Fragrance Reviews by Galamb_Borong

A direct, to-the-point amber powerhouse. The top notes come on quite strong, lightly spicy, but not herbal to my nose, lending a gourmand quality to an amber already with a distinct caramel edge.

Despite being almost entirely focused on amber through its development, it isn't a one-note fragrance, and has a slow but recognizable development as it loses its edge and becomes gentle and vanillic.

Your feelings on this will depend almost entirely on how you feel about the amber genre. It's not complex, but it's high quality.

Iris and violet, with a light element of earthy spice. I'll trust the universal consensus that this is anise, but it smells a little more complex than that to my nose, as well as having a slight tinge of something animalic. For a violet perfume, this is very warm and earthy, only becoming more so as it develops, and the warm, vanillic base emerges. There is a touch of wet, floral drama in the top notes, but the melancholy evades me here, and I find Apres L'Ondee to be a comfort-blanket type of soft violet.

This review is for the now-discontinued parfum, which, despite being a parfum, has mild sillage and short longevity on my skin. It's probably my favorite Guerlain though, despite its ephemeral nature.

A pleasantly intense burst of herbal lavender in the top, bordering on pine-like and minty, and a touch of civet bridging to a softly spicy and powdery tonka bean base. Like many classic masculine EdT's, it's a little top-heavy, and its initial intensity goes soft quickly and it becomes faint and undetectable long before I'd like it to. Still, if you like a light, classical, beautifully composed men's fragrance, Pour Un Homme is sure to please.

As for me... I'd love either an EdP or parfum version!

Well, it's certainly different, but in this case, that doesn't mean good.

The top notes are sweet and powdery, yet have both a distinct button mushroom accord as well as something redolent of melted plastic. It dries down to something similar, but more soapy and floral. I do not smell violets.

It's quiet, but lasts decently.

It's really not horribly gross or offensive, it's just a smell I don't want on me. I do expect better from a Malle.

Of all the rose fragrances I've tried - and I've gone through dozens - this has been the most impressively real and rosy. A couple sprays and one feels encased in a million rose petals.

The effect is gorgeous and a little overwhelming. There is absolutely nothing subtle about the rose in Velvet Rose.

Most of the body of this fragrance is taken up by this massive rose note. In the top notes it's a fresh, living rose; in the heart it morphs into a faintly soapy, but still very natural rose, smelling like a rich, high-quality rose water. Deep into the base the rose finally gives up the ghost, and its voluminous sillage fades to a faint, skin-scent musk.

Simple, yet lovely. For lovers of roses only.

A fruity, transparent rose is joined by distinct notes of pepper, vetiver, iris, and patchouli.

Sweet, yet somehow reserved; cool, despite the oriental accord. It's classy; undeniably modern, but not at all my style.

Another little gem from the '80s pushed to the side by modern tastes, KL Homme seems to draw some of its inspiration from an even earlier fragrance - Estee Lauder's feminine classic, Youth Dew. The top notes draw on a very similar bergamot meets spiced, floral amber, but toned down in terms of volume and amped up on brightness via a fizzy burst of aldehydes. In the drydown KL Homme changes character, becoming an amber driven by patchouli and opoponax, a slight rosy hint making a showing in the heart before it becomes smoothly animalic in the base. It has a hint of smokiness and soapiness that gives it a slight synthetic vibe, but I find it quite wearable none the less. The longevity and sillage are quite robust, as many of this style and era are.

If you liked L'Ombre dans L'Eau but found it a little too "out there" for you, Fleurs de Bulgarie might be just what you're looking for. Same burst of bright green galbanum-tinted top notes - perhaps a faint touch of something herbal here, too - but much more reserved and polite in its marriage of green and rose, being subtler, darker, drier, and soapier, with a distinct "clean" edge that I think would suit many men seeking a rose fragrance. It's old-fashioned, but not in the least powdery, to its credit, drying down to a light, woody base.

Not my cup of tea, but it impressed me none the less as well made and distinguished.

I'm not smelling the magic here. For the vast majority of its development, Nahema reminds me of some some musty rose oil heavily diluted in vegetable oil. It is not strange per se, but it's a smell I expect from a "fragrance oil" rack at a drug-store and not from a Guerlain classic. In addition to this rose accord, I smell an artificial-smelling vanilla and peach, and something almost akin to sunscreen.

It doesn't smell like any fruity-floral fragrance I've smelled, but as much as I'm not a fan of the category, most of them smell quite a bit nicer than this. At least they usually have a little life and vibrancy, quite unlike this sad, dull juice.

Not what I expected, to say the least! This, the classic chypre, the chypre that started it all, is rather plain, demure, and unassuming. If you're hunting this down for history's sake do not expect something dark, edgy, and complex, like Mitsouko. While well-made and not flawed, I find myself a little amazed that this is the fragrance that inspired the whole genre and thousands of perfumes along with it.

What does it smell like? Why, a chypre, of course - bergamot in the top notes, green-tinged florals in the heart, and a mellow, mossy base. Very light, fresh, and green. I'd be hard pressed to put my finger on what makes it any different from many fragrances just like it.

I find myself not quite sure what to think of this, but one thing is clear - it's very green! If you like green chypres, give this one a try for sure.

The bright, tangy, galbanum opening melds interestingly with a herbal background. It's a little discordant for my tastes, but not offensively so, and in the heart it becomes a little smoother with well-meshed florals sweetening it some. Despite the pyramid, I smell neroli more distinctly in the heart, and there is a nice mixture of floral, citrus, and green. The base is lightly mossy, but in general this is a fairly ephemeral fragrance, with most of its "oomph" in the top and heart.

