Fragrance Reviews by Quarry

Starts out coarse as gravel, but give it just a little time, and it flows into silk.

One of Luca Turin's favorites, "... without being overly sweet or honeyed. A deliciously comfortable masculine." Have to admit, I'm not quite man enough for Tabac, but it has my respect. Starts out quite strong, but quickly wears close to the skin. Not smokey, more like freshly cured leaves. A must-try for tobacco-loving colognoisseurs.

Upon application the sillage just floated around me like bubbles, so nice. There's nothing harsh or offensive at any stage. After about an hour, I began to detect a hint of something like cedar or citrus occasionally popping through the smooth, grounded woodiness. A little later I thought I caught wind of a patchouli, then a salty-sea accord. As the hours went by, the sillage shrunk, so that the last few hours required nose-to-skin smelling. The scent grew softer and sweeter. Right at the end I found some peppery vetiver and amber. It's now nine hours into drydown, and there's still fragrance to be found if I sniff hard enough.

Official notes: Cinnamon, cloves, ginger, ambergris, vetiver.

What's funny is, I don't particularly care for perfumes with cinnamon, and I really don't care for the scent of cloves or ginger, but in Sea Wood, I liked them all. Go figure. Since I own Sel de Vetiver, I was able to appreciate the sea-and-vetiver effect in SW.

Acqua Santa does not smell aquatic, yet there something wet about it, or maybe stone-like. I'm not expert in cyphering the nuances of the incenses, but that's the other element in play here. It sounds like I'm describing Messe de Minuit, and I wish I had a sample of MdM around so I could give you a fair comparison. Perhaps someone else can comment on that.

Thanks to thoughtful Lushsoup, I'm sampling both vintage and re-issued Le De, along with Long Lost Perfume's version. My impressions are: vintage smells like a good Riesling wine, re-issue is predominantly floral with a hint of artificial twang that I associate with almost all department store 'fumes. Long Lost is quite unlike the others and is my least favorite, more of a flat, woody chypre. The vintage is the most original smelling of this group, but didn't have longevity for me. My favorite is the re-issue. Although it does not offer a lot of change over time, it's truly pretty--nearly angelic.

I liked Mandarine Amber best while it was still wet. The mandarine was alive then. Once on the skin, the juice turned herbal--dry herbs and spices, actually. Not at all sweet. [Just went to look up the official notes, and there's little online about this scent, which was released nine years ago. However, cedar appears to be the source of its dry sillage.]

The top notes of this Angel variation are amongst the best--cheery, tasteful. Then the strangest mood comes over the fragrance. It turns sort of sullen, peppery, dark and woody, at least on my skin it does. What happened to the fresh, semi-sweet opening? Was hoping it might turn "dirty" in a good way due to the patchouli, but it simply turned dirty.

I sprayed this on my paper folder during a sniffing event (the SA was out of blotter strips and my folder was the uncoated, absorbent sort), so while I didn't have time to parse out the notes on skin, my impression was that this was the smell of someone with money--age 30-something on up.

I had only the briefest exposure to Heure Exquise during a big sniffing event, but was struck by its similarities to a perfume called Camellia from the New Orleans perfumery Hové. I'd always found Camellia to be antiquated (in the good, Victorian era sort of way). Since I'm relatively new to perfumes, I don't know how I could sense it was old-style, and that seems to be the way others here are referring to the nostalgic nature of HE. Hmmmm. Interesting.

My shortest frag review: SWEET! GARDENIA! TUBEROSE!

Of late, "purple patchouli" fragrances have been shining brightly on my radar. Indult Isvaraya is the Godzilla amongst them--love the drydown ... at a distance. Iris Noir is a much tamer candidate. Its sweetness is blackberry-like. I'll hold on to my Rocher mini and continue sniffing for the ultimate in this category--sweet, but not too, with a cultured patchouli presence. Next on the list to try: Tom Ford Purple Patchouli and Trish McEvoy Sexy #9.

If Rochas Femme is the Mae West of chypres, then Y is the Audrey Hepburn, worldly but still refined.

If I were a schoolgirl, I'd feel very good about wearing this pretty cologne. But those days are long gone, and I'm on to more clever concoctions. I wish young women would seek out an affordable little number like this instead of spending their money on celebrity department-store fragrances. Or does the next generation think DdN smells old fashioned because it has no synthetic twang? Well, if you ever feel like wearing a flower-print dress and twirling a parasol, this might fit you as well. Fairly low-pitched for a fragrance centered on lily-of-the-valley. Olfactive Family : Green Floral. Head Notes: Mandarin, Crushed Mint Leaves. Mid Notes: Headspace Daphne, Lily-of-the-Valley. Base Note: Cedar.

Arabica Coffee, Patchouli, Musk, Moss, Cedarwood, Vetiver--Sounds delightful, yes? Nothing wrong with Pure Coffee, but hardly memorable. Mildly sweet. New Haarlem gives you more wow factor. I prefer Black Vetyver Cafe overall. Also, PC takes about 20 minutes to come together. The top notes suffer from "attention-deficit dis-odor."

Peculiar but not extreme. A quiet scent. Reminds me of the Lava pumice soap my dad used to use, plus ... well, I'm not sure what else. I keep envisioning a clean, white, dated bathroom. There's the slightest hint of incense and the slightest bit of sweetness. Seek out a sample to break the monotony that can set in after you think you've tried everything.

This year (2008) it has been made evident to me that I'm attracted to green scents, and the top notes of ASLP are among the dearest. After sampling ASLP a few times, its elements came into focus, and while I'm delighted with my new-found abilities to suss out these notes, a certain degree of ASLP's charm and high-end luxury got tarnished in the process. Aside from the fleeting, dewy top notes, I now see this scent in this way: It smells like an angelica plant raised hydroponically on a diet of Iso E Super by a woodworker building sweetheart cedar chests. Iso E Super--the chassis of Calvin Klein's Eternity. Sure enough, in a side-by-side sniff, I now sense ASLP as a slice of Eternity. Ah, well. At least Guerlain's Angelique Noire still retains that magical quality of fantasy angelica and Parisian vanilla.

