin Après la Mousson can be described as sparse, sheer, thin, gauze or veil-like and abstract. If you are not a fan of this style or approach you probably will not enjoy it very much. As much as I try to appreciate scents like that (and grew to be able to enjoy them for my personal use on several occasions), I find it very foreign to me and my flamboyant and dramatic Mediterranean upbringing. Something in me always searches for something deeper at the root of the scent; and in Elena’s perfumes I can’t find that, which results in me feeling like I’m hanging in mid-air like a big question mark awaiting and answer that will never come.

After long procrastination, I have finally got my hands on some samples of Rich Hippie’s perfumes, thanks to a kind swapper via MUA. While Utopia left me only slightly uplifted (notes of yuzu do that to you) from my current state; and Nirvana left me bored – Wild Thing was the one to grab my attention, instantly (and no, it was not because of its steep price point). Wild Thing is as close as a natural perfume ever got to Patou’s infamous “Joy” (at its time bearing slogan “the most expensive perfume in the world”). But the two have more in common than their price. They both celebrate the luscious beauty of jasmine and rose. In Wild Thing, there is hardly anything else (a little bit of citrus, and a very subtle orris note). The rose almost gets lost in the bush of sultry, penetrating jasmine. The indole is intoxicating and beautiful. Wild thing is rich (not in a monetary way) but not overpowering kind of floral and while very animalistic it is never repulsively so. Despite the fact that there is no civet at the base to my knowledge (which is what makes Joy parfum slightly “dirty”) – you get a similar vibe from the dry down of Wild Thing – it’s always jasminey and quite long lasting; though I can’t really tell what is it in the base that make it linger so long (no particular note stands out enough to be noticed, aside from the rose and the jasmine; and whatever iris there is there – it is very subtle, which makes me wonder if it is not used merely as a fixative). To the flower girl within me, Wild Thing is pure bliss and thankfully it is not in the least “hippie”.

Spanish Moss is described by Hove Parfumeur as “Warm and exotic, mossy and green... a reformulation of an old favorite” – while it is warm, it is not what I would describe as green. It is sweet, powdery yet with an exotic twist as it includes some notes that are not commonly used in other rosy-powdery perfumes.
Floral, powdery, sweet and with an antique Victorian feel. If there is moss there, it is well concealed, amongst heaps of flowers, dusting powder and rouge on a cluttered vanity table of a Southern lady who protects her fair skin with endless layers of lace and mousseline. The intensity of flowers and powder is something I’ve smelled before in perfumes that came from the South (Such as from Lagniappe Oakes Perfumery – I’ve tried several of these but I have to admit none captured my heart; they were all from the “Heirloom Collection”).
The opening is intensely floral, sweet and powdery. I can sense the presence of heliotrope right away, with its bittersweet, almondy-rich melancholy. Other notes that are apparent from the start are lilac, rose, osmanthus and orange blossom. These are all very intense, dense once applied – buy when they settle on the skin they become far more tolerable – yet nonetheless maintain the same character of uber-sweet-powdery Southern vanity.
Once the florals quiet down a tad, I find myself suddenly sipping icy-cold, sweet lemonade. Or perhaps it is a lemon popsicle… It instantly reminds me of Aunt Eller in Oaklahoma! film, though I don’t know why. I can’t even remember if there was any lemonade in that movie, but for some reason it makes sense. Even though it’s not even close to New Oreleans at all.
Hours later, I am still searching for that “Spanish Moss” to come out from its hiding, but I can’t say there is anything particularly mossy about this perfume. It is very old fashioned, like a more tropical interpretation of “Lipstick Rose” and also more complex, less simplistic than rosy perfumes of that genre. Besides the heliotrope base, I can smell some bitter myrrh, but that’s as close as I can get to revealing the moss…
Top notes: Lilac, Lemon
Heart notes: Rose, Orange Blossom, Osmnathus, Orris
Base notes: Heliotrope, Myrrh, Vanilla

The concept of using minerals as a theme in perfume is relatively new. Although there are distinct mineral notes in perfumes such as Aqua Allegoria Pampeloune (Sulfur) and l’Eau d’Issey (Chlorine), the mineral presence in these fragrances was kept hush-hush only to be noticed by the keen noses; Yet the Elena family seems to be taking this concept into a whole different direction, spearheading the elemental or mineral movement in perfumery, with Sel de Vetiver by Celine Elena (Salt) and Terre d’Hermes by Jean-Claude Elena (Flint) and in general by their minimalist approach that is more mineral than organic.

Sel de Vetiver (Vetiver Salt) from The Different Company meant to evoke the barely-there scent of ocean salt on a sun warmed skin. Although I can understand the salty reference and association with vetiver, warm it is not. Rather, it’s a cool, dusty vetiver with a clean earthy presence. It may recall the gritty, ground-sea-shells sand, salt sticking to driftwood and the rough dryness of skin that was soaked and masked with mud, salt and sulfur for too long. But it does not quite smell like salt or skin.

Sel de Vetiver opens with an astringent, clean accord of grapefruit, ginger and a hint of cardamom that reminds me roasted dark coffee more than the spice itself. I can smell hints of ylang ylang, but they are not obvious at all, being rather heady and fleeting. Other notes that are mentioned are orris and geranium, but I can’t say I was aware of their presence at any given point. Vetiver and refined patchouli (smells more like a patchouli isolate rather than the full-bodied oil) step in pretty fast and dominate Sel de Vetiver for most of its life on the skin – the sweet, clean scent of these two earthy essences combined.

Top notes: Grapefruit, Ginger, Cardamom
Heart notes: Ylang Ylang, Geranium Bourbon, Orris
Base notes: Vetiver, Patchouli

Le Petit Prince was never really a children’s book. Just because it is about a child does not make it for children. Regardless if the book is accompanied by colourful illustrations. I am sure my parents were not the only ones puzzled by the peculiar gap between their astonishment from the book and the complete non-comprehensive gazing they received from me and the too many questions for a bed time story as a response to this book.

And so, when a disnified collection of perfumes for children inspired by Le Petit Prince came out, accompanied by stuffed animals (sheep, of course), action books colouring books and other cutesy paraphernalia (this is clearly TOO MUCH!) appeared on the olfactory horizon, I was equally eager and terrified to try the line.

Eager? Well, one must admit, the packaging for Le Petit Prince Eau de Toilette is stunning. It is simple and true to the original illustrations in the book. One would expect a magical, yet somewhat cerebral concoction of baobab trees, star dust and desert winds and perhaps also a bit of motor oil. However, the perfumer for Le Petit Prince decided to go for the safest unisex cliché of a citrus perfume that gives no particular statement except for being an agreeable, pleasant smell. The chosen notes are mainly lemony, and for the most part this alcohol-free concoction smells like sugar-free lemonade. Very pleasant, but it gives nothing new to the imagination and being associated with a book of such importance, this is sacrilege. Let’s just be reminded that another book by the same author served as the inspiration to one of the greatest perfumes of all times, Vol de Nuit. This thought alone makes me shudder.

Le Petit Prince Eau de Toilette is alcohol free. It is also free of any imaginative thought or creativity (except for that which went into the exquisite packaging). The official notes include citrus, tarragon, lemon verbena, cedarwood and oak. I smell mostly lemon and lemon verbena, which I love. But I can also find these without getting my plane grounded in the desert and insulting the olfactory intelligence of children (who, I am most certain, will be quite open to try some new notes that they are less familiar with).

Doe through the Artemisia bushes… Her coat glows in the warm autumnal sun. Freedom is happiness. And the single notion that being is all there is to life.

Victoire Gobin-Daudé, a gifted French independent perfumer, who unfortunately whose line was discontinued, unfortunately, uses only natural essences in the five perfumes she released to the world to enjoy for a limited period of time.

Biche dans l’Absinthe offers yet another perspective to the bittersweetness of green and aromatic fougeres: the pairing of animalic with herbaceous.

Opening with sweaty notes of cumin and the underlining warmth of immortelle, the doe has just paused from a brisk morning gallop in fields of semi-dry hay. It is mid Autumn, and the first sunrays are warming her shiny coat, releasing steam of animal sweat and morning dew from the surrounding vegetation. Citrus notes play a subtle role of diffusing the bitterness of Artemisia (absinthe) while bergamot creates a soft powdery aura, complementary to the cumin.
There is a hint of floral in the heart, alongside the Artemisia. It might be orange blossom, or perhaps neroli. It is very subtle and is present only to soften and blend the phases together. The base is at once dry and sweet – with dried tobacco leaves, the abovementioned immortelle and its animalic yet herbaceouse-dry sweetness, and hay of course, for a good measure of coumarin and nourishment for the doe so she can run freely on my skin for hours to come.