I'm not quite sure if I like this, but it's got me interested, which is more than enough for a thumbs up from me

An old guy sits down to watch the evening's game on his favorite leather recliner, and up puffs a cloud of dust from the ragged, wheezing cushions - that is the smell of Punjab. I appreciate older, retro fragrances, but Punjab is unrelentingly musty and flat to my nose, its spiced leather accord devoid of all life and vibrancy. It sweetens and mellows slightly after many hours, but not so much that it's appealing, merely so much that it's no longer unpleasant. All in all, it makes me want to run outside, breathe in the fresh air, and see living things.

Not awful, not nice; original, but not interesting; unwearable, at least for me.

In MKK I smell a sweet, almost creamy, and quite powdery accord with a slightly fecal background of musk, castoreum, and civet. The effect is a little like an elephant hidden behind lace curtains, and much more innocent than naughty. I find it about average in strength, totally linear, and very pleasant to wear, if not quite inspiring enough to make it worth a trek to Paris.

Of course, given that musk anosmia is quite common, I might just not be smelling what others are.

Opulence in a fragrance. Everything about this is luxuriant, rich, and over the top, and I just love it - it's my favorite amber.

The opening accords are lightly spicy and boozy, richly sweet, and very strong. Dessert wine; honeyed tea; hot apple cider - I find it difficult pin-point just what analogy can convey the effect. It is quite a complex fragrance and almost assaults you for the first little with its heady bouquet, but it's neither harsh nor garish. In the heart, a heavily animalic amber emerges, still sweet but now thickly musky and touch dirty at that. As it develops, the amber turns dark and faintly smoky towards the base.

The sillage and longevity are both very good on me, as ambers in general tend to be.

May '09:

Vetiver Ordinaire, perhaps?

I really wish I could feel some enthusiasm for this, but I just can't. It smells so very plain. It's a well balanced vetiver note pretending to be a complete fragrance, and the soon-vanishing pepper top note does nothing to relieve the monotony. After the first thirty seconds, this is all about vetiver, to the point where I can't help wondering if this is mostly just vetiver essential oil diluted in alcohol.

Now, don't get me wrong. Unlike some essential oils, like petigrain or nutmeg, vetiver essential oil makes pleasant wearing as a fragrance. However, I really expect more from a fragrance sold at Frederic Malle prices.

To be fair, it does last a while - about fourteen hours through its epic non-development - and its sillage is adequate.

If this is a masterpiece, it owes nothing to Malle and Ropion and everything to Chrysopogon Zizanioides.

September '09:

After a summer of wearing this semi-regularly, my opinion has gone a complete 180 since I first tried it and wrote the above.

While Vetiver Extraordinaire is minimalist, the grassy vetiver note is framed in a delightful and refreshing way. Pepper in the top notes and that persistent, peculiar "airy" note that gives the vetiver a nice lift and makes it quite refreshing.

While I generally prefer smoky, earthy vetivers this vetiver is still potent and long lasting despite being fresh and grassy. It's great in warm weather, and if I lived in a hot climate I'd own it for sure.

Starts out intriguingly earthy but quickly morphs into an intense accord of BEETS. I know this vegetable too well to smell anything else, and while the picture painted is vivid, it's not a smell I want on my skin.

A beautiful tea and rose fragrance that lasts mere seconds. How does one even review a fragrance with this little longevity...?

Cuir d'Iris is one of the most interesting leather fragrances on the market. Deep, dark, complex, and unique - what more do you need?

Like most leather fagrances, Cuir d'Iris uses another note to imitate tanned hide - here, castoreum, and a lot of it. It's the first thing noticeable on application, and forms the core of this fragrance. Restraining the animal warmth is a dusty iris, cardamon, and a peculiar dry tannic quality PG used also in Iris Taizo. The effect is smoky and mysterious, forgoing the oriental voluptuousness many fragrances temper their leather note with. A faint vanilla is discernible in the base, lending a touch of calming warmth.

This juice is very powerful and long lasting, so it's best to apply to with caution in order to appreciate its subtleties.

This was once my favorite fragrance, but over time, my tastes have changed, and it isn't down to reformulation.

Knize Ten opens with a strong leather, somewhat tarry and rooty at the same time. The top notes are brief, quickly morphing into a fragrance that's much cleaner, fairly soapy, and heavily powdery, the leather note backed up by an ambery-floral accord. It's quite rich, tenacious, and powerful.

I probably could have written volumes on this fragrance when I loved it, but I feel indifferent to it now that I've smelled - in my opinion - more fragrances and much better leathers.

Ack! Starts out a rather intriguingly rich and slightly fruity-floral, but a few minutes after application it warps into a foul detergent smell I just couldn't wait to wash off. Worse than cheap.

I wish I could warm to this one, but my reactions to Yatagan range on a scale from "grin and bear it" to "please get it off me". The pine and castoreum meet and create an unpleasantly smoky, sweaty accord, unnervingly meaty yet rather human at the same time. I hate to resort to disgusting imagery, but Yatagan is a powerful muse, and smells of rancid, pine-smoked meat crammed up an unwashed anus.

It's unique, well-made, and oh yes, very tenacious, so I want to smell what others do, but my nose just won't let me. Sorry, Yatagan fans - enjoy, but keep a safe distance from me.