The notes for "Little Angel" are lilac, tangerine and licorice. Sound like a less-than-harmonious grouping? I found it so. At least it's mild.

Completely forgettable for me, but if there's iris present, that may be the cause. Suffering an iris anosmia, there's just not much going on in this fragrance for me. On the plus side, there's off-putting about it.

Am I alone in picking up the fecal top note (before the scent dries on the skin)? If you're bent on studying the many good jasmine variations in the marketplace, add this one to your sample list. Not too heavy, could be worn from day through night. Lovely execution, but only you will know if this is precisely the jasmine you've been looking for.

Makes a sweet first impression, and therefore it undoubtedly garners compliments from passersby. Would you like to smell it? Just let me know, I'll uncork my sample, and if you're downwind and stick your head out the window, you'll smell it. It's that strong.

The lemon top is too vivid and cutting for my tolerance. I prefer Goutal's Mandragore, which is slightly sweeter, deeper, and more interesting.

Update: I now own the big bottle. The citrus and greenness with a bit of sweetness pack a one-two punch I find appealing this spring.
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This is the first Goutal I've liked, but it leaves me frustrated for its meekness. I have to plant my nose right on my skin to appreciate its classy spearmint aroma. I've been looking for a scent like this, but if it has no sillage, I'll have to keep searching.

Tutti-fruity juice spiked with some citrus. There is no doubt this fragrance is emanating from a perfume bottle and not a punch bowl. Not what you'd call a natural-smelling fragrance.

I like the Le Parfum (red bottle) more than the lesser concentrations. Reminiscent of heliotrope (everlasting flower), the sweet quality of FbK smells like you've spilt the best baby powder next door to the best confectionary bakery. This is one of those sweet fragrances I love to encounter, but would weary of wearing.

Cruel? Colorless and Characterless to this nose. It must be another case of notes getting past my radar because this juice smells virtually meaningless to me.

Just piping in to mention that SDV's base is similar to that of VIP Room (which I prefer) = like sweet tobacco and Ambre Narguile.

I detect a faint citrus top note and then an effect similar to DK's Black Cashmere (minus the sweetness). L'AdDM is arid and appropriately named. Very good execution, which I can appreciate even though this is not my category of scent. Happily there was no heavy incense, as I expected. Blasphemous as it is to say, I think this could be layered with other scents to good effect.

Here's a word I don't use often with regard to perfumes: boring. I like simple, discreet scents, but Tocade strikes me as dull and flat. Maybe I'm missing something or this combination of notes just doesn't happen to hit any of my buttons. C'est la vie.

Oh, this is cute. It's the stepping stool for young gals who have yet to approach Angel Innocent or Angel. It feels a little too light for me to wear, but it's completely successful in maintaining Angel's genetics while incorporating a cooling, summery powder.

I'm spoiled by Nandebary Green, which offers superior-smelling ingredients and a more diverse experience which happens to include a green-tea-like segment. If to recommend a simple green tea scent that trumps Elizabeth Arden's, it would be the one by Roger & Gallet--same concept, finer quality, and, I think, in about the same price range as EA's (unlike Nanadebary, which, admittedly, is costly).

As I was checking this out at Sephora, I thought its top notes bore a striking similarity to Coco Mademoiselle, so I sought the CM tester to compare, but it was missing from the shelf. Brought home a scent strip (which is quite pungent) and kept sniffing it to analyze how I felt about it. In some ways it's as loud as a cheerleading squad: "Give me a P, give me an E, give me an RFUME." It's truly "perfumey." And there's something that's giving me flashbacks to my mom wearing some sample fragrance from decades ago. Then I began to pick up on a soapy quality that has now morphed to a aftershave scent. I'd probably compliment someone wearing this, but would fatigue of it quickly if it were in my own wardrobe.

Not as feminine and orangey as I expected, the vetiver keeps the orange aspect from becoming overly sweet. A very respectable fragrance, and, although I wouldn't buy it for myself, I can highly recommend your sampling it because I think many would enjoy wearing it. I venture to say it would make a good gift for any man of Basenotes persuasion or the general populous.

I'm hardly a vetiver connoisseur, but I know what I like, and this is very pleasant. The citrus sparkles above the lower notes more than other vets I've smelled. MPG fragrances carry an air of quality and blending that justify their price tag. While not a fragrance I would reach for to wear myself, I am enjoying the sampling experience and would be pleased to have those around me wear Racine.

Without referencing (or remembering) the notes for Kelly Caleche, I tried it on my skin and was so relieved to find it NOT another fruity floral, and not sweet at all. It struck me as intelligent and original. After a couple hours I decided I would classified it mentally as a vetiver scent, and although that's not its official designation, I'm going to go on thinking of it that way. You can see the correct note breakdown in other reviews that preceded this one.

The first few minutes present a touch of bite and spice which segue to a cow barn -- oh, yes, all the hay, straw and earthy qualities drawn from the dankness of a long-occupied, concrete-floor milking barn. I like it in that perverse way you're sure no one else can appreciate.

The barn scene fades and a faint, sweet tonka bean aroma lingers so meekly one has to strain to locate it, darn it. Give me more oomph.

This is Play-doh into which someone has dripped a few drops amber and incense oils.

This isn't just bubblegum--it's the whitish powdery surface of fresh, sweet bubblegum. This is food, not perfume. It could layer with something, but I'm not excited enough to figure out any such relationships.

Hot, dry incense. Just not my kinda thing.

Reminds me very much of the Pantene hair conditioner my mom used to use. Actually there's something additional. Hairspray maybe?

If you know Donna Karan's Black Cashmere, then think of Massacrante as White Cashmere. I could have sworn the top notes included vetiver, followed by white pepper and a pinch of incense. I a-l-m-o-s-t like this. This is my favorite of the Mood Swings collection. I don't care much at all for the other four.

Ummmm. Celery and limes?