Top notes: Lemon, Cumin, Bergamot, Lemon Leaf
Heart notes: Artemisia (Absinthe), Neroli, Lavender Absolute
Base notes: Tobacco, Immortelle Absolute, Hay Absolute

In the first decades of aviation, when we were all blinded by the glare of heroism and miraculous ascent of human spirit above the clouds, defying gravity and other enemies – aviation has inspired art – including books (Antoine de Saint Exupéry, an aviator, spy and an author, has written several books inspired by the topic). And lastly there are two grand perfumes inspired by aviation – En Avion (Ernest Daltroff, 1932), dedicated to the pioneer female aviators mentioned above – Bolland, Boucher and Bastié; and the infamous Vol de Nuit (Jacques Guerlain, 1933), inspired by the book of the same name by the abovementioned aviator-author, which I have already reviewed on this humble blog.

En Avion opens dark, like all Caron extraits, and with a certain bittersweetness that does remind me somewhat of Vol de Nuit (though I have to admit, the only reason I compare the two is because of their common theme). While Vol de Nuit is green and sharp, herbaceous at first – En Avion is far more spicy and floral. It starts off soapy and spicy at the same time. Carnation is apparent immediately, but so is orange flower, which smells like an echo of l’Heure Bleue with pilot-hat and goggles… Although Vol de Nuit has the signature powderiness from the classic Guerlinade and iris notes engrained within its structure; En Avion takes powderiness nearly into central stage, and in a far softer and lady-like olfactory context: rose, lilac and violet, and underlined with powdery opoponaxs which almost instantly bring to mind the scent of vintage face powder. As for the base of En Avion, it is redolent of Atlas cedarwood with its suave, polished olfactory-texture, a bittersweetness of tonka bean (again, a reminder of of Vol de Nuit; but let’s not forget that En Avion preceded Vol de Nuit’s launch by a year…). There is, however, a subtle presence of burnished leather at the base, however it is not as animalic or leathery as other Caron creations (i.e.: Narcisse Noir, Tabac Blond), it is almost as soft as suede… If Vol de Nuit is a wild, ambitious woman with restrained emotions and top-notch professionalism; En Avion is not any less ambitious woman that secretly displays her femininity even when boarding an airplane for what might be her last flight ever… Underneath the pilot jumper, she is still wearing silk stockings and laced lingerie.

According to the Perfume Addicts database, the notes are:
Top notes: Rose, Neroli, Spicy Orange
Heart notes: Jasmine, Carnation, Lilac, Violet
Base notes: Opoponax, Amber, Musk, Wood

To that I would add that in the top notes I can smell orange blossom rather than neroli (there is a different between the two!), I can't say I'm particularly smelling orange (there is a citrusy freshness, but it is well hidden with all the additional dense notes); and there is definitely a dry allspice note weaved in, as well as cloves and perhaps even a hint of nutmeg. While I can't say I smell much of the lilac (I would have to go back to it once I'm fully recovered from my cold though...), violet and rose have a strong presence, and so is the carnation. The base is neither particularly musky nor ambery; but there is certainly the animalic powderiness of opoponax weaved into a dry tobacco-leather base that might include castoerum, and the woods in question are the beautiful Moroccan cedarwood from the Atlas mountains.

From the first second I smelled Grand Amour, I knew I could not remain indifferent to this perfume. It reminded me instantly of the bushes of mastic where I used to hide as a little girl: either from friends and siblings while playing hide and seek; or from greater horrors imposed on little children by the adults of the world. The scent of the mastic bushes is unique and unmistakable. And although mastic is not mentioned as a note in this perfume from Annick Goutal – the precise makeup of this particular perfume creates the impression of the scent released from the crushed crisp leaves between little fingers of a child hiding in the dense evergreen bushes.

The gum or resin from this bush is the same “mastic” which is used to flavour baked sweets and ice creams in the Middle East and Greece (more about this later). The Latin name of this bush is Pistacia Lentiscus, and it is from the pisttachio family. In ancient times it was used to create a chewing substance (mastic is chewing gum in Arabic and Hebrew), and it is also used as a medicine and a spice. A synthetic substance with similar chemical makeup is created especially for the chewing gum industry.

For those who are unfamiliar with the aroma of mastic, and particularly that of the raw leaves, I would try to describe it as it is in Grand Amour: it is green yet not like grass or leaves, sappy, but not resinous, and with an undercurrent of powdery warmth, while releasing a gently and evenly floral aroma in such manner that no particular flower stands out. It also resembles Chamade in some ways, though I detect none of the galbanum, oakmoss or vanilla notes that are so prominent in Chamade. Perhaps it is the hyacinth, a note that appears in both perfumes.

When I discovered Grand Amour some two or three years ago at The Bay in Vancouver, I immediately lavished myself in it carelessly in excess that can be only explained by my excitement. I was not able to enjoy it very much, the memory of those evergreen childhood hideaways brought a throat-clenching sensation, like the one that visits us just before bursting into inexplicable, shameful tears. I neglected the fantasy of wearing Grand Amour, but haven’t completely given up. I took a vial with me on my trip to Israel this spring, and decided to wear it in the natural environment and compare it to the live bush. I was right about their similarity. But imagine my surprise when I managed to enjoy the juice for three days straight while staying at my Mom’s place, surrounded by the bushes and the spring blooming greenery. In Hebrew we say “Meshane makom, meshane mazal” which means, that when you change location or place, your luck might change too. So true for perfume.

This review is for the Eau de Toilette, which is lovely in my opinion except for the fact that it is not extremely long lasting when dabbed. When sprayed the performance is excellent. The official notes (per the Annick Goutal website) are lily, hyacinth, honeysuckle, Turkish rose, amber, musk and myrtle.

Ever since I watched Jennifer Lopez’s mind blowing performance in U-Turn, I’ve been waiting for something like this to happen in her perfume line. I know, this is a rather nive wishful thinking, but we can all dream a little… I don’t know what the future holds for the J. Lo perfume line, but so far the only one I can smell myself wearing is the newest one - Deseo. That is not to say that Deseo is even remotely close to mind blowing in perfume terms. But at least it’s nice to find a fragrance to like bearing the name of such a talented actress (and I do prefer Ms. Lopez acting than her music). However, while Glow was too soapy, Still just not interesting, Miami Glow mouthwateringly artificial (and so were most of the others to follow – Live and the rest of the limited edition sequels for Glow) – Deseo is easily wearable and falls exactly into the fragrance category I would have belong to if I was the typical modern woman of my typical social cross section (which I’m not).

Deseo joins the growing family of modern chypres, and to me smells like a hybrid between Pure Turquoise and With Love (Hilary Duff). It starts fresh and citrusy, yet not as brisk as Pure Turquoise. It brings forth some milky notes, but is not quite as milky as With Love, as it stirs towards beachy coconut-milk, skin and sand notes. The floral heart is obscure and I can’t say I recognize any particular note, but if you are familiar with star jasmine, this might be the only thing I can somehow relate to that resembles a living flower. Star jasmine is not a true jasmine, and has a fresh, fleeting green-floral note. It is easy to see why it’s getting so popular with recent fragrances released – it’s a white floral sans the drama, i.e. with the indole left out. The underlining notes are not any more articulate than the heart notes – mostly musks and woods of vague origin, yet upon dry down the oakmoss starts to really shine through, which is very encouraging for all of us true chypre lovers who are being fed a non-oakmoss chypre diet for quite some time…

Judging by the packaging and name (Deseo means desire in Spanish) is meant to symbolize something deeper than it may seem – the bottle being in the shape of a diamond in the rough, and that got to have some deeper meaning in regards to Ms. Lopez’ life story, perhaps even with some implications to other diamonds out there yet to be discovered... What I’m smelling though, is fresh citrus notes of no particular identity, slightly beachy with nice smelling yet nondescript floral bouquet, over woody and and slightly warm and skin like base anchored in moss and salty mineral notes. The base would definitely suit a man very well. It is simple, clean, easy to wear (even more easy to wear than Pure Turquoise), cool yet neither aloof nor distant, fun but not overly beach, serene without being pretentious - and that is precisely what I like about Deseo. After all, any diamond, even a diamond in the rough, is just a cold stone and unless it's adorning a certain piece of jewelry...