Not quite the monster I was expecting it to be. In fact, it's a bit of a gentleman, entertaining you over wine and dessert while smoking a fine cigar.

The top notes are surprisingly Youth Dew-esque, bergamot meeting heavy amber before spiced and honeyed tobacco rides in on a tide of syrupy booze. While sweet, the effect is not as cloying as it sounds. In fact it's a great deal less sweet than gourmand tobaccos such as Ambre Narguile, and in the drydown the booze slowly departs, leaving a rather earthy tobacco with a distinct touch of moss and patchouli. I find it very wearable.

Success is an old-fashioned portrait of manliness painted with alcohol and tobacco, part gentlman's club; part machismo. Perhaps it's out-dated, but if you're reading a review of an obscure, retro men's fragrance, it could be just what you're looking for. Sadly, this fragrance is both discontinued and terribly underrated, so get it while you can.

As a friend said, "It makes a grand entrance, but leaves the party too soon". If it lasted on me, Iquitos would be among my all-time favorites, but it's all head and no body. While it's around it makes a good impression.

The top notes are of a piquant fruity-floral variety I've experienced in Czech & Speake's No. 88, an accord not unlike grape crush but richer and denser. In No. 88 the effect is smooth and deep, but an ample dose of aldehydes makes Iquitos effervescent to the point of brusqueness. This contrast of lush and angular notes is a little touch of genius in a bottle, and really what makes Iquitos unique.

Perhaps inevitably, the drydown fails to live up to the promise of the top. The fragrance brightens and simplifies, the heart consisting of a powdery, apple-tinted rose with a touch of jasmine, an amiable leather gradually emerging in the hushed sillage of the base. I find it neither woody nor particularly patchouli heavy, especially given how inseparable rose and patchouli are in so many modern rose soliflores.

I'm sad that this is discontinued, as it spoke "rose" in a unique way, but I could also wish it had a fuller and more complex base. I can only hope some up-and-coming perfumer steals the good ideas from Iquitos and does something new with them...

Not quite sure if the classification fits, but this fragrance strikes me as a feminine take on the classic fougère accord. The top notes are clearly detectable but blend nicely, the lavender taking a slight back seat to the lemon and tarragon, the latter lending its herbal tinge to the heart as the powdery floral notes emerge in the drydown. The florals remind me of rose talc with a dash of clove and jasmine. The base is softly vanillic and a little creamy.

The sillage is quite low, but this is very persistent on my skin.

Rounded citrus top notes leading to a soft, powdery drydown ( the ambery-sweet base notes somewhat remind me of Shalimar - go figure ). Unexpectedly nice for a masculine on the cheap side. The longevity is disappointingly poor, however.

The top notes have a sweet, creamy-citrus quality that segues into a more interesting drydown of frankincense, cedar and amber. A more vanillic quality is apparent deep in the base, but in general this remains a simple, dry amber once the sweetness of the top notes departs.

I think L'Air is a fragrance that gains tremendously from subtle use. A heavy application and this can be unpleasantly blunt and tarry, with a rather off-smelling citrus at the start, but applied sparingly and the effect is much more pleasing and refined.

If I was going to spring for a niche amber this wouldn't be it, but it's very wearable and rightly popular.

I find this to be a beautiful scent - it reminds of dry grass on a warm summer evening. It's not much more complicated than that to my nose, but it captures a memory of a certain time and place perfectly for me.

White Linen starts off smelling strangely Avante Garde for something so well known and traditional. Intense, bitter, soapy, snuffed-candle aldehydes screech out of the bottle like the opening chords of Penderecki's Threnody For The Victims Of Hiroshima, smelling sharply alien and devoid of life, botanical or otherwise. Of course, White Linen would be unbearable if it stayed this way, and it doesn't, quickly shifting into something I can best describe as rose-water soap. It is exceedingly soapy all the way through its drydown, but not in an unpleasant or simplistic way. Probably the closest thing to White Linen's drydown is vigorously rubbing a bar of soap on your wrist, then adding the faintest dash of floral talc. It's a sexless, synthetic, inorganic smell, but really, it's very good at doing what it does - and for that, I applaud it.

I've heard there's been a big change in the reformulation, so I should note that this review is for the current version.

The top notes of GG are almost coyly misleading - a bright, tangy-sweet, powdery lemon note dominates. If you've had those lemon drops with the tart powder inside, you'll know the effect. As the top notes wear off, however there is a distinct upwelling of exceedingly skanky, animalic patchouli, vetiver, and civet; very loud and almost "hot" in a bestial way. I find patchouli often gives me an uncomfortably unclean feeling, and GG lays on that sweaty patchouli with a trowel.

I like animalic fragrances, but this was too much for me, and I wound up trading my blind-bought bottle away. None the less, reformulation or not, this is very good, very bold, and unique.

I'm generally either indifferent or critical of many fragrances in the "fruity" genre, but AL02 is head and shoulders above any fruity fragrance I've tried before. There is none of those neon-lit candy fruits that dominate the genre, rather a rich yet subtle aroma of spiced and stewed fruits; apple, pear, and especially fig striking my nose, with a touch of dried-apricot and prune in the mixture. Cardamon and cinnamon lend a spicy touch, a smooth creaminess is lent by vanilla, and there is a distinct vibe of incense through the heart and base. Perhaps surprisingly, AL02 is not especially sweet and certainly not floral to my nose, smelling like real fruit rather than some fruit-flavoring approximation for the nose. The drydown shares some characteristics with the classic Feminite du Bois, but without the woody, vinegary tang that makes that unwearable on me.