I love how fragrances can run the gamut, from bloody melodramatic to stiffly austere. LS surely resides on Bare Bones Boulevard. It's wet note -- available only for one inhalation and even preceding its real top notes--comes close to a scent I've dreamed of finding: fresh carrot. It's cool, wet, slightly sweet and vegetal. With a second breath, the lemon and rosemary are kicking in, but I can't locate these notes more than a few millimeters away from the skin. A bitterness lasts for sheer minutes, and then the real fragrance is locked in, dry, reserved, and perfect for a professional environment--ideal for a modern architect like Frank Gehry. The only similar scent I've tried is Aromafit (d/c by Lancome), which was a dilute carrot and orange juice blend.

Lemon Sorbet, isn't as desserty as its name implies, and its lack of sillage and longevity are the reason most aren't investing in a bottle. I, too, don't find this even quite decant worthy. It's clearly test worthy. Additionally, given a recent queasiness with smells, it's one of the few scents that I can wear with impunity.

My feeling about Volupté is, I'm not compelled to wear it, but if I could be hugged by a nurturing woman who was wearing this, it would smell like I was being welcomed to heaven. This floriental must bear resemblance to fragrances I associate with loving women from my childhood in the 1960s.

Notes: top notes combine fresh fruit and florals like mimosa, freesia and tagette. Jasmine, heliotrope and carnation blend with a base of amber, sandalwood, incense and patchouli. Classy but approachable. I'm one of those strange souls who isn't a fan of oriental frags so I can quite give this an up thumb.

Upon first spritz and citrus release I thought, this isn't too bad--maybe not exciting or full-bottle worthy, but okay enough to consider layering with something. Within a couple minutes I'd struck a line through that mental notation. Even if Le Labo uses natural ingredients, I felt a synthetic sensation in my throat, along with sugar designed to attract little girls. I gave up trying to derive pure orange blossoms from my skin and then recognized a note of some other floral, maybe tuberose.

After I composed my comments above, I looked up the official notes. Here they be: "A natural and extremely rare Orange Blossom that took over 3 years to compose is enhanced by fresh floral and lemony notes, rounded out by musk and the succulent, sunny touches of bergamot, petit grain and lemon."

Why do I keep doing the same thing over and over and each time expect different results? I have yet to like anything mainstream aside from Donna Karan Black Cashmere and, when I'm in the mood, Chopard's Mira Bai. Department store fragrances just don't sit well with me. Here's Carolina. It's got that general perfume smell, but not the perfume of strawberries. So I'm not moved. Yes, there's Hanae Mori's strawberry variation--didn't work for me. Miss Dior Cherie--I understand the attraction, but don't want to be surrounded by a glazed dessert smell all day long. I'll check out EL's Pleasures Delight (the latest strawberry flan), but that's a department store frag, and you know how that works out for me. Right now I'm pinning my hopes on those niche artists, like Neil Morris, who process molecules with a different mindset.

I like the tangy, green mandarine top note. Then it goes a mite soapy on me. I simply don't respond any department store fragrances. Give me niche or classic.

Does anyone remember the store chain Spencer's Gifts? (They have an online entity now.) They sold/sell gag gifts, semi-obscene t-shirts and posters shown under blacklights, lava lamps, etc. I didn't remember that the store even had a particular smell until I tried Black Orchid last night and Bam! I went back in time 30+ years and found myself standing 10 feet into the store at the mall. Freaky, man. There are layers of scent emanating from the store shelves: waxy pads of sandalwood and patchouli for hippy-wannabees and sugary sweet smells that I can only believe came from edible panties, and there's another odor I can't quite name (and maybe I don't want to?). Once I had that mental picture, it was hard to shift focus to a more neutral context.

The high- and low-pitched top notes start quite some distance apart and take their time settling toward each other. I was hoping once the candy faded, I was in for some pleasure. Twenty minutes in, I was reminded of the feel, although not exactly the smell of mure et musc. The arrangement never quite came together for me because the candy panties smell hung around too long. Yet, there is something compelling about the scent of the sample sprayer itself. So, maybe someone with the right chemistry can bring out the truffle undertones I'd prefer to have encountered.

I picture the membrane of JF's scent molecules as barely capable of containing this big, simple floral. Take a sniff and, like an over-filled water-balloon, Bam! sweet, oily jasmine explodes in your face. A scent for floral lovers only (and not the teenage sort either).

Just when I thought JF occupied the top rung of the floral ladder for whalloping soliflore-like frags, along came Michael Storer's Stephanie, a buxom gardenia, and I end up standing on that floral ladder's top rung in order to place Stephanie on a high pedestal. Like florals? Try each of these.

Cute bottle in fun colors. Brilliant, sparkling, sweet, juicy top notes. Then IG quickly turns bitter on my female arm. Maybe "bitters" smell more appealing on a man?

As a woman, Djin is not something I'd choose to wear, but could carpool with a gentleman who wore it. I'm not sophisticated in reviewing male-specific scents, but this strikes me as an okay frag for men. I thought I got a whiff of rhubarb(?) along the line.

I've tried this a couple times now, and every other time I apply, I catch a minor masculine vibe but it's meaningless in the which-gender-can-wear-this sense. As a female, I'd definitely wear this.

This is a warm June, and I might have other/additional thoughts about Monk in the winter. At this point, I don't specifically notice the tobacco or galbanum, which is fine by me cuz I prefer to focus on mild notes like musk, tonka, amber, leather.

I love the vanillic, musky, sweet, powdery opening. The middle simply grows milder, and reminded me of the praline base in Chopard Mira Bai until I made a side-by-side comparison. Monk is an octave lower than Mira, probably due to Mira's cassis upsweep.

You can see reviewers vary widely in their interpretation of Monk -- which tells ya, ya gotta try it for yourself.

Give me Michael Storer's Stephanie -- that's the frag he tailor-made for me (a thousand thumbs up!!!).