Jean Claude Ellena’s creation of Bois Farine for l’Artisan Parfumeur is said to be inspired by the flower of the “Flour Tree” that is genuine to the Réunion islands. The tree bears red flowers with a distinct floury, starchy aroma. The perfume almost lives up to this premise, commencing with an accord of fennel and white starchy wheat flour going up your nostrils and you knead that dough or visit the local miller to pick up freshly ground flour. It also has an aftertaste of crushed raw peanuts at first – oily and subtly earthy, barely detectable aroma. However, it quickly turns into an iris perfume, slightly floral and sweet with notes of cedar and musk and slightly vanillic underpinnings, not unlike Hiris, which reminded me of certain semolina patties, and not unlike Bvlgari au The Blanc with its underlining heliotrope and white musk sweetness (also by Jean Claude Ellena).

Canada rarely appears in the way of inspiring perfumes. Although plenty of scents are inspired by travel, Canada just isn’t perceived as exotic enough to most to be considered for olfactory inspiration. In the case of DSquared2 He Wood, the Canadian inspiration may not come as much of a surprise. DSquared2 belongs to Ontario-born twins Dan and Dean Caten. Apparently, even their store in Milano has fake snow and Canadiana in doses that won't embarrass a tourist shop on Robson Strasse all over it. DSquared2 is a perfect balance between wetness and woodiness. The two things that are in abundance in Canada, for sure. The wetness comes from a number of sources – namely violet, mimosa and cassie, which together create a somewhat fuzzy, but very wet opening – without feeling the list “aquatic”. Cedar, vetiver and sheer vanilla notes (vanilla CO2 comes to mind) underneath with a clean yet sensual wood accord.

Surprisingly, He Wood has a distinct “boutique” feel to it without feeling overly done or pretentious. It simultaneously reminds me of a few scents that I’m very fond of: Philosykos (fig and cedar), Mimosa pour Moi (mimosa and vanilla), Verte Violette (violet and a hint of vanilla) and Vetiver Extraordinaire. The idea of combining together all these elements is brilliant and very refreshing without smelling even the list like a male fragrance cliché (many of which we have experienced this year, unfortunately). Plus, I must admit that the idea of getting these four fragrances for the price of one appeals to me on a certain practical level (it will make my accountant happy, for one thing, and save me some space too)...

Perfume transcends the intangible mystery of time. And just like the presence of the mysterious time traveler, it enters our life suddenly and disappears without warning. Perhaps this was why when I saw her I smelled a phantom breath of Bois des Îles: a perfume that silently entered my consciousness and whose beauty I was unable to appreciate years ago because of its antiquated aldehydic moments and the vagueness of its intentions.

Years later, my reflections on Bois des Îles have been refined and clarity is starting to bring me more pleasure from this jus treasured within the crystal cut flacon. Without taking away from its mystery I can enjoy it and indulge in discerning the notes as they lazily dance on my skin. First come bergamot and aldehydes, which take some time to fade away. They are oily and bring to mind the somewhat uric aspect of sandalwood, and the somewhat sharp (at first) nuances of heady ylang ylang. As the aldehydic cloud settles, Bois des Îles becomes deliciously warm, with the spiciness of dry ginger and nutmeg. Sandalwood embraces the perfume throughout its evolution. Although there are floral notes in the heart (namely jasmine and rose), ylang ylang is the only one that truly stands out. The others are blended to complement the sandalwood and ylang ylang (smoothing and rounding its sharpness) and bridge from top to base and the crisp-woody notes of vetiver. And in the final movement choreographed on my skin, the sweetness of vanilla absolute, tonka and benzoin feels like a silky caress of soft lips and warm sand.

The EDP and the solid perfume are quite different. I've go the solid perfume because they didn't have the samples. Yet. Don't make that mistake, or you'll end up with a series of photos like the ones you've just observed. Instead, try the EDP testers.

The EDP smells green and classy at first (I told you green is back!), than floral (with lily being the most dominant) and afterwards drying down to a non-nondescript sweet musk. There is nothing of the boldness or originality of Lovely here. The solid, on the other hand, skips the fooling stage of a classy green at first, and jumps straight into the sweetness. It starts as a fresh and slightly tart green apple and hints of lemon, and than it's all about fake cocoa and musk. It's not unpleasant, but it's really not exciting and I can't see it becoming what Lovely has become - a staple in many ladies' fragrance wardrobe. As if to make it all worse, the lasting power of the solid perfume is very poor. Perfume usually lasts long on me, but this one doesn't. And it has a strange texture of glitter and dust - nothing like the rich and creamy all-natural cream parfums that I've been spoiled with...

With Kelly Calèche, the expectations went all the way from complete dismissal (pink jus, named after a bag), to a peaked interest once seeing the ad (now, that looks intriguing!) but I wasn’t holding my breath for it. When I passed by the Hermes boutique on Wednesday, I checked in and found it there. It was neither pink nor leathery. It was a green, dry iris with very little to remind one of leather if at all. It starts with an off-putting note that immediately reminded me of Rose Ikebana (which I’m not capable of wearing at all – the combination of berries, greens and rose is nauseating to me, and even more so ever since I overdosed on curried mango pickle in my avocado sandwich one day while wearing l’Ombre Dans l’Eau…). Thankfully, the sharp berry and green phase is short-lived, and is replaced by a fresh, citrus green accord, which quickly develops into a powdery rose and orris body notes. With a dry undercurrent (the leather?) it is not unlike No. 19. After all, pairing greens with leather is not a new idea (No. 19, Ivoire). Neither is the green perfume with orris and rose at the centre. For a moment I get a peppery dry whiff reminiscent of the tea-tinged Osmanthe Yunnan. Overall, Kelly Calèche wears like a sheer veil rather than a leather whip. It’s very well mannered, cool even, elegant in a selective and luxurious style, very much like the public image of Grace Kelly who inspired the bag which inspired the perfume’s name. Would I have been more impressed if the perfume would have been called “making soles in angel leather"? I won’t be able to say now, because it is named after a leather bag. A well made bag, but nothing that inspired emotion in me. I suppose I would have been more likely to appreciate its etheral greenness if it had a name and an image more fitting to what it actually smells like. Just like Bel Respiro and 28 La Pausa, the uninspiring name takes away from the value of the fragrance on its own.

Note that although mimosa and tuberose are listed, I can barely smell them if at all. The base is dry, cedary almost, though not quite leathery. I smell the faintest hint of labdanum there too, without the base becoming sweet by any means.

Yerbamate starts terribly green, nearly to the point of an Absinthe poisoning, I was always surprised I’ve enjoyed it so. I detect a fair amount of lavender as well as Artemisia, and again a very odd green – this time not only from galbanum, but also from the unusual note of tomato leaf. But what begins astringent and bitter like a very dry Martini suddenly changes direction and turns into an uber-sweet concoction. There is non of the berries or caramel here, yet like most of Villoresi’s scents (I find), it ends with a very sweet amber. This time, the amber is cleverly concealed amongst heaps of dried hay and powdery coumarin. If you think of a hay ride (or a more grown up type of hay ride), this would be a surprisingly soft one. And this is to the point of extreme indulgence in powdery ambery feathery fluff bordering on the dessert kind. The sip of bitter yerbamate was rewarded by sweetness that would have made you forget you might heard that name earlier…

Brin de Réglisse is not necessarily a dry lavender as seems to be the consensus in most media mentioning the scent. Rather, it plays up the richness of lavender, which can be more easily found with the absolute or concrete distillation: herbaceous yet sweet, green yet smooth – Brin de Réglisse renders a velvety gourmand lavender, likened to a lavender-flavoured chocolate. The licorice note, apparent right from the start is reminiscent of tarragon, with it’s off-beat, awkwardly green sweetness, which seamlessly complements the lavender paste. It is further deepened by deep cocoa and dark coumarin sweetness with a gourmand intensity that is more vanillic than hay-like. And than, after less than two hours of wear, it practically disappears… So unfortunately, while I find the concept of Brin de Réglisse just as surprising and original as Vetiver Tonka (a vetiver that stands out among the over-populated crowd of scents of that theme), Vetiver Tonka remains my favourite Hermèssence for both its originality and lasting power.