The longevity and sillage are only moderate, but if you like the idea of a subtle, complex fruit fragrance for adults, give this one a try!

I really like this fragrance's rose, oud, patchouli, and saffron combination. The mix is hardly unique, but there's something very wearable and almost "friendly" about it that sets it apart from the likes of the bold Black Aoud or the reserved Dark Rose. I don't smell truffles, but rather a Christmas-cake vibe that steers this slightly into gourmand territory.

Oud seems to come in a lot of varieties, and the oud note here is a softer, mellower oud note than most I've experienced, not at all "barnyard" or medicinal. Its closest kin in my experience is the oud note in Montale's Original Oud.

Unfortunately, Noir de Noir has a huge down side for me: fleeting longevity. It lasts an hour at most before disappearing entirely into the air, which is why it gets a neutral rating. If this lasted the way Tobacco Vanille did, it would be thumbs up for sure.

I've heard from others and even my own mother that this is a shadow of what it was. I've never tried the vintage stuff, but none the less, I like the modern Youth Dew! It smells disconcertingly musty and spicy top to base, but there's something intriguingly off-beat about it, from its tangy, brusk citrus and spice opening to its rich ambery-oriental base ( I don't find it floral ). There is some accord here that strikes me as uniquely "Youth Dew", but I'm at a loss to name it.

The longevity and sillage are really quite epic. I wear many powerhouses, but this is unquestionably a one-spray fragance on me.

I find Amir to be a very pleasant incensey amber, a touch of smoke at the beginning leading to a round, opoponax-laden amber. It's not very complex, but it's very wearable, and has good longevity despite its weak sillage.

I'd wear it if I owned a bottle, but I'm not racing out to buy it.

Bay leaf and tarragon added to powdery, soapy parsnips with a sweet citrus edge? Run away! Run away! None of the notes themselves are offensive, but it's an olfactory orgy of what doesn't belong together.

To give them their due for originality, I have never smelled anything else like this, and thankfully so. It's a true scrubber.

The top notes are somewhat akin to the legendary Iris Silver Mist, the combination of carrot and iris being used again here, together with a large dollop of anise, but the spicy, earthy, rooty qualities found in ISM are absent, leaving Iris Pallida feeling rather reserved, and in a sense, "paler". The anise is strong and absinthesque, totally removed from any licorice-candy associations. In the drydown, Iris Pallida becomes very soapy, almost unpleasantly so, given the bone-dry backdrop of an increasingly woody iris, cedar, and anise.

Pay no attention to the "feminine" designation if you're worried about this being too sweet or floral - it couldn't be further away. This is a very dry, clean, almost ascetic iris, stripped of all opulence.

The top notes have the most personality in this fragrance. There's a distinct dried-herb accord; a touch of the garrigue, and then an upwelling of sweetness. This warm, sweet honeycomb note gives Moss Breches a sore-throat lozenge feel.

The balance is brief, however, and quickly the herbs and honey vanish, leaving a pleasant and unassuming vanillic amber with a mossy touch.

It's nice, but it doesn't motivate me to restock in either bottle or decant form once my sample runs out.

I find the top notes quite enjoyable. They give off a strong newly-peeled orange smell, quite vivid and realistic. For better or worse, this smell gets dirtier as it progresses, as though you've bitten into a decomposing part of an orange, yet continue to eat. I used to not like it, but my tolerance for funky off-notes has gone way up since I started this hobby, so I usually have a small decant on hand for the summer months.

Unlike others here, I don't have longevity issues - it lasts a fair while for a citrus. I do, however, have sillage issues, so I tend to reserve it for steamy days, when the sillage really radiates off the skin.

Ah, Fracas - its reputation precedes it! Yes, everything you've heard is true. It's big, it's showy, it's loud. It's a tuberose that oozes luxury and good living, and yes, it's as subtle as a hand grenade at a baby shower.

I was initially put off by Fracas' top notes - too bright and aldehydic, retro, and perhaps a bit girly. However, after numerous wearings, I've grown to love it, especially in the drydown. Give this one a chance to bloom on your skin before judging. The tuberose note is crisp and clean, and is a somewhat abstract rendering of the flower, more of the opera house than the garden. There is a distinct spiciness to the blend, a faint soapiness, and a generally cool and "airy" vibe heightened by the more soft spoken florals that halo the tuberose. Muguet? Gardenia? Perhaps, but Fracas is a very seamless creation, and it's hard to pick out its facets amid the white floral sheen.

The longevity and sillage are very good on both counts, but if you can wear other loud florals, there shouldn't be a problem.

A pure and transparent jasmine; warm, but having a faint cool, soapy note in the drydown. The sillage is quite attractive, as it has ample spread without ever feeling heavy. It's a nice "middling" jasmine, neither too strong nor too weak.

Easy; likable; simple as can be.

Take this review with a grain of salt, as others have experienced something quite different in Tuscan Leather, but I am almost overwhelmed by the fruity, tangy raspberry note! The leather is there to be sure, and as others have said, it's a very true, pure "jacket" leather note, but the raspberry is first among equals, from top to base ( I find it totally linear ).

If I wanted to smell like a handbag filled with summer pudding, Tuscan Leather would be my holy grail - it really is quite phenomenal in the vibrancy and accuracy of both sides of its raspberry/leather duality. Unfortunately, this isn't exactly what I was seeking in a leather fragrance...