Genvieve is not my style. There is an ambrette seed top that reads like pepper to my spice-fearing nose. There are roses -- a note I often shy from. And there are fruits (rhubarb, raspberry, peach). I always struggle to appreciate fruit in fragrances (just look at my wardrobe.

But let this be a lesson: Do not judge a perfumer's stock by just one fragrance. I've noticed other Basenotes members celebrating Genvieve's arrival. As little as Genvieve happens to suit me, Stephanie has more than compensated and stirred me to become a dedicated enthusiast of this perfumer.

SAMPLE FOR YOURSELF!

This is the story of two Basenotes perfumistas who were scent-opposites but drawn together in friendship. One liked her florals light and fresh (let's call her Shycat), and other liked her florals deep and mellow (let's call her Quarry). Each found herself embracing Michael Storer's inventiveness. The one loved and ordered Yvette and Genvieve, but disliked Stephanie. The other adored Stephanie, and didn't understand Yvette or Genvieve at all.

Okay, that's not a very cryptic story, is it? I, Quarry, cannot appreciate "soprano" florals. Like a dog who's pained by a high-pitch whistle, I twist my head from side to side at the likes of Yvette. Stephanie, however, makes me drool. So, while I'm giving a thumb's down to Yvette because she's "squeaky" to me, does not mean you shouldn't try her. I have a lot of respect for Mr. Storer's professionalism and for Shycat's tastes.

Yes, sir! Not complex, but beauty needn't be. I've only sampled this on my hand, and I couldn't swear to its longevity. Elegant and easy-to-like lemony cedar.

I haven't seen any official notes as of this date, so let's see how my "cold reading" stands the test of time.

Watermelon, no, sweet, watery cucumber top notes. Then, no surprise, that Angel-like base, faint but omni-present like background radiation — a hint of patchouli, a bit of chocolate. Then it seems to fade along its merry way. I don't get the point of it. Angel Innocent was a worthwhile sequel, but the rest of Angel's progeny smell to me like a quest for sales and nothing artistically special.

A few qualifiers here: (1) I haven't sampled Youth Dew; (2) I'm reviewing at the point of just a second wearing; (3) it's an especially hot June this year.

The first time I applied YDAN, and without referencing any history on it, my first thought was that this amber is highly filtered, the way American wines are passed through fine-micron filters to polish the liquid for visual effect (Europeans aren't as put off my murky sediment). My impression was that the amber was restrained and straight-laced. I did not recognize that the top notes were tea and grapefruit (there is no telltale sharpness), but it is these molecules through which I was straining to detect amber, one of my favorite notes. For the heart of the fragrance, I thought, tra-la-la, this is pleasant enough, tra-la-la. Finally the base set in like dew fall at dusk. Now we're talking! Give me deep, dark, sweet, dirty notes. I'll probably hold onto this sample (thank you very much, Quinpus!); it amuses me. And now I'm curious about Youth Dew for the first time. But for a rustic, bohemian amber that gives me an instant pleasure fix, Ambre Narguile my sweetie.

Ambre Narguile has become one of the most important fragrances of my acquaintance — an immediate, welcoming attraction, like "I'm home."

The crazy thing is, I got a small Hermes bottle as a blind buy, something I'd never normally do, especially given the high cost. But the descriptions I'd read told me AN was the sweet, deep, dried-fruit-and-amber entity I'd craved and never found elsewhere. I've read others complain it has an apple-pie quality. My dears, it's much darker than that. It's like fine, sweet, melt-in-your mouth dates.

I'm happy to report my husband likes my wearing it. And AN can play well with others layering-wise — from my wardrobe that's Guerlain's With Love (which has a blond amber base) and that crazy spice girl Black Cashmere (the dark-on-black cloud makes me feel like an all-powerful, fear-my-sillage witch).

My fragrance "key signature" is contralto, and this sings down around middle C perfectly.

Official notes: Saffron, Masala Spices, Clove, Nutmeg, Pimento Berries, White Pepper CO2 Extract, Mediterranean Broom Flower, Patchouli Singapour, Crimson Red Marechal Rose, Ethiopian Guggal Incense, Wengue Wood, Bois de Miel.

I should hate and run fleeing from BC based on its notes and everyone else's descriptions. I'd never have sought out a sample, but Taolady included some in a mailing, and bam! I began salivating. I can't stand clove, recoil from spices, get picky about roses, feel so-so about incense; so I have to wonder if the broom flower is somehow creating a context that unifies and makes palatable all these off-putting notes. I'm also puzzled how I can like a "mainstream" scent when I gravitate only toward niche formulations and a couple of French oldies. I'm stumped. And I don't just LIKE BC -- I could swim in the stuff. Sweet, deep, intoxicating. A powerhouse that doesn't make me flinch. Yup, I'm stupefied ... but happy.

Other than being a smidge sweeter than reality, this is a spot-on experience: I'm lying on a freshly mown lawn which was populated by dandelions until the mowing that day. My face is right on the ground as I would have done in childhood (and might even be found doing today, multiple decades later). There is the smell of the soil and I'm looking right into a Lilliputan panorama of dewy green blades over a thatch-carpet world. A fragrance to wear? Not for me. But I love to revisit my sample vial for that "how'd they do that?" experience.

I'm indebted to flathorn and her lovely review for pushing me over the edge. I'd been comparing Goutal's Mandragore and Nan Green, trying to decide which suited my tastes more. I'm very happy to now have a bottle of Green. Crisp, sharp notes are NOT my friends, so Green's sweet, gentle citrus top notes make the greatest introduction for me. There is a brief rough spot for me in the middle notes I accredit to a nutty cardamom (although I could be misidentifying the source), but then it's clear sailing — mellow, mildly sweet and still refreshingly green, almost like spearmint. Official notes are: citrus and bergamot, middle notes of basil and cardamon, rounded with a base of vetiver, musk and thyme.