Jicky opens with a burst of herbaceous freshness, marked by the presence of lavender and rosemary. Citrus is also an important component at the opening – some bergamot, but mostly - lemon singing in harmony with the underlining sweetness of tonka bean, it’s a luscious sorbet ready to be licked. Vetiver shows a glimpse of itself early on too, than dives back in and disappears into the landscapes of animalic woods. The heart, although containing some florals (rose, jasmine) does not feel floral. Just as in Shalimar – the bouquet’s role is to transform a collection of essences into one seamless olfactory tale. This is where the signature Guerlinade accord of iris, tonka bean and vanilla begins, creating a sensual skin-like warmth underlining what otherwise would have been a herbaceous-citrus cologne-type fragrance. With the animalic vibrations of opoponax, civet and a touch of leather, vetiver and the most miniscule hint of patchouli. When experiencing the parfum extrait the similarities to Shalimar become quite self-evident, from the overall bouquet to the final dry down stages, and with its overall skin-like sensuality.

The mood for Jicky, however, is completely different than Shalimar. While Shalimar takes you directly to the depth of seduction and desire, Jicky does so in a most subtle way. I wore it and wondered how strangely narcotic a lavender is in that context, all the while maintaining its dignified antiseptic qualities. Was it the English lavender that pinched Aimé Guerlain’s heart? Or was it something else he missed about his mythical first love in Engladn? Or, perhaps, it wasn’t meant for a woman after all, but rather for his young nephew who will later on follow his footsteps and unleash many more Guerlain fairytales.
Jicky is said to be initially difficult to accept by women to whom it was created, and was more popular with men. (Mouchoir de Monsieur, created by Jaqcues Guerlain in 1904 was meant to answer to that demand). It may not smell as significant or original at the moment, among the myriads of scents, not to mention lavender scents alone – but its remarkable survival over the past 118 years speaks for itself.

This review is for the pure parfum, which is far more concentrated and less citrusy/herbaceous than the Eau de Toilette.


Top notes: Lemon, Bergamot, Rosewood, Lavender, Rosemary
Heart notes: Vetiver, Jasmine, Rose, Orris Root
Base notes: Tonka bean, Opoponax, Patchouli, Civet, Benzoin

N'Aimez Que Moi was created in 1916, int he midst of World War 1, to bring some hope and the promise of faithfulness to the many couples that had to part ways until the war was over.
You don’t need to know all this to enjoy N’Aimez Que Moi gives a sense of intimacy and comfort. Despite the fact that it is in a sense “an old fashioned” scent, it is so well made and artfully blended that it is timeless. N’Aimez Que Mois opens dark and dense, as most Caron perfumes do. The rose is nearly hidden in thorns and darkness of notes of cedar, moss and what seems to be the crying out loud of the Caron base… Slowly but surely, fresh roses start to bloom and open up with dewy petals but an almost green intensity. There is something very convincing and real about them – they are just about as close to true rose as I’ve ever smelled. But the roses don’t stand out on their own. The companionship of candied violets and powdery orris softens the green edge of the blooming roses, with a softness akin to kissing a very soft, freshly powdered cheek. And once you’ve reached the dry down, animalic tonalities of both jasmine and civet* create a sensuality and a sense of intimacy and closeness that lingers even longer than a kiss.

Top notes: Cedar, Rose
Heart notes: Rose, Violet, Orris
Base notes: Civet, Jasmine, Moss

* The drydown is so utterly similar to Joy that I am wondering if N’Aimez Que Moi wasn’t the inspiration for that perfume. However, N’Aimez Que Moi is so much more delicate and wearable for me, with none of the intense sharpness of aldehyde and lily of the valley that Joy attacks me with for the first couple of hours of wear.

For Him opens with a disturbing bouquet of both dry cement and wet concrete, unrecognizable spices and a honey note. The intrigue dissipates quickly when the scent becomes a familiar, I’ve-smelled-this-before modern fougere accord – a hint of fake herabceous water, a glimpse of violet leaf coolness. The dry down settles within about an hour – a close to the skin, rather soft, undecisive mélange of amber and musk (it is also said to contain patchouli, but I can’t say I am recognizing any). Nothing offensive in the drydown, and the sillage is soft and non overpowering – the contrary of what I’ve expected after the magical sillage and staying power of For Her (it has a tendency to stay everywhere after it was applied, and even withstand a laundry – yet it does it with a nice touch of mischevious elegance – almost like Josephine’s deliberate musk contamination before leaving Napoleon’s palaces). The only thing that truly stands out (if you take a very close look) is an animalic ambergris note, somewhat fecal, but with such low-key vibrations it can never offend and uness you’ve smelled it before it would be very hard to put your finger on it. And this might just be its chance for success, despite its overall rigidity.

I don’t feel I can say anything bad about this perfume, but I am not as enthusiastic about it as I was hoping I would be. Primarily because, while it does not smell like many other cookie-cutter celebrity and mass market scents, it is not particularly original either. From the moment I smelled it, I felt I was already familiar with it. It reminded me of quite a few fragrances, all of which I like to some extent but don’t love. Such as the opening notes for Sira des Indes, the floral bouquet of Pure Poison (only richer), Carnal Flower (less full-bodied though) and Allure (yet less powdery) and the clean patchouli and musk base of Lovely and Pure Turquoise plus hints of the incense and musk that is in Pure Poison. Prince’s music is original and cutting edge. His perfume isn’t. All the same, it is very wearable, and I’m sure I will be using up my 30ml bottle pretty fast. It’s just that kind of a fun fragrance that can be worn nearly anywhere and anytime. I’m curious to try the perfume concentration (it’s called “Xquisite Perfume” and comes in 15ml), as white florals usually smell better (creamier and richer) in higher concentrations, and in hopes they will also last longer before the cleaner and flatter base notes arrive.

How often do the dirty and the clean mix together and stay clean? Apparently, this is possible not only in muddy and stinky sulfur springs, but also in a modern-day perfume by the name of Pure Turquoise. The concept of cleanliness takes an interesting turn as grapefruit is married with patchouli. All of the above being immensely artificial smelling in a charming way, like a flaunt of an “I just shampooed my hair” swept backwards releasing that completely non-original fruity fragrance of 2-in-1 shampoo+conditioner with grapefruit and avocado or whatever.
Yet it is not until one gets beyond that hair-flaunting that a dirty, dusty, ephemeral scent of skin that just dried from a long soak in sulfur springs (or perhaps an improvised outdoor spa treatment of a fool-body warp in salty black mud), that the grapefruit and patchouli accord can be seen in a completely different light.
Pure Turquoise comes in two concentrations: eau de parfum for the poor, in a difficult to grasp cut-glass spray bottle; and pure parfum, for the spa aristocrat who loves to stack rocks over their jus. The latter crystal flacon is topped with a humongous sized turquoise stone, which unlike the beautiful one in all the posters and magazine ads, is not smooth and roundish, but cunt in angular shapes (just like the bottle is), and comes in a far paler and less impressive colour.

This is more of an olive scent than a cognac scent. Cognac is one of the most original fragrances Mandy Aftel, who is infamous for her use of hard to find, cutting edge natural essence. Cognac uses green olive fruit absolute along with a base of the fruity green cognac absolute (from residues of grapes in the wine-making process) and refreshing citrus top notes, to create a perfume that evokes the exquisite simplicity of life along the Mediterranean.

When wearing Cognac, I am instantly reminded of the "Mesique" (AKA olive fruit harvest), the breezy autumn days, chilly in the mornings but warmer around noon, when me and my little brothers would not go to school in order to help our parents harvest the olives before the first rains spoils them. After hours of olive picking, our fingers will diffusive of green fragrant fresh olive juice. When it was time for the ten o'clock break, we'd peel the first tangerines of the season, still mostly green on the outside but already sweet in the inside... But our olive-juice-anointed fingers will turn them as bitter as bittrex!
he texture of this fragrance, by the way, is quite oily - even though it is in an alcohol base. This must be again because of the olive fruit absolute.

Tango is one of my favourites from the Aftelier line. And one of the newest addition to it (it was launched this winter along with Orchid – which is my absolute favourite perfume by Mandy Aftel). Tango is a subtle and sexy perfume that leaves you with a taste for more, and is an example for the complexity and versatility of the champaca flower.

Tango starts smoky and rubbery with notes of myrrh and Choya Nakh (an essence of toasted seashells from India). Like asphalt heating in the scorching sun, it may feel overbearing but at the same time casts its magic upon the pedestrians as long as they don’t get burnt...