The ginger here reminds of the dried, powdered spice rather than the fresh living root. I have a strong preference for the latter, so something like Five O'Clock wasn't meant for me anyhow, but it's a decent if uninspiring rendition of ginger with a woody-gourmand base. Surprisingly for a gourmand, it's not especially sweet. I don't smell tea in this, but perhaps that's the woodiness I smell here - it does have a rather tannic quality.

What is the "bois" note? To me, it smells of cedar, pepper, and pickled apricots, and to a greater or lesser degree is present in all of the Lutens' Bois series. Here it is the dominant note, with a slightly dusty incense in the background softening the focus a touch.

It's well made and not exactly unpleasant, but there's something about the sourness of the fruit note that just makes this a no for me.

Well, I've had to revise this review sooner than expected...! A few more wearings have given me an altogether different impression than I first had.

The top notes are a rather heavy, opaque citrus-geranium-rose, the accord reminding me strongly of palmarosa. There is something dark and oriental that seems to weigh down the top. The citrus notes are not of the effervescent cologne variety, and a head-to-toe darkness defines the fragrance. In the drydown, a rich naturalistic rose and geranium seem to merge with the smoky, syrupy amber note some have dubbed the "Tauerade", together with a spicy side that lingers on the edge of identification There is some moss in the base, but its not really detectable as an individual presence, rather it's a matte background on which the fragrance is layered on top of. Those familiar with the older Caron and Guerlain parfums will recognize the "feel". That being said, this is as much an oriental as a chypre, if not more.

On my skin, this acts very much like a parfum - great longevity; weak sillage. In fact, a little too weak for me, as it stays a skin scent after the first few hours.

Chypre Rose is easily my favorite Tauer creation, and I think its also his most complex and interesting fragrance to date. I see a steady evolution from the rather simple and brash Le Maroc, to the subtler and more well rounded Incense Rose, to this, a very refined and multifaceted treatment of the note.

Beyond Love is somewhere in the region between Fracas and Carnal Flower, but somewhat "less" than either in scope and volume. It's a simple and pleasant tuberose, moving from greenish to peach-tinged and musky, but other than that - all tuberose! Unfortunately it's also a rather flat tuberose to my nose, so I can't say I'm awed by it, but it's certainly exceedingly pleasant and wearable.

What a sleeper! This is dazzling - the perfect tuberose for a tropical evening.

The top notes are delightful as they are unexpected, ginger rather than tuberose being the first thing I smell - I'm reminded of ginger beer. Quickly, the floral side emerges, ylang-ylang and a greenish jasmine, together with the defining "it" note that really sets this apart from other fragrances: sugar cane juice. The heart of the fragrance is an exquisite balance between the sugar cane note and the florals, the persistent ylang-ylang and jasmine being joined by a creamy, Fracas-esque tuberose in the heart ( this is certainly not a big tuberose, nor is the fragrance particularly dominated by the tuberose note, but it's the star as well as a team player ). Deep into the base, a coconuty benzoin note joins the softly fading florals, perhaps an infinitissimal drop of musk showing up, too.

This fragrance is a nice balance of contrasts, managing to be sweet but never cloying, strange but never discordant, and complex without any heaviness. It's unique among the tuberoses I've smelled in its transparency and cleanness, but it has more than adequate sillage and decent longevity on my skin.

I've tried this a number of times now, and I'm still not sure if I can say whether I like it or not. It certainly has a lot of personality.

The top notes, as others have said, are the most interesting part - there's all sorts of things going on, and it manages to be a combination of floral, aquatic, gourmand, and earthy, all with a delectably over-ripe quality ( if you like a lot of "dirty" with your nice, this one is for you ). It's hard for me to decipher the fruity-floral notes out - I smell a jasmine-esque something that peaks in the heart - but it seems anchored in a doughy-vanilla, an aquatic note, that mysterious "dirt" note that some identify as mushroom but smells closer to an earthy vetiver to me, and most of all, patchouli. In the drydown it reached a point where it's simpler, only the dirt, patchouli, and aquatic edge remaining. There is a resemblance to Chanel's Allure Sensuelle, but Black Orchid's dirt note is preferable to Allure Sensuelle's cheese and plastic, despite the otherwise similar base.

The sillage and longevity are truly epic, and as a fan of both qualities, I can tell you it delivers both in quantity. It lasts through showers, baths, and an evening of swimming in the Atlantic. If you get any on your clothes, prepare to have a dedicated "Black Orchid" shirt for a few washes.

As some have said before me, Black Orchid is this decade's Poison. It's big, it's loud, it's complex, and it's a little weird. It's a fragrance phenomena, and well worth trying, for better or worse.

The top notes are rather bright, aldehydic, and citrussy, backed by a vaguely "fresh" accord that persists through the fragrance. In the heart and base it takes on a certain sweet mustiness; not quite floral, and certainly not natural, with a sharp, soapy, chlorinated edge. I've tried this three times now, actively trying to like it - or at least smell what the previous reviewers smelled - to no avail.

If this is the moss of the future, then count me out of the chypre genre. It's not even a case of authentic versus synthetic... It's like being fed packing peanuts as opposed to the real thing. As for jasmine, it's simply not there.

An utter failure.

Magnolia is a tricky flower to imitate. In nature, it smells perfectly balanced and beautiful; in fragrance it seems much more problematic, often inaccurate, harsh, and unpleasantly sour ( something I've experienced even in fragrances using real magnolia absolute extracted from the flowers themselves ). Given this, SMN's version is an especially heartening success.