If you remember American TV from the '60s/'70s, you may be able to picture comedian Charlie Callas making all kinds of twisted-face noises. That's my reaction to Patchouly's top notes. It's just a little zany cuz it's sooo patchouli (perhaps with some pepper added). It also burned a bit on my skin shortly after application. It mellows during its middle phase while remaining bright, awake and alive — I know that's weird, given patchouli's placement in the "dark" fragrance category. It's probably just me, but it also started to smell a bit bleach-like. If your skin sweetens scents, you wouldn't catch the chlorine note. Yes, patchouli-lovers must give this one a whirl. It's a hoot, twrrrr, plp-plp-plp, brrrrr. (You gotta know Charlie.)

A couple got together for a night on the town. She wore Donna Karan Black Cashmere. He wore Bulgari Black. They drank rum until the gal got sick and threw up in her leather purse which contained Red Hots candy and stale cigarettes.

That said -- I've smelled worse. And I believe that on the right guy, the drydown on Idole might be pleasant. Clearly something you have to sample for yourself.

I was almost sure I'd like L'Ete en Douce based on Tovah's description. I imagined a beauty of the ilk of La Chasse aux Papillons, but with a field replacing the garden through which the butterflies flee. Not to be. The opening (linden?) was a little higher pitched than I anticipated, and then -- Shock! -- I smelled Alfred Sung's Sha, which I once liked and then grew to abhor. I could be alone in this perception of L'Ete en Douce. For others' sakes, I hope so.

This is one frag whose name excited me when I first read it. I love that sparkling, wet scent of a freshly scraped sweet carrot--it reminds me of the scent of modern roses, and I suspect L'Artisan figured that if irises/iris roots work in perfumery, why not its cousin the carrot? Reviews I read said this carrot, however, was more boiled than fresh, and, sadly, I suppose that's so. Still, it's not a bad scent, and then again, I don't blame L'Artisan for discontinuing it. I think L'Artisan needed to confer with Christopher Brosius (of Demeter and CB I Hate Perfume fame) to tweak this formulation.
This is a weak scent on my skin, so it takes a good wetting down to create sillage. This could be a darling first scent for a very young person -- well, maybe not at this price.

I'm infatuated -- and so unexpectedly. This is MY gardenia, girls. Take your Kai, your Fracas, your what-have-you. I don't have the real flower to test Mr. Storer's claim that his mixture comes close to matching the headspace of a real gardenia, and I don't care. Stephanie DOES have a natural air about it, and I think MS may have improved on nature anyway, so who cares where the inspiration came from. Stephanie smells sooo floral and slightly green and, admittedly, fairly sweet. I just mentioned elsewhere that I allow myself to fall into its big flowerhead unflinchingly, like leaning into a big wooden roller coaster's first drop with eyes wide open.

Stephanie's intoxicating and delivers great sillage to me (but doesn't throw too far, according to DH). It's a bit more expensive than I generally venture, but there's nothing comparable. At first I thought it similar to Montale Jasmin Full in some ways, but upon actual comparison, the Montale is like a rough, raw diamond, and Steph's a rare, polished gem.

If you read other reviews I've written, you'll see I seldom rave. Well, I'm raving now.

Unless this is the first review you're reading about Flowerbomb, you already know it's not flowery. It is sweet and styled to make friends quickly when first encountered: vanillic with caramelized sugar and a passive patchouli presence; any "flowers" must have been dribbled in from a vat marked Generic Floral Mixture #3. Until a better expression comes along, I'm going to refer to department-store frags as being manufactured with "A Big Paddle." (I'm attracted to niche and vintage-style scents whose molecules are stacked more meticulously.) For a Big Paddle frag, Flowerbomb is pleasant enough not to scrub off, but not attractive enough to mean something special to me.

Milwaukee, Wisconsin, Catholic Church on a Friday night when the Germans serve lemons and vinegared cole slaw with the fish fry. No fishy smell, but the acid and citrus with slight sweetness and herbs so puts me in this particular situation that I can't even bring myself to wear what (only to me) has such a foody association. No one else will make this connection, I'm sure, but there you have it.

Preface: Thanks to Purplebird7's sharing of a vial sent to her by Twolf (I think I have that lineage correct), a series of us are enjoying the experience that is Djedi.

First off, when I sniffed the vial right out of the mailing envelope and imagining the wearing to come, I got a rush of minerals that made me think I had put my tongue to our basement wall of sedimentary limestone, glacier-rolled fieldstone and the leachate of a hundred years. The cool scent I'm attributing to aldehydes and vetiver came to me on the inhale and morphed into a warm wood scent just before I exhaled, when the vapors had been warmed for an instant in my nose.

The next morning I showered and scrubbed my arm with vigor, applied only a little moisturizer to my face, in order to be fragrance free, and waited for all household activities to subside.

"What does it smell like?" Mr. Q asked as I sat ceremonious at the table. I offered up the open ziplock bag laden with rich, Djedi basenotes. "Smells like a diaper, doesn't it?" he ventured to say.

(I didn't hurt him.)

Then, at 8:05 a.m., I put a shimmer of Djedi on my left arm, just above the wrist. And the ride began. This is a beautiful perfume. I guess there's a rose here, but it's been cross-bred with something dark--not dark as in depressing (that was my take on Caron's Or et Noir), but dark like coal. I sort of see my mother's leather purse, warmed by the sun, supple and radiating something elegant due to the presence of a perfume sample she must have gotten from the Sunday paper and tucked inside her purse. This pleasurable moment is reminiscent of Dzing! ... I run to my bottle of Dzing! Oh, my gosh, kids, other than Dzing! being much sweeter, there's a real similarity.

An hour later I smelled all nice and musty. Five hours in, and the mustiness was gone. I'm surprised. There's a sweet base left--woody, maybe cinnamon-like. If this is the patchouli, it's mildly tempered.

I had put a single drop of Dzing! on the other wrist for comparison. It's more potent, and clearly has what I call a sweet Magic Marker accord, but I'm still finding a bit of similarity.

That was it--a one-time ride. Ain't this a fun hobby?