Than it softens into a soft, almost buttery floral perfume dominated by the rich, full-bodied and slightly fruity spiciness of red champaca and the creamy powderiness of tuberose. The dry down is complex and interesting, mostly a continuation of the tropical floral accord, but much softer, and well blended into the skin. A note of tonka bean helps balance the headiness of the florals and bring sweetness to the initial burnt impression. This olfactory dance lasts for a very long time, in a soft, muted manner –calculated like the controlled passion of the Tango steps, and never overpowering. The Tango dancer here really knows how to restrain her feelings and maintain her dignity through a brutally painful romance.

Until I had the dessert (Banana Sheera) I couldnt' really see the connection... But even though it has a reference to food, this is neither a typical modern gourmand nor one of those excessive fruity florals. Rather, it's a classic floriental, with a ripe fruity accord (I smell mostly cooked bananas, poached bosc pears and cardamom as the top notes), and with a shamelessly indolic heart of jasmine, champaca, narcissus and ylang ylang. The base is almost like a Guerlinade, with sandalwood and vanilla in almost as high a dose as Samsara, with a soft, musky powdery amber dryout. It's a refreshing thing to see a perfume that has a classical structure, yet with some new combination of notes. Tastefully done.

Balmy Days and Sundays is a particularly charming green fragrance, as it combines the the effervescent sparkle of greens alongside a calm warmth. The minty notes offer this contrast on their own, but also the choice of sweet florals paired with grass (rather than the traditional and often cool and sharp jasmine and rose paired with galbanum and orris that are usually found in green compositions), adds to the experience of a summer garden: refreshingly luscious and sun-warmed, a sensual delight to both eyes, skin and nose... Balmy Days and Sundays opens with the sweet greenery of fresh-cut grass and sweet warmth of mint, moves to a heart that is a heady floral (I smell mostly freesia and lily of the valley, but the perfumer also lists honeysuckle, rose and mimosa). The base is somewhat powdery with musk and moss, and like After My Own Heart (and the rest of Ineke’s line), is subtle and clean, yet in a non-sterile manner. The top notes and the heart notes definitely steal the show here. If you liked Herba Fresca, you are most like to enjoy this one. But also, if you liked some things about Herba Fresca, but found the grass notes there too harsh and the base too chemical, you might find that Balmy Days and Sundays is a more mellow impression of a summer garden (minus the intense citrus notes of Herba Fresca though).

This zesty concoction will satisfy your thirst for a refreshing cup of ginger and lemon tea, sweetened with honey!
It is as simple as that – fresh, balsamic citrus notes of lemon and a hint of lime, the fresh and pungent yet warm spiciness of ginger sweetened with honey and sparkled with green tea undertones. There may be some trace amounts of vetiver and elemi – there is a hint of woodiness at the base, but overall this is a one-dimensional synergy with one aroma therapeutic goal: to refresh you while keeping you calm and confident.
It is quite long lasting as well – a lot more than you would expect from such a fresh citrus perfume.
It smells very natural and young: no synthetic chemical notes disturbed my enjoyment of this uplifting juice!
If you like ginger and citrus and need a pick-me-up fragrance for those sleepy afternoon at the office – that would be a great choice.

Reminds me vaguely of vintage Chantilly with leathery and dry undertones yet an overall sweet smoothness. I really like this one!
The top is very muted, but you can still smell some remains of citrus and of course – an aldehydic and leathery opening. The heart is of rose and jasmine but mostly the very appealing (in fact, addictive!) notes of myrrh and Saxon moss. Base notes are earthy and leathery and very Chypre, with vetiver, oakmoss and leather, but the final dry down is musky in a very Shalimaresque way.

Top: muted citrus, Leathery notes
Heart: Myrrh, Peru Balsam oil
Base: Leather, Vetiver, Oakmoss

(Blind Review)

There are very few sun tan oils or sunscreen lotions that I like; yet, there is something immediately captivating about scents that bring to mind that sun-and-and-soaked feel of sunbathing products – the feeling of freedom and carefree, both peaceful and wild.

Fire Island is not so much fiery as it is bottled water-fun. It is suggestive of both watery breezes and sun-tan lotion: the scent that emanates from my skin when I climb out of the pool, dripping chlorinated water that washed away some of that gardenia and lily scented sunscreen. The late afternoon breeze is blowing, slightly chilling the skin into pleasurable goose bumps that glitter in the diagonal rays of sun that is just about to set in the horizon.

The Bond No. 9 line was designed to conjure memorable locations in New York. I have only been to New York once, so I cannot comment on the connection between the locations and the scents. Fire Island is named after a dune-y beach in the city, and the scent is one of the most likeable and easy to wear beach scents I know. The perfumer, Michel Almairac, also created the similarly innocent Secret Wish (Anna Sui), the sweet Casmir by Chopard, and many more.

The notes, according to Bond No. 9 are:

Top notes: Cardamom, Ozone
Heart notes: Neroli, White Musk
Base notes: Skin Musk, Tuberose, Patchouli

Personally, I smell mostly the ozone note, and notes of gardenia and lily and a slightly creamy musk with a hint of neroli.

Farnesiana is the cream of the crop in the world of mimosa soliflores. It is tastefully decadent, like a buttery almond pastry flavoured with flower essences, Farnesiana is more gourmand than floral.

Farnesiana was recreated by Michel Morsetti from Ernest Daltroff’s notes after his death in 1941. The name is taken from the Latin name for cassie, Acacia Farnesiana, as well as the garden in the Roman palace of Farnese which is the inspiration for Farnesiana. However, there is nothing Mediterranean about it, unless you recall the rich butter-soaked floor of an almond-filled baklava. The sweetness of Farnesiana, however, has none of the burning sweetness of the honey syrup of this Middle Easter pastry. It can be likened to a marzipan flavoured with floral waters, if such a thing ever existed.

In the time it was released in 1947, it was ahead of its time. Many gourmands nowadays pale in comparison to Farnesiana’s innovation and class.

Farnesiana is available directly from the Caron bouqitues in Paris and New York. I was very impressed with the excellent customer service of the Caron ladies in New York, Cathy Lily and Diane Haksa. The package arrived in a couple of days within the US to my aunt’s house, where it rested for a while until my aunt found her way to the post office (which can be easily explained by the fact that she is a busy 50+ mother of twin toddler boys). The long wait just wet my appetite and made me enjoy Farnesiana even more, when I almost forgot I ordered it. It came in the most exquisite silver coloured satin bag, fit for a queen, and accompanied by a few generous parfum extrait samples from the urn fragrances. The presentation made me think instantly of Marie Antoinette, who equally enjoyed pastries and perfumes.

Farnesiana opens with mimosa and cassie, but you know right away this is going to be a very unusual mimosa scent. The heliotrope note peak in right away, with its sweet, fluffy, powdery almondness. The heart is powdery and floral but not as indolic as Mimosaique or Une Fleur de Cassie, as the presence of jasmine is tampered by the lightness of farnesol and linalol in lily of the valley and lilac and the melancholy powder of violets. You won’t smell them on their own, but their effect is felt and adds a certain airy lightnes to what is otherwise a rich, sweet, dark composition. What’s most intriguing in Farnesiana, besides its extreme dessert-like appeal, is its ability to remain so Caronesque, despite the fact that it is dusted mostly with the bright yellow flower of mimosa, ever so light and airy on its own. The most dominant element that creates this Caronesque impression is the presence of opoponax, in addition to the darkly sweet and melancholy heliotrope. It adds a musky, resinous, animalic, daring and unusual touch which is just perfect with the other base notes (vanilla and musk being the most prominent besides the opoponax and heliotrope).

Top notes: Cassie, Mimosa, Bergamot
Heart notes:,Jasmine, Lilly of the Valley, Violet, Lilac
Base notes: Cassie, Opoponax, Vanilla, Sandalwood, Musk, Heliotrope

Like my other two favourite ambery orientals, Shalimar and Obsession, Anne Pliska actually glows in the heat and are a real treat, just like vanilla ice cream...

What I first got from Anné Pliska was a summery note of orange and cream soda slushy topped with soft vanilla ice cream, along with daring hints of leather (or wintergreen and birch), creating a root-beer-like effect – which adds an interesting, contrasting accent. After a few minutes this thirst-quenching, cool concoction of sweet crushed ice and vanilla desert fades a bit, and the herbal note softens and moves to the background (perhaps it is tampered by the sweeter, more well-mannered geranium). Vanilla and amber are definitely the most dominant notes and are the theme of Anné Pliska, and are much softer and mellower in the dry down, and become almost powdery. But despite the fact that the scent stays quite linear for most of the composition – it is never boring. The notes weave in and out and maintain the sweet and lovable presence of amber.

