The blending of lily and vanilla (vanilly!) makes me question whether or not there is actually honeysuckle in this scent. Either way Lys Mediterranee is as soft as buttered silk and milky-pleasant top to bottom. Like a quieter yet more regal version of Deep Night. Excellent stuff.
Lys Mediterranee is a strong floral. I admire it for opening so loud and strong, and for smelling like lilies as advertised, but the overall mix is just a little off to my liking for a perfume to wear, just a bit sour, in a way that may be the best representation of natural lilies, but takes it beyond what I prefer to wear.
Hedging, somewhat, I'll say it develops well on skin, and presents a symphony of floral goodness at a distance; and I'm somewhat torn between neutral and thumbs up. When I draw the source up close, it shifts into neutral.
Briny, breezy marine notes liven up a rather classical floral fragrance, conjuring a perfume that says "Summer at the seaside".
The marine notes have nothing to do with Calone, or ozone, or sour metal, or fish, rather feel airy, like the subtle , salty sea spray you get on windy days on the beach. The flowers- gorgeous lily and some of its relatives- aren't, in my opinion, cold and austere as some reviewers pointed out: I feel them creamy and waxy and rather warm, almost sharing savoury notes with sun kissed, slightly sweaty skin- I can't help quoting Luca Turin, here, and his comparison between lilies and salame! Though in many country, Italy for one, lilies are widely used in funeral services, I somewhat succeed in skipping this association and enjoying their heady, rich, pollen laden scent. (On a personal note, my psychoanalist, who is anosmic after nose surgery, used to put beautiful pink streaked lilies in a vase in his studio, hoping to be able to smell them again, sometimes. The heady, pervasive scent of lilies reminds me of an important, very vital phase of my life, so that's maybe why I see lilies devoided of cold or gloomy aspects). The drydown is creamy, soft, sweet and slightly resinous, with cosmetic and musky undertones.
In short, a softly radiant, serene, seamlessly elegant fragrance, ideal match with a holiday facing "the blue honey of the Mediterranean" (F. Scott Fitzgerald)
I like the scent of lilies in perfume, if done well, but not so much lily of the valley which I find a bit harsh and soapy.
When I first tried Lys Mediterranee I feared it was a bit clean and LotV rather than lily. But on further wear I grew to love it. I wore it generously when out for a dressy evening party in winter, which is not when you'd imagine this perfume should be worn since it suggests summer. But actually it was just right for a dressy event.
It has an Audrey Hepburn-like elegance and charm - graceful, not very fleshy but pretty. Also, just like Hepburn, it has a grounded personality underlying the creamy clean lily. I tend to think its the note of ambergris which gives this a skin-scent saltiness and something that vaguely reminds me of labdanum, slightly sweaty though not indolic (makes me think of the scent of horse-hair). The animalic part is very subtle though. (Having said that, when I last wore this a handsome Japanese cellist kept sniffing my neck!)
I'm trying, and failing, to imagine this on the average man. For men who don't require a perfume to smell 'manly' (whatever that may be) it's lovely, it's not sweet and I think would suit a man wearing a light summer suit or shirt
If anything I'm reminded of a 1960s Dolce Vita aura - white/cream couture elegance - as opposed to a garden or the outdoors, but our impressions and associations are bound to differ.
Sadly I do not know flowers as much as I would like to, therefore I can really not “judge” the quality of the notes here – lily and muguet, or more in general this perfume as a whole from the point of view of its objective quality. What I can say though is that it opens with a breathtakingly vibrant and realistic feel which threw me right into a greenhouse: the smell not only of petals and leaves but also soil, stagnant water, dust, freshly-cut branches, humidity, and an almost perceivable and really fascinating rendition of that peculiar feel of “humid warmth” there’s often in greenhouses and florist shops – almost stale, opalescent, suspended. All of this with a fresher, brighter, zesty citrus-floral breeze coming from outside, to bring in also a more radiant “outdoor” feel (I guess the “Mediterranée” part of the concept). This perfume seems so simple, yet so deep and complex, carrying a powerful and romantic feel of nostalgia, slightly gloomy too, at the same time lively and relaxed – almost sleepy. It smells apparently clean and elegantly understated, but if you “listen” to it carefully, it has a lot of images and stories to narrate, with some unpredictable darker shades (the dust, the soil, the archaic rawness, the dreamy feel of warmth). As I was saying, I don’t know if the materials are objectively good here (they definitely seem to me though), but all of this I noted above is more than enough for me to consider Lys Mediterranée a fantastic, deep, sincere scent, absolutely worthy a sniff for any fan of flowers (and of perfumes in general, actually).