The top notes are a bright, fresh, green-floral accord of galbanum and magnolia, without the powdery aldehydes of many older green florals or the aquatic notes so common in modern ones. In the drydown the whole fragrance seems to bloom like the opening of a bud, a gentle jasmine, muguet, and musk joining the magnolia accord, adding softness without covering the green tartness inherent in magnolia.

This is quite a simple fragrance, but very charming and wearable, with adequate sillage and good longevity. I highly recommended it; it's easily the best magnolia I've tried, and was just perfect for the hot summer day I experienced it in.

It smelled bold and peculiar at first - violets and tar!? Something petrochemical? I was all geared up for it to be something interesting and Comme des Garcons-esque when it had a fatal collision in candy cane lane, and a sickening berry-candy note took over and swamped the violet. Another tragic statistic from Creed, and an example of why gummy bears should be kept at least a hundred meters away from any fragrance.

Smells incensey in the top notes, then turns into tar and tires, then turns into a vanillic musk. Bulgari Black suceeds in what CdG Tar was attempting: turning roadwork into a wearable fragrance. Surprisingly delightful, and I love that bottle!

Olene is a white-hot white floral that sears itself into your brain like a lightning bolt. Jasmine and muguet, but lacking the smooth, pleasing roundness of the real flowers, being both a simpler and more stripped down accord as well as being ten times louder than nature's version. This is a sharp fragrance, but surprisingly not heavy given the volume of the sillage. It lasts a long time, too, developing a slight mushroomy quality far into the base I've yet to identify.

Bold and shocking but not particularly unique or interesting, this is a floral with amphetamine psychosis.

The top notes are great, a fruity-curried accord reminding me of the much more obscure and expensive Fougere Bengale or Marquis de Sade. I'd say it contains immortelle, but immortelle is usually a long-lasting note, and this vanishes in a few minutes, leaving a pallid aquatic citrus that's quite unremarkable, gradually fading to a vetiver-lite base. Also, I don't like mint, but if you're expecting it here, prepare to be disappointed. Neat bottle, though!

Bold violets, soapy aldehydes, and a peculiar bitter note combine to make something magical and greater than its parts. I wish I could write more... but I'm at a loss to truly describe this. It's unique, it's haunting, and I highly recommend it.

What wonderful top notes! I'd never realized how much rose and ginger are well-paired until smelling Brigette. The big, jammy rose note is cut beautifully with a fiery ginger, the effect being very bright and vibrant while distinctly oriental. Sadly, all good things must come to an end, and the ginger departs, leaving a larger-than-life rose and musk combo that's disturbingly air-freshener-esque at points. In the heart I feel myself treading water in a sea of rose potpouri ( did I mention the sillage is as subtle as a hand-grenade? ) Far into the base the rose fades, and Brigette becomes a vanillic musk.

It's not the perfect fragrance, at least for me, but it's unique and very underrated.

What else can I say but - it's worth the price! In terms of ultra-cheap colognes, this is surprisingly very nice, and more interesting than most.

It opens up citrusy with a slight bitter herbal touch, and soon pleasant, foody cinnamon and rosewood notes come in. It's very light, so after half an hour it's gone, but there's no harm in re- and even over-applying. In fact, it's nearly impossible over-do this stuff.

First of all, a word of caution to others - do not trust the wax sample interpretation of this fragrance! Sample first, sample first, sample first. I was warned, but it still came as quite a shock how different the actual juice is.

The top note is an oddly flat satsuma note. It's difficult to explain, but it's as though all the effervescence and tang inherent to citrus has been squeezed out, leaving an almost sombre mandarin. ( I, too, have soap associations with this smell; it reminds me of certain dish- and hand-soaps with a satsuma scent. This fragrance is not at all soapy to my nose, though; it's just a very similar fragrance note. ) Slowly a warm spiciness starts to creep in, and the top note takes on a strangely savory character; doughy and fruitier and almost... like ketchup. As the spiciness develops so does a floral aspect, in what smells like a collision between the aforementioned satsuma, celery seed, immortelle, and another Serge Lutens fragrance, Fleurs d'Oranger ( i.e. orange flower, jasmine, and tuberose ). This core is the most beautiful and interesting stage to me. Gradually - very gradually - this mix fades into a sweet, musky, animalic, slightly ambery base; very subtle and not smoky or "dark" to my nose.

One of the unique qualities of this fragrance is an ultra-slow development, which I've heard of, but haven't experienced elsewhere. It seems to slowly go through numerous stages, a different facet of its character emerging here and there.

The biggest flaw I find with Mandarine Mandarin is that is has the most minimal sillage I have ever encountered. It's as though after the first half an hour, the fragrance disappears into the skin. I can only smell it by pressing my nose to my skin, making it useless as a personal fragrance for me. I've never had this problem with any other Lutens; and it seems it others don't share this experience. The longevity is otherwise fine.

This was just nasty on me, and not "sexy nasty"; it's "Who put the angel food cake down the laundry chute?" nasty. I starts out mild and sweet, a slightly spicy, rather gourmand vanilla; a distant cousin of Habit Rouge, but during the drydown an acrid detergent note takes over entirely.

If the sillage wasn't so weak, this would be a wrist-scrubber...