Anné Pliska , made by South Californian independent perfumer by the same name, was launched in 1987 (two years after Obsession). Although it shares many similarities with Obsession, it is quite different and more sultry and complex. Think about the creamiest Shalimar vanilla, the amber of Tabu and Obsession, the orange-mandarin notes of Obsession, a tad of unique spiciness that is vaguely reminiscent of Joop! For Men - and an unusual, mysterious oomph of its own – and you get Anné Pliska. If you love these three bombshell orientals, you must try Anné Pliska. In fact, you must try Anné Pliska anyways because it is a special amber perfume, and an example for what a well-made American perfume is: boldly luxurious and sensual, yet sophisticated and elegant.

Top notes: Orange, Mandarin, Wintergreen/Birch
Heart notes: Geranium, Vanilla
Base notes: Amber, Vanilla, Patchouli

Ineke’s perfumes, unlike their longish titles, are minimalist and calculated. The lilac-bouquet named After My Own Heart is an alphabetized representation of the emotion of longing and romance: a burst of lilac flowers, twigs and all, softly brushing against a blushing cheek in an anticipation for caressing kiss. A promise of love, the buds of passion invoked by hints of indole and the luscious juice dripping off freshly picked raspberries. As the crushed twigs and rubbed petals lose their freshness, they make room for rosy and powdery accords, gradually sweetening into a dry out of musk, vanilla and heliotrope.

After and before
Today and tomorrow
Sand becoming a wave
What was it I saw at the top of the world
as I fell asleep last night?
I tried putting lilacs in your dreams
You smiled in your sleep
I hear your words like the wind
whispering in my ear
the most enchanting words
after my own heart

In Eau de Toilette:
Sheer and simplistic. Cool notes of iris and vetiver reign, topped with a sparkle of lemon and galbanum, and a heart of violet leaf. Cucumber-like. Clean. Understated. Yet not at all conforming. It's leaves crushed by a pedicured hand and is best worn with white shirt, jeans and pearls.

In Eau de Parfum:
The floral heart radiates a greater warmth, as the essences emanating from the petals of a rose under the heat of the sun. Violet and orris and leather add a distinct edge of powdery texture that suggests cleanliness nature that is tamed by man to be well-mannered, like trimmed grass and shaped green hedges.

In Pure Parfum:
Neither too floral nor too cool or aloof. This is the joy of vetiver complemented by the coolness and greenness of galbanum, orris, cucumber-like violet leaves, and a few crushed petals of rose and jasmine. Delectable and unforgettable in a quiet, lady-like manner.

I am neither a fan nor a hater of Tom Ford and his olfactory concepts. When his first scent was approaching, I was easily able to hold myself together and wait till whenever it hits the local counters. Thought he packaging is quite beautiful (though not particularly original, considering similar designs of Nuit de Noel and Habanita), the name is particularly corny and over used in my opinion. So you see, when I mean disappointment I refer to it purely in the olfactory sense.
At first, Black Orchid seems to stand up to all the expectations it tried to set in the packaging and marketing campaign. The opening notes are definitely luxurious, Femme-Fatale infuses mushroom sautéed in their very own arrogant sexual secretion while deeply inhaling spices. There is some nicely done chocolate accord as well… But if you think this is the base, you have been miserably deceived. These carnal notes wear off quickly, gradually revealing a phase of rum-soaked berries (not so bad on their own, really) and than a short lived rose opens up, only to be brutally murdered by an aquatic patchouli accord. From now on it will only go downhill, resembling a better-version-of-Allure-Sensuelle, which while is quite an achievement on its own rights, it is also frightfully disappointing in its own original way:
In Black Orchid, Tom Ford had proved to the world that it is possible to create a perfume with marvelous opening that smells worser and worser as it develops on the skin, thus creating the most disappointing fragrance of 2006.

* I can accept the idea of a perfume opening with less than lovely notes, and becoming better thanks to interaction with the skin (though this is not always the case, of course, because of body chemistry etc.). But to intentionally create such a devolution from fantastic to unoriginal is quite insulting.

Shiso parfum is said to be based on a Geisha powdered-perfume formula, and it does not disappoint in that way. Shiso smells immediately mysterious and dark tea houses, where the accentuated facial features and expressions of pale-faced Geishas wrapped in many mysterious layers of silk kimonos wrapped in obis that were stored in protective camphor closets and smell of such. It smells of shiso, that unusual Japanese herb used to wrap meats and sashimi, and that has a complex aroma that is both green-herbal, powdery and spicy (it has a distinctively cumin-like nuance about it). Other apparent notes are camphor, agarwood and spices, but they are all blended to a powdery, woody, herbal and spicy-warm concoction that it’s difficult to smell any note in particular besides the shiso, camphor and agarwood that realy stand out.This is exactly how I would have imagined a perfume that dusts a Geisha’s artfully-made-hair to smell like.

While most of the Jo Malone scents are very simplistic and leave me cold for the most part, Vintage Gardenia made me feel instantly at home, as it reminds me of the smell in my best friend's childhood home. It is similar to a certain soap they used. Thus, Vintage Gardenia to me smells both clean and warm. I find the combination of notes to be working fantastically well, although they are quite unusual. Cardamom is one of my favourite notes, and thankfully it is present here and adds depth and character to what could be an overly heady white floral (as in some other gardenia scents). The base is warm and slightly bitter from the myrrh, which also balances the sweetness of the floral notes really well. Overall, the perfume smells to me like a combination of jasmine sambac, tuberose, cardamom and myrrh. Vintage Gardenia is one of the most original of the Jo Malone line, and my faovurite at that. In fact, it is my favourite gardenia scent so far!

I ignored this cologne from Jo Malone for the longest time, even though I never thought it unpleasant. In fact, I ignored most of the line, because for the most part I find the scents too "traditional" and the prices too high for something so conventional. Another reason I ignored it was due to a sample mix-up: even though they were manufacturer’s samples, my Orange Blossom and my Lime, Basil & Mandarin samples got confused, and so I thought that Orange Blossom was a conventional citrus & herb cologne and dismissed it with no second thoughts. Than when I got that mini-package - an extra mini bottle of Lime Basil Mandarin was slipped in as an extra, so I decided to give it a try. I quickly realized there was a mistake in the samples, and after further investigation learned that my charmging “Lime Basil and Mandarin” was actually Orange Blossom…

I was just stunned by how gorgeous Orange Blossom was! This is no ordinary citrus, nor what you would expect from an orange blossom scent, and it is quite unique. The note that stands out for me is the mandarin. When I put it on I was immediately transported to our family orchard I took care of my entire childhood, where I played and watered and weeded the trees. It was one of my favourite places and any scent that brings me back there is welcome to my collection. The heart is definitely orange blossom, which is one of my most favourite notes, and it helps that citrus top notes to linger just a tad longer than most other citrus colognes would.

This used to be one of my favourites from the line, but after I discovered the true identity of Orange Blossom, it kind of lost some of its charm for me. It’s a rather simple citrus cologne, and conjures a very aromatic grapefruit, so expect nothing of the sweetness of Guerlain’s Pampelmousse. Grapefruit is not the first thing that you think of when smelling this cologne, but rather – citrus. It’s a reviving and refreshing scent, and very handsomely done. I think one of the most incredible things about it though is how well it layers with other Jo Malone scents. It makes the nasty Blue Agava and Cacao smell delicious and alive, and adds spark to anything really.

Amber & Lavender is not so much about amber or lavender as it is about Fougere, and not the most ambery Fougere at that. It’s herbal and clean, with a bold presence and a classical masculine appearance. The base is a tad animalic, even indolic, and a tad spicy. Apparently, this was Jo Malone’s creation for her husband, and I am not surprised. A good Fougere scent is the epitome of masculine scents, and what I associate most with my man.
If you follow some of Jo Malone suggestions for layering with Amber & Lavener, you’d be surprised how versatile this scent is. It is equally warm and fresh, and adds an interesting twist to some of her other scents. The notes that stand out most for me are lavender, sage, cloves, amber and oakmoss.