I remember reading someone's comment that Attrape-Coeur is a creamy Mitsouko, and that description spurred me to sample A-C because I find Mitsouko a bit overpowering.
Top: Rose, jasmine, tuberose
Heart: Peach
Base: Amber, musk
I can appreciate this as a true Guerlain and a true work of art. However, like many beautiful works of art, it just doesn't speak to me on the "gotta own it" level. In the drydown I pick up on a kitchen-variety vanilla, very sweet and delectable.

Notes: Pink pepper, iris, rose, coriander, benzoin, Indonesian patchouli, incense, precious woods, musk and balsams.

This is how I like my scents: mellow, a touch sweet, and in a contralto key. The floral top notes hardly register to me. It's like an "instant basenotes" frag. Because I already have Ambre Narguile, Feminite du Bois and Black Cashmere, I don't think there's a place for Bd'A in my wardrobe. For one thing, those other scents have more throw, and Bd'A is, like other Guerlains, a skin scent, which is frustrating when you look at the price tag.

Kohl's has lots of good general merchandise, but their fragrance offerings have never impressed me because they're the usual department-story-quality offerings. That being said, I have to give a "thumb up" to the new Flirt launched by Kohl's. It smells like what it purports to: an intoxicating blend of exotic wild berry, enchanting honeysuckle and creamy vanilla. Yeah, it's another fruity floral, but better than most. It has lots of oomph, so only a small spritz would do ya. I'm smelling the paper strip a couple weeks after having sprayed it, and the fruit and vanilla are still apparent. It's not for me, but a young gal could do worse than Flirt.

If fragrances were brassieres, Ginestet Le Boisé would be a 34B, and Pomegranate Noir would be a 42D. Finally, a break-through scent with a personality. It's been months since my nose has been surprised like this. Husband says he smells furniture polish. Okay, dear, make that royal furniture polish used on a rich Frenchwoman's Louis XVI vanity.

I think MPG's jasmine is of the indolic sort, but I'm not confident in my use of the word indolic, so I'll explain that this is not the sweet, dripping nectar of Montale's Jasmin Full but a dirtier hyacinth-like flower. With so many jasmine fragrances available, and given MPG's price tag, I'll pass on this one.

Very, very, pretty, pretty, girlie, girlie lilac that smells like I've just bathed with a triple-milled French soap. Happily though, the fragrance doesn't smell soapy, which usually means icky to my way of thinking/tasting. (Do you understand the distinction--soap good, soapy icky?) The cottony-soft sillage hovers approximately four inches about me. If I put my nose directly on my skin, there is a funky quality, but that's a minor deduction. You might need to reapply Sha every few hours during the day to keep the good times rolling, or it may be the perfect scent to apply at night and ride into dreamland. A lovely mommy or grandma scent and a joyous discovery. If member Musse hadn't sent some Sha to me, I'd probably never have tried it since I had such a sour attitude about Sung's Shi.

An extraordinarily sweet and unnatural orange blossom top note trails through the evolution of the fragrance for hours. It is met with jonquil, a difficult scent to balance, as even a small quantity can be pungent. Perhaps depending on skin type, the jonquil can cross the threshold into the realm of honesty stinky (it did on my skin). My Caron samples were ordered fresh from the New York boutique, so I cannot attribute their off-putting nature to anything but a true mismatch between them and me--the exception being the acceptable Acaciosa.

During my first trial of En Avion (translation: by airplane or in airplane), I developed a comical mental picture: Someone had dropped a lit cigarette on the plane's leather upholstery and (as the clove note developed), I was cinching my parachute, ready to bail out on this ride.

A day or two later, after contemplating the notes and others' reviews, I entered into the experience again. I sought to focus on the leather (a favorite note in general). Present is a coarse, working leather as found on early farms and in industry, not the supple purse leather of Dzing! The problem for me comes from the clove effect of the carnation, which is more intense than can be ignored, and it seared me for a good two hours. After that, the clove died away and soft rose and powder were unveiled. Therein lies En Avion's beauty to me. However, it comes so late, I'm not willing to wait through the clove experience again when Guerlain can take me to this pretty place without such tribulations.

I'm not entirely clear on how honeysuckle is supposed to be represented in a fragrance, but I can tell you what impression Kate Spade's floral made on me: Laboratory lilac with the tiniest pinch of orange blossom. Awfully strong (maybe I applied too heavily?) with little development over the time.

I have no particular affection for spices in my fragrances, but in an effort to smell beyond comfortable boundaries and partake in spicy talk here on wonderful basenotes, I got a sample of Opium Fleur de Shanghai (aka Opium for beginners or Opium with training wheels).

My first trial was a nose-wrinkling experience--ick, spices. My second sampling was more rational as I tried not to shy away from the notes. The wonderful mandarin gave me a starting point, and I began to take baby steps into the heart of the fragrance. A few reapplications later, and I can say I'm warming up to the myrrh, although the carnation's clove-like note will never be a favorite.

Delightful, with grand, glycerine-weight sillage, Acaciosa proves there is at least one Caron which can put a smile on my face. I haven't been able to isolate the rumored pineapple note, instead having been distracted by a full-bodied jasmine that put me in a Montale-Jasmin-Full state of mind (that's a compliment!).

Just as Guerlain fragrances bear a Guerlinade quality, I think Acaciosa smells representative of a Caronesque aura (and vintage florals in general). Of course, after heaping rare praise, I also have to mention that Acaciosa is supposed to be a discontinued fragrance. As of October 2006, it can still be purchased from Caron.

Imagine an enormous blossom with endless ruffles of sweet white petals spilling from one of those tub-size containers theaters serve popcorn in. Next, insert that tub of blossoms under the theater's artificial butter dispenser, press button and drizzle, drizzle, drizzle. Enjoy your Monyette Paris!

I respect this fragrance. (Uh-oh, that's not an intro that's going anywhere good; like the line, "We have to talk...")

I pronounce this odor ancient, European, and male. However, being a modern American female with an aversion to anise and spices, I'll seek my pleasures elsewhere. For adventurous the man with a hankering for the off-beat, there should be a surplus Fd'A available for you.