( I tried this on the suggestion that it's a superior version of Burberry's London. It's nothing alike to my nose. )

On application I thought there had been some terrible mistake - did someone give me a sample of pure rubbing alcohol??? As this harsh, medicinal smell faded, a myrrh note slowly emerged, and I remembered that, actually, myrrh essential oil naturally has a very similar medicinal top note, exaggerated here, but still recognizable. Eventually it settles down to a rubbery, one-note myrrh that hugs the skin but lasts a decent amount of time. It's a little flat, but otherwise this is pretty much what myrrh oil smells like diluted in alcohol - and at Demeter prices, it almost seems worth it to have that pre-mixed and on hand.

Wearable? Maybe... But then, I'm a myrrh nut, and you should be too if you want to go near this stuff.

The top notes of this sure are busy! Messe de Minuit opens with a rush of citrus; a fresh, effervescent, and bitter; lemon and orange met with hints of cumin and cinnamon. I love purplebird's description of "tonic water and pineapple" - it's dead-on as far as the citrus is concerned. After the spicy-citrus top notes, the frankincense and myrrh dominate the heart, both notes being given a very smooth and rounded interpretation, amber and opoponax coming through on a quieter level. In the base, I smell predominantly patchouli, just a hint of the myrrh and opoponax holding on.

This happens to be one of the few fragrances where I smell the separation between top, heart, and base very clearly.

The sillage was rather low for my tastes, but the longevity was decent.

While not "light", certainly the vibe of this is quite far from a midnight mass, or anything nocturnal... it's warm, calming, and happy. A summer morning in a Mediterranean cathedral, perhaps?

Not at all groundbreaking, but so exceedingly pleasant and wearable I just have to give it a thumbs up.

It starts out a fruity and slightly spicy tobacco, mellow and very rounded - tinned tobacco, not a lit cigar. In the drydown the fruitiness disappears, replaced by a tinge of vanillic amber. There's not much to it other than that, and I really can't say the note pyramid has any relevance to what I smell here.

If you find something like Tom Ford's Tobacco Vanille far too heavy, give this a try. It's so transparent I'd wear it on the hottest summer day, and it certainly can beat all the niche tobaccos when it comes to price. It's not vintage port, but sometimes you feel like a Diet Pepsi, you know?

Though the sillage is somewhat soft, I don't seem to have the longevity issues others have experienced.

On paper, this smells like a very pleasant lemony neroli - quite delicious. On my skin, however, this very quickly changes into a very HARSH lemon fragrance, and stays that way for a good few hours. After that, it fades to a sweet, mild oakmoss-chypre base.

Only moderate longevity, but quite good for a citrus. Sillage quite good, but suddenly soft once the lemon vanishes.

I wish my skin chemistry didn't do what it does to this fragrance, but I'm giving this the benefit of the doubt, so try it on yourself first - it could be just the citrus you're looking for.

I had such high hopes for this one, and I was really trying to keep an open mind, but this is flat-out nasty on me.

The top notes are promising. A spicy rose note emerges and promises to bloom, but instead it shrivels, smelling like mashed and dessicated rose petals, musty and dark and dry. In the heart the patchouli comes forward, together with a soapy quality that gains in strength as the rose fades even more, becoming quite acrid and soapy in the base.

The sillage and longevity are just okay, but not satisfactory - about three hours on me. Thankfully this won't be a regular on my shelf anytime soon, so it's not my problem...

I find this dull and lifeless and acrid. No thanks!

The top notes are strange and attention grabbing - metallic, rubbery, aldehydic, powdery, and tart, in a way that reminds me of NOTHING natural, animal, botanical, or human. This is truly artificial-smelling, albeit more wearable than some of the CdG Synthetic series.

In the drydown it mellows out considerably, losing it's sharp, metallic top-notes and stabilizing to a powdery rubber fragrance with a bitter edge.

Thumbs just barely up, as it may be freakish, but at least it is in a distinctive way.

A comment of a friend is worth noting in the light of difference of opinion: "It smells like SUPER coconut". I have no clue as to what she's smelling, but it just goes to show this is a try-it-yourself-first fragrance!

Cabaret strikes me as a fragrance that's not quite yet been made; a pleasant accord that doesn't lead anywhere, but doesn't have enough character and interest to stand up on its own as a "minimalist" fragrance.

All in all, it's just too simple for my tastes - a slightly tart, slightly fruity, slightly powdery take on rose that's quiet and soft and totally linear.

It's weak on sillage, and only middling on longevity.

A little girl in pink skips by a rose bush. The End.

As far as I'm concerned, this is THE lilac fragrance and Giacobetti's masterpiece. It's more art than perfume, and less something to wear than a journey to somewhere else.

The accord of En Passant is quite linear and simple - dew-covered lilacs. Somehow the effect it achieves with that is far more than that sounds, the hyper-realism of green, floral, and dewy notes all coming together to make something vividly, amazingly real; a garden morning at the brink of sunrise. It's minimalist, yet I find something new in it on each wearing.

The sillage is moderate, but the longevity is quite good. Surprisingly so considering how ethereal it is.

One of my all-time favorite fragrances, despite being a million miles away from the rich, complicated orientals that usually occupy my attention.

I love Fougère Bengale. It's my favorite immortelle fragrance, and I've tried quite a few.

Yes, it smells like curry, but it doesn't just smell like curry - it's green, it's spicy, it's herbal, and its fougère touch gives it a classic men's fragrance feel.

The top notes are lavender and coriander with immortelle peaking through in the background. The coriander note is like coriander leaves to me - greenly spicy rather than a spice cupboard effect. Think of the chopped cilantro used in Indian and Mexican food. The lavender is herbal, its floral qualities hidden. It's all very fresh and transparent initially, though it is - thankfully, given my tastes - free of citrus and aquatic notes.