This is a very peculiar Jo Malone, and is really different from the rest of the line. Even more different than Pomegranate Noir, as it not only combines notes that are very unusual and not often used in perfumes, but also notes that don’t really go very well together… This starts off kind of aromatic and green (must be the lime, an oil that is often used in household cleaning items), but you can smell the cacao bitter-sweetness in the background, which is kind of intriguing and a bit dry, which makes you think of cocoa powder. For some reason, this smells like a toilet duck to me. I usually try to stay away from such associations to describe scents, but this is what this reminds me of initially, in a peculiar, perfumey kind of way. Thankfully, it’s a well done toilet duck and it actually smells pleasant in its own odd way. The dry down smells to me almost exactly like Coty’s Musk Vanilla, which is quite nice. It does improve when you layer Grapefruit cologne on top though.

Black Vetyver Cafe is my second favourite from the Jo Malone line - right after Vintage Gardenia. Black Vetyver Cafe is exactly what it sounds: vetyver and coffee! The combination sounds strange, but it works magically well. It starts with black coffee note, and than dries down to a clean, woody vetyver. I can smell another woody element there, which makes it softer than just straight-up vetyver. I think it's sandalwood, but it could be the sequia note. I just wish the coffee note lasted longer and that the dry down was a tad sweeter - not as to make it “sweet” in a gourmand manner - just not all that woody. Vetyver has sweet & tart aspects and I wish they were played out a bit more here. Compared with Vintage Gardenia, Black Vetyver Café is more intriguing, yet less balanced in my opinion. I am not a fan of layering, but when layered with with Vintage Gardenia, it is quite interesting. The cardamom and white florals really complement it, and I recommend using a much lesser amount of the Black Vetyver Café.
Any way you look at it – from a vetyver or a coffee angle - this is a unique scent and should not be missed.

Le Voyage parfum by JoAnne Basset is a proof that pure, natural florals can sparkle and be delightful and light!

The voyage starts with a citrus flight – mandarin orange that is uplifting and slightly grassy-green note of listea cubeba. These compliments the heart of Rose essence, which is of superior quality – bright, sweet and fruity.
The Rose is supported by Jasmine and Linden Blossom absolute – together creating an accord that is Spring evoking and youthful, and at the same time ripe, luscious and mysterious.
The voyage captivates you even more upon landing the base notes – the grounding notes of sacred Sandalwood and Frankincense underline this beautiful bouquet and create a warm, comforting aura that leads you into an internal voyage full of delights and joy. The roses in full bloom are mysterious and velvety-soft, and bring internal harmony.

Le Voyage is an excellent perfume for the Spring –floral, fresh and light, yet with a warm, rich and enveloping dry down. The ingredients are of superior quality, which makes the experience of Le Voyage spiritual and therapeutic.

The Eau de Toilet is lighter and fresher, and the linden blossom note is more pronounced. I love the velvety softness of the Parfum, but I think the lightness of the EDT is very appealing.
However, both are essentially very similar and are equally floral and evocative of Spring!

The Unicorn Spell is an iris scent, and a very magical one at that. It starts off like a shake of frost from a unicorn mane, with a cool tinge of violet, and crisp, frost-bitten white rose petals in a crisp foggy November day. There is an underlining softness, milky indeed, of the orris and a tad of wood. This is the most floral of the trio, and the least approachable for me as it has that coolness, slightly sharp greenness that makes most green scents difficult for me to wear. But after overcoming the first sharpness I can enjoy the rose and the softness of milky orris.

L'Antimatière is the most easy to wear of the trio. Initially, it seem simple. Once worn, the simplicity works a spell in the shape of the softest angora sweater just coming out of the drier. It’s probably shrunk, but it smells great. A clean musk scent, with an unmatched warmth. After dry down the reason for its charm is revealed – there is vetiver in the base, and the woods add depth and interest and turn an everyday routine to an out of the ordinary sensation.

Let Me Play the Lion is the warmest and spiciest of the LesNez trio. It opens with a burst of cayenne pepper – dry and warm, notes of burning cedar and dusty frankincense. It can be compared to other perfumes that contain cayenne pepper – Piment Brulant, Poivre Samarkand, etc. – only softer. My associations run between a dusty, temperamental desert lion, yet with a mane so soft you want to sniff it, to a secluded cabin in the forest where the fireplace is burning with fragrant cedar and I am meditating with frankincense incense…

Pleasant, innoffensive, fresh and sligtly warm. Opens with freshly cut grass, a metallic hint, than cool, watery violet leat, warmed with cedar and musk. Wouldn't mind wearing it again, but it does not inspire me to write anything interesting...

Faithful to its name, Asja is all you could expect from a classical old-time oriental, but has a modern, up-bit twist that will make it adored even by those who typically dislike Orientals.

Rested on a sound foundation of all that could make a perfume an oriental - patchouli, musk, amber and clove bud absolute – Asja brings light and sparkle to this theme by using a well-balanced heart of a floral bouquet consisting primarily of carnations, and topped with a mouth-watering fruity accord.

Asja opens with a seductively luscious fruity notes that are sweet without being cloying and fresh without being flat or one-dimensional. The top not is engaging and inviting, and truly states what the perfume really is: a beautiful and rich, yet not overpowering Oriental, that is fruity and floral and not in the least cloying.

The eugenol theme (eugenol is the main constituent of clove buds and carnations) that characterizes this composition through all of its layers is pervasive but does not overpower the blend, and is not medicinal or sharp as you may expect:
There is something about the overall first impression of the top notes that brings to mind a rich, full-bodied mulled wine...As applied on the skin, a freshly-cut carnation flower emerges, immensely sweet and fresh, thanks to the addition of the round, rich and luscious fruity notes of peach and apricot, and a hint of citrus freshness.

The carnation heart is sweet and floral, and is rounded by exotic, fruity-floral notes of ylang ylang and a rich, subtle rose. It is also backed up by other spices that slowly emerge as the perfume develops on the skin: primarily Allspice Berry – the exotic large peppercorn-like spice, bold and interestingly dry and multi-layered. Allspice smells a lot like a pumpkin pie spice – a combination of cloves, cinnamon and nutmeg.

The eugenol note at the base is dry and sweet at once, like clove-bud absolute, which is much more subtle, refined and feminine than the essential oil. The accord at the base is especially rich and lovely – the orient at its best: patchouli, a hint of dry spices, amber, musk, honey and vanilla, and perhaps even a hint of dry moss.

Asja is a real treat, and an easy-to-wear Oriental. It is sensual, stimulating, soothing and comforting all at once. It’s a perfume you could wear everywhere for any reason (just take care of the doses) – you will enjoy it as well as others around you!
It somewhat reminds me of the charming and un-demanding Cheap and Chic by Moschino – just like it, Asja is a little flirty and mischievous, and begs for being enjoyed without hesitation or a second thought – just put it on and have fun!

Top notes: Carnation, Apricot, Peach
Heart notes Carnation, Clove bud oil, Rose, Jasmine, Ylang Ylang, Allspice berry
Base notes: Patcouli, Amber, Musk, Clove bud Absolute, Honey absolute




Floral-Oriental
Top Notes: Fruits, citrus
Heart Notes: Bulgarian rose, Egyptian jasmine, ylang-ylang, cinnamon, nutmeg, mimosa
Base Notes: Sandalwood, musk, vanilla, amber

Lovely is everything a celebrity scent wants to be, but more than that: it’s not only popular and fits beautifully with the character of the woman who created it, but also – it is original and oh so chic. It might just be the first interesting celebrity perfume since, say Denevue (by Catherine Deneuve). If I missed something along the way, please let me know.

The first thing that strikes me about Lovely is the unusual use of lavender and patchouli in such a light hearted context. This was no tutti-frutti fragrance as you may expect judging by the hundreds of perfumes (even more so with celebrity and drugstore fragrances) released recently. It had an original, elegantly rough edge to it. Lovely is modern chic, sharp like clean-cut like a tailored suit, yet flowing like a satin gown. It’s prettied-up only by an ornamental fabric rose - and more importantly, the bright smile of the person who wears it. Despite the fact that it does have florals, it is not floral in the traditional sense of the word. You don’t think of flowers when you wear lovely. If anything at all, you think of textures and fabrics such as crepe and linen and dull, brushed silk.

Now, about a year after its release, my patience to hold off a purchase has paid off: a new version has been just released. It’s the same fragrance, only based in an alcohol-free, silicone-based medium, and titled “Lovely Liquid Satin”. And liquid satin it is indeed. This formulation allows for a softer presence without the alcohol that usually interferes with the top notes, and also the bottle is truly lovely – a frosted, light pink hued bottle, or a golden “perfume wand” – a roll on of 30ml that fits into any purse or pocket. I am a big believer in small packaging for perfumes, so I was sold quickly on this one.