Very pleasant. It's not too sweet, not too bright nor too sharp. For a juicy scent, it bears a mark of quality. I just don't think I want to smell like I spilled pineapple juice on myself. If I had a decant, I'd experiment to see if AF would layer well with a floral. Hmmmm.

The top notes smell like a Charms grape sucker, which quickly suckered me in, but HPP then turns quirky and dark until it becomes just another 21st century department store fragrance.

There is something attractive, compelling, odd, and natural about Rose Ikebana, so I'll give it props for that, but I don't think I'd wear it or really wish to sit next to someone for a long time who did. For an interesting twist on roses, I prefer to revisit Diptyque's Ombre dans L'eau.

I am so gosh-darned envious of those who can smell violets. I didn't even know violets had a scent until I began reading about perfumes. I attribute a certain imaginery scent to them, based on the flowers' appearance, but it exists only in my mind. Thus, Les Meteorites proved completely meaningless for me. [She laments.]

In addition to an inability to detect orris root (iris), I believe I may also be "blind" to honeysuckle, which might explain why so little translated to me from Chant d'Aromes. A truly sour opening, bland heart and forgettable base, forces me to turn thumb down.

If you do not like anise/fennel/black licorice, then walk on by. I gave AL a reasonable try, but I couldn't get past that repugnant note. The Guerlinade quality is there, so if you feel differently about that black/green note, sampling will be worth your while.

Yes, this frag pitches its tent in the same camp as Mugler's Angel. If you take a look around, you'll also spot Nirmala and Bond's Nuit de Noho pounding down their stakes.

Although at first sniff I thought these four near equals, in head-to-head competition, Excess offers the least quality and appeal. It was more difficult choosing who came next, Angel or Nirmala. However, the frag that made me a happy camper (due to its delicious pineapple top note) was the wallet-emptying Nuit de Noho. In this case, the price tags did reflect the proportions of desirability.

I understand that Sweet Tea is a most popular product for elizabethW (yes, they use a small e and cap W), and it is precisely what it claims to be: sweet tea, nothing more, nothing less. The tea part is fine; it smells like Lipton black tea. The sweet part imparts simply too much honey. Put one check mark next to "cloying" and one next to "boring." I find Carthusia Io offers more personality and depth.

I'm not a vanilla aficianado, but I can believe this is the best vanilla scent available. Even when I didn't want to wear VP, I liked having the vial nearby to sniff.

Of interest to no one but myself: This is the only fragrance product I have ever been able to smell through my left nostril, which is, for whatever reason, normally incapable of transporting news about scent molecules to my brain.

I'd like a big bowl of Vanille Banane served with a spoon and mug of coffee, however, this banana juice is positively God-zilla-awful for a body scent. Maybe realtors could use it as a room scent to make potential buyers feel at home?

Ah, aldehydes, the gremlins of many a poor sniffer's nasal cavities. What is that I sense--citrus and fennel? No. Laundry on the line? Smoke? No, and no. A spice market? Well, according to Carthusia, I'm supposed to be recognizing mimosa, iris, jasmine, peach and bay leaf. I'll go back to my Carthusia Io Capri. I understand it, it understands me. Aria? I will say it's completely original (and a little odd on me).

Sweet and dirty--like a piece of hard candy left in an unwashed ashtray. I'm one of those few who just doesn't care for traditional Oriental frags, but must admit to a little attraction to this sweetie. I can understand others salivating for the comforting drydown, so I'll say thumbie neutral for me, but probably thumbie up for you.

Ho, hum. A contemporary fragrance reminding me of other faceless modern frags. Some fruit, some patchouli, dispensed with a light hand. Short life on the skin. Let's see, is this a twin to Excess, Bora Bora? Don't care.

Dim attic. Ancestor's chest.
Nectar exhausted, rose petals pressed.
Dead geranium, dried in its pot.
Medicine bottle with smudged tin top.

Roller shade up, powder charges the light.
Murphy's Oil Soap. Grime sliced.
Brittle lace, unfit for auction.
Inheritance. In heir: exhaustion.

FdC is a quality scent, but it does not trump Guerlain's Terracotta Voile d'Ete in the carnation/ylang-ylang arena, nor does it compete seriously with all the other pleasant white florals. A sweet opening burst quickly reveals a softly spicy carnation heart. There is supposed to be a lily-of-the-valley component. If it is here, it does not come across sharp or piercing. FdC is weak on me--not watery, just mild. Oak and sandalwood make up the base notes. A good enough fragrance, but not special to me.

An obvious fig opening soon gives way to a long-lived soapy heart and drydown. By comparison, Mathias L'Eau de Figue (discontinued) presents a fruity fig; Carthusia Io offers an attractive and interesting tea/fig aura; and Ginestet Le Boise provides a more creative interpretation of what Napa Valley represents. I can recommend those products, but not this one.

Lilacs tease as the top notes blossom, but just as lilac bouquets are short-lived in a vase, so was this hopeful opening. The bouquet morphs into one with gardenias and tuberoses (although honeysuckle, not gardenia, is an official note). For an instant I thought JB could rival La Chasse aux Papillons, but there's something a mite peculiar and cheap here, I might even say stinky. The middle smells mostly of jasmine, but having recently sampled Montale Jamin Full, I'm spoiled and find this one lacking. A few years ago I might have been impressed by JB; now I'm a down-turned thumb snob.

A giant glass of acid-reduced lemon juice into which one leaf of mint and one leaf of green tea have been dropped along with a dollop of honey. Can't imagine any circumstances under which I'd want to smell this, not even as a room freshener.

This stuff is triggering a scent memory I cannot bring into focus. Murphy's Oil Soap? Non-oily fingernail polish remover? Something from the hardware store? It's going to bug me. At any rate, it seems like whatever the product is, it has a warning label.