The opening of both formulations is a heady and clean, crisp mélange of rosewood, lavender and apple martini. The apple martini note is brilliant. It really adds an unusually vivid, effervescent quality to the opening and thankfully lacks the mustiness that some other apple scents uphold.* It’s boozy only in an elegant way – like sipping on the cocktail to appreciate the flavour, without getting drunk.

The Liquid Satin has a slightly different opening, in which I can detect top notes of lemongrass (which I do not smell in the alcohol based fragrance), which is sharp and grassy, but thankfully fades out rather quickly. The patchouli note is also more pronounced at the opening. I have a feeling that this silicone based version is more true to the original concoction by Ms. Parker. It just has that authentic impression of a perfume enthusiast blending scents together that will bear her own character.

The heart notes are abstract florals – orchids and paper whites. Paper whites are not fancy silken paper sheets as I was almost lead to believe, but rather refer to a flower from the narcissi family - Narcissus tazetta. I can’t say that I smell narcissus in there, but there is a light floral impression that is hard to describe. As I said – abstract.

These soft, ethereal florals bridge into an even more abstract base of highly processed patchouli (dry and clean rather than earthy and musty), amber and musk – together resulting in an effect that is very close to the skin. An original, clean musk skin scent, subtly surrounding the wearer with a mystifying aura that is clean and pleasant. I prefer the Liquid Satin over the alcohol based formulation. Although the scent is essentially the same, this version is softer and even more subtle.

Lovely has been compared often to Narciso Rodriguez, and while I agree that they are very similar, I still think of Lovely as an original fragrance. These are both light musk scents, very modern and abstract, with a suggestive floral heart, and an effervescent, boozy opening. But Lovely has a certain dry, almost rough edge to it that makes it stand apart and prevents it from looking like an imitation of Narciso Rodriguez (which I intend on reviewing very soon).

Celebrities and their scents come and go, but there is something about Lovely that makes me want it to stay. And if it wouldn’t stick around forever, I am certain it would be talked about and missed and longed for much like other old favourites that have disappeared into the abyss of discontinuation.

Top notes: Rosewood, Apple Martini, Lavender, Madarin, Lemongrass
Heart notes: Paperwhites, Orchid,
Base: Patchouli, Cedar, White Amber, Musk

I strongly resisted l’Instant when it just came out. It just was so not Guerlain. My first impression of it was of an unwanted (yet pretty) step-sister to the other Guerlain scents. Young and inexperienced rather as opposed to the sophisticated style that the other Guerlain scents radiate. Although l’Instant did not win my heart when I finally took on to wear it for a full day and notice its evolution, I did discover a beautiful magnolia scent – the trademark of its creator, Monsieur Maurice Roucel. L’Instant is a Floral. If anybody tells you otherwise, don’t believe them: this is not a “modern oriental”, in fact, it is not even what I would call floriental.

L’Instant is a scent that revolves around the theme of magnolia: sweet and honey like without being cloying (an element which the citrus-honey note supports); Iris to accentuate the fluffy powderiness; and a benzoin-vanilla base to maintain the sweetness as much as possible.

After application, I instantly recognized something familiar. It took me a while to get it - Tocade! Indeed, the two perfumes do share some striking similarities: both contain magnolia, bergamot, orris and vanilla. Tocade has a lot of roses, and in many aspects this is the main difference between the two. In fact, l’Instant is so similar to Tocade that I am surprised nobody picked up on it before. I will not be surprised if it is a tweaking of the Tocade formula – accentuating the magnolia rather than the rose and being a bit lighter on the powdery notes, with the addition of the new notes – like the crystalline musk and the citrus honey. The two also share in common the clean, crisp synthetic bergamot top note.

As the scent evolved on my skin, I got occasional familiar whiffs of pleasant memories – one originated in a magnolia body milk splash I had about 7 years ago, and the other was almost identical to a festive jar of lemon-scented honey (citrus honey with the addition of lemon flavour). Citrus honey, by the way, is honey which is produced form citrus flowers, and it usually has a much lighter colour and flavour than other types of honey.

Overall, l’Instant is a sheer and cheerful modern floral; Very pleasant and easy to wear even if not at all sophisticated or complex like most Guerlain scents are. I would take this any time over most of the recent Guerlain launches such as the Aqua Allegoria line, myriads of other fruity, floral and ambery-floral modern releases, and definitely won’t hesitate to pick this one over Insolence in an instant!
The crystalline base adds a somewhat aloof sensuality and sweetness – that is not unlike other modern orientals and florientals (i.e. the base in Addict, Nu, Kingdom and others).

Top notes: Rosewood and lilac notes, Bergamot, Mandarin
Heart notes: Magnolia, iris, citrus honey with some light lemon and orange blossom notes
Base notes: Benzoin, Vanilla (I couldn’t quite smell anything like amber).

Opening notes: Magnolia, Rosewood, Bergamot (Like the one in Tocade)

Heart notes: Citrus honey – clear, yellow honey with some lemon and orange blossom notes, Lily of the valley/lilac

Base notes: Benzoin, Vanilla, clear/white amber

Opens with a sweetness of five spice blend – comfortable yet strange, bizarre and juicy from hints of a lusciously sweet peach. A complex floral heart of white florals that are hard to identify and of which the gardenia is most dominant, underlined by a coarse-voiced murmurs of, warm, dirty patchouli and burning Buddhist sandalwood incense joss sticks. Slightly fishy, like the dried exotic seafood sold by the merchants in Chinatown, softened by the powderiness of vanilla and musk. Dry down of cedarwood, and the hints of smoky, rosy guiacwood. Chinatown might need some time getting used to and is a very unique and unusual scent. Caution: do not wear in extreme heat and humidity.

Figs are irresistible. Considered the fruit of Venus and Aphrodite in the Roman and Greek traditions, figs are believed to awaken a healthy passion and bring fertility. The sensuality of figs combines some ambivalence, just as sexuality can sometimes be both disturbing and pleasurable. And while the fruit is utterly seductive, lest we forget the leaves, who are responsible for the development of fashion for generations to come. And

This is perhaps why it took an Italian perfumer, Olivia Giacobetti, to recognize these intriguing traits in figs, and create the very first fig soliflore (Premier Figuier for l’Artisan Parfumeur). This green concoction opened with complementary (yet melancholy) notes of mastic bush, which accentuated the crisp and tangy greenness of figs, and was daring enough to pay attention to fig milk in the way of adding a coconut milk to the concoction.

But it wasn’t until Ms. Giacobetti has created Philosykos that the sensual experience of green figs was completely squeezed into a bottle. Anything from the very first aroma surrounding the trees baring the ripe (or not-so-ripe) fruit in summer can be experienced from first whiff of Philosykos. One can feel the fuzziness of the fig skin and the roughness of the leaves as they rub against a bare shoulder. One can hear the crumbling of dry wild grass underneath the tree as the eyes are set up to the branches searching for that paler, slightly yellowish waxy look of the just-ripe fruit. One can feel the surprising stinging sensation of the skin when the fig-milk drips from the slightly under ripe fruit’s stem, and crawls along a trembling finger and sticks to greedy lips and burning tongue.

Green figs are best eaten fresh. To be more accurate, they must be eaten straight from the tree, and not be washed at all. If they are dusty, considered the dust a gourmand addition from the earth itself. If the milk burns your lips, consider it a blessing of fire, as even the purest spring water cannot wash the milk away.

Many secrets were whispered below the fig trees, many warts were banished by the burn of the firey milk, and many summers were seasoned by aromatic green figs. When I can’t hop on the plane to pick figs with my brother along the sides of Road no. 6, at least I have Philosykos to marinate myself in, with it’s dry and green edible notes of green fig, coconut milk and cedar.

Judging by the passionate colours of the fluidly designed phallic bottles, I was really expecting something powerfully seductive. Instead, what I got from Kenzo Amour was a cuddly synthesis of gourmand suggestions, what is now known as “comfort scent” – the equivalent of a chocolate, ice cream or a bag of chips on a lonely Friday night, watching cartoons on the couch and wearing pyjamas with matching cartoon character prints.

Kenzo Amour starts with a confusing floral bouquet – marketed as frangipani and cherry blossom. I smell a hint of rose and powder that is a déjà vu of Flower – one of Kenzo’s greatest hits. There is an underlining of powder and musk. The heart notes dive into a concoction of cher