You know what this is? It's Mira Bai with lavender substituting for the MB's cassis. RM is even gentler than the women's version of Hanae Mori. I'd very much like to be in the presence of a man or woman who wears RM, but I don't see owning a bottle for myself or my husband because it's a little too simple. Clearly a thumbs up though.

First off, I wish all my favorite scents radiated the way RF does. Too often I have to suck my skin up into my nostrils to appreciate all the notes of some EDTs. Not so with this product--it's got sillage and a half. I do not pick up on the fruit notes per se; there's just enough sweetness to make the fragrance attractive. It's the (coining a new phrase here) "headshop cumin" you can't ignore.

A discussion in the women's forum relates additional opinions - http://community.basenotes.net/showthread.php?t=187991

Member vinterdroppe mentions having craved RF for a whole week in spring. I can understand that. I don't imagine developing a regular lust for this, but the occasional craving can develop for an edgy, one-of-a-kind fragrance like this. But, then again, you know those occasional cravings can grow to loom larger, too.

To give you a sense of Rochas Femme's strength - she could beat up sweet Rochas Man any day!

I have no argument with the accuracy of the pyramid of notes provided by Chanel, although when wet, I'd interpret the scent to be based in gin. There's certainly no mistaking this as a scent intended for women. Actually, I got the feeling that PE would be worn by a man who was trying to assert his virility. I sought to fathom some redeeming quality in the drydown, but could not bring any to the surface. Of course, I am sampling this on female wrists, so it might develop better on those who bring a different balance of hormones to the experience.

My mother used to make a dessert/salad with Jello gelatin and applesauce; perhaps Paco's mother did, too (don't suppose Jello was that popular in Spain and France). First I smell apple pulp, then the scent of cherry Jello. Later I find buttery vanilla, but nothing very gothic. I'm starting to wonder whether Perfume Worldwide mislabeled my sample which reads "XS Black by Paco Rabanne for Men;" or else my female flesh has rendered some alternate character. I was hoping to reenact Scenteur 7's experience of strawberries and patchouli.

You can tell from the many reviews here that people are smiling as they report about this well-executed juice, although it inspires no use of exclamation marks in their texts. XS for Men strikes me as a smart scent with a little coriander bite.

A scent whose time, perhaps, has come and gone, at least amongst sophisticated fragrance consumers. Conversely, there is absolutely nothing wrong with this friendly, summery scent. There is only one note in here (wish I could name it specifically) that keeps Geir from a feminine, or at least unisex, qualification--it's generally difficult for me to tease out Geir's individual notes, but I perceive a partially aquatic quality.

They say the Angel family of scents creates two camps: lovers and haters; yet I developed an ambivalence about the women's Angel and Angel Innocent (which I preferred to Angel). I was attracted and yet not enthralled. After reading about A*men's popularity, I bought a sample.

This is the best of the bunch. At the moment of application, there's a discordance, but in a few minutes I'm conveyed to a coffee shop with vintage wooden floors and tables. The coffee and chocolate don't announce their identities overtly, but are present within a semi-sweet and cozy atmosphere. The men's fragrance escapes the shrieking high-pitched and overly sweet notes of the other Angel products I've sampled. I'd declare the men's Angel to be wholly unisex, so my lady friends, give it try.

Do you know the arcade game Whack-a-Mole? A number of mechanical moles pop up from their respective dens in random order, and the player tries to hit a mole before it retreats to its hole. The notes in Bois d'Iris erupt and repeat randomly for me like the moles: fresh, dirty, sweet, spice, plastic, powder, a burnt odor. I know this is due to my "iris disability." Try as I will, I can get only a shadow of an impression of what iris (or violet, for that matter) is supposed to smell like. It took months of sampling to figure out this physiological handicap. So, I write this review not for the average researcher who is trying to find a favorite fragrance, but for the odd soul who, like myself, wonders why they just don't "get" what everyone is raving about.

I will blame my chemistry for not allowing NN EDT to reach its potential. The first spray releases a mouth-wateringly sweet orange blossom, but as soon as the scent mingles with my DNA, it's as though the fragrance has all but disappeared. If I put my nose right to my skin and breathe, warming my flesh, I can still pull out some sweetness, but all the notes go mute. I'd never guess any incense to be present. I'm fine with civet in other frags, but it's hiding from me here. I want to try Narcisse Blanc because, if it's anything like NN's top notes, there's the possibility I'll find some success with it.

http://community.basenotes.net/showthread.php?t=185213

To learn a lot about Vega, visit the thread linked above. Thanks to Buffalo_Gals' (Diane's) creativity and generosity, a number of us were able to experience and discuss Vega in her vintage form.

My Basenotes compatriots are superior in defining Vega's elements. My perception is limited to these observations: I appreciate the comforting mustiness and the ylang-ylang (probably because I smell y-y in my Method daily shower spray cleaner which makes me hyper aware of that note). Vega smells so French and wears like a soft, lovely cloak. Knowing her age, I feel like I'm actually wearing a secret.

What Gatorade is to real fruit juice, AromaFit is to real orange blossoms. Herein eminates an impression of orange (whose sugar content is not too high) and something mildly vegetal (not too green). Very pleasant and eye-opening without any sharp citrus edges. I don't think of this as a regular wear-all-day fragrance, but more of a scent treat--one of those items to keep in the fridge for a chilling spray to help change gears after a hot, hectic day. It doesn't last long, especially the orange portion, so my interest in it wanes in a short time. I won't seek more once my decant runs out, but I appreciate having known such an original scent.

Nav presents a congenial opening with no obvious single note jumping ahead of the others. The recipe employs a light-handed mix of blond wood, pipe tobacco, and soft spice. It personifies a virtuous young man on whom is pinned the hopes of a nation. (But, as this frag is defunct, the nation appears doomed.)

Thanks to Shycat, I'm celebrating the rare treat of sampling this attractive fragrance. The top notes strike the most harmonious chord immediately upon application, then, after turning a little dirty, X transforms into a spicy Christmas pomander or simmering pot of wassail. I like how joeseattle interpreted the scent. Very special.

We all bring our biases to these reviews, a