In the heart the immortelle dominates, but slowly it mellows and the oakmoss makes itself at home, green and slightly bitter, with tobacco and a touch of a vanillic base. All very pleasant, gentle and unobtrusive.

I find the sillage good but the longevity a little wanting - I could do with more than the six to eight hours it gives me. That being said, its charm, lightness, and easy wearability paired with an unusual spicy-gourmand-meets-green-fougère accord make it a real winner in my book.

The top notes of Eau Noire are quite sharp: a nose-pinching bite of herbal lavender that is a charming introduction. Within a few minutes it fades abruptly, leaving a light, powdery immortelle touched with vanilla. If there was a Sables Light, it would smell like this.

All in all it's nice, but unremarkable. Average longevity, but very much a skin scent once the top-notes fade.

If you like this, try Annick Goutal's Sables and Parfum D'Empire's Fougere Bengale.

I do not know what cassie smells like, but I'm thinking it must be related to mimosa, as the fragrance this most strongly reminded me of was Caron's Farnesiana. It shares a curiously thick, doughy texture with that fragrance, but without the other gourmand elements found there. Instead, the flower-dough core is surrounded by car exhaust; smelling this is like smelling flowers by a highway, on a day with bad air pollution. It's not smoky, dark, dirty, animalic or even oddly petrochemical the way some fragrances are, but it is most assuredly smoggy, and this smog note is the first thing I notice about this fragrance and is - hopefully - its unique feature.

All in all, I find it very linear. It's a little "fresher" in the first few minutes, but there is no big difference between when it's put on and when it disappears ( twelve or so hours later, on me ). The sillage is moderate, and all in all this is in no way a big, luxuriant floral; in fact it's rather reserved. But then, I love big white florals, so I may have different standards than most!

I find this a combination of rich and plain; a Bavarian cream of an oriental, fun and uncomplicated.

There is a distinct "cinnamon bun" accord in the top, the gourmand association of cinnamon, cloves, vanilla, and I think mace giving it a dessert-like quality. Soon it dries down to a rich, creamy, yet oddly petrochemical musk. I found myself hunting for something to compare it to - tar? parrafin? new boots? - but the closest I can come is the smell of black indelible marker. This isn't freakish or experimental at all, it's just that the piquant edge to this fragrance is not animalic to my nose, but rather a distinctly clean and man-made note that makes this fragrance wearable as opposed to merely appetizing.

I find this pleasing and wearable in all weather. I find the sillage good, but not overwhelming, and the longevity exceptional. I think a lack of complexity here prevents me from being more enthusiastic than I am, though. It's such a nice accord I kind of wish there was more TO it, but perhaps if there was it wouldn't be as personable and all-weather as it is. As of now, I don't find it bottle worthy. I don't think I'd ever get sick of it - but I just might get bored...

Nice heart, but this is a fragrance that begins and ends with disappointment.

The top notes are very odd - like dill pickles! Fortunately this lasts only a minute before it morphs into a demure gardenia, true to the flower to my nose if a bit dry and papery next to the real thing. After a couple hours the gardenia dissipates and leaves a tuberose that smells for all the world like a very, very soft version of Fracas. Then it disappears.

It is a pleasant white floral fragrance, but compared to white florals like Carnal Flower, Fracas, Fleurs D'Oranger and Tubereuse Criminelle, this has neither the longevity nor the personality to make it worth my while. If you're looking for a gardenia fragrance, however, this is worth trying, especially given that it's much cheaper and more obtainable than some niche gardenias.

This is a quality fragrance, but I should warn that the civet in this latches onto my skin chemistry and shouts from the hill-tops, combining with the rose to form a jammy yet fecal note that makes it unwearable on my skin. It's fine on paper though, so sample this one for yourself before hunting down a bottle of this discontinued fragrance.

I find this a fairly linear rose chypre strong on the animalic elements, a civet-hued moss forming a backdrop to a rose that's somewhere between jammy and transparent, but not particularly natural. Sillage is good and longevity is Herculean.

If you're looking for a modern replacement, Serge Lutens' Rose de Nuit is related but darker and more complex, using a leathery castoreum instead of civet. Estee Lauder's Knowing is a much more readily available designer, also in a similar floral-chypre vein.

Last winter I went through an iris jag and tried a couple dozen iris fragrances, so it takes something special to impress me in this category. Iris Taizo has done just that.

There are a variety of ways to interpret iris. I've seen it done wet, earthy, and rooty in Iris Silver Mist, soapy in Iris Bleu Gris, softly green in Bois d'Iris, tangy in Iris 39, and dry and powdery in Boid d'Argent. Iris Taizo belongs to the last category - and is, as a matter of fact, strikingly similar to Bois d'Argent, with a small touch of dry soapiness all its own. This is an interpretation that isn't powdery in the baby powder sense, but rather has dry, almost dusty feel. Anyone whose smelled orris powder knows the scent I'm speaking of.

Around this core is built a subtly nuanced blend of cedar, cardamon, honey and vanilla, the last two sweetening and otherwise very woody blend.

This is labeled feminine here, but is totally unisex to my nose. A little rough around the edges, but a quality fragrance with very good sillage and longevity.

On first application, I didn't use enough, and thus Rose de Nuit vanished in a matter of minutes on me. I'd normally give it up for lost, as I do some quick-fading fragrances, but recently, in the spirit of revisitation, I used up the rest of my sample on my wrist and chest.

While the sillage is still delicate, this time the result was much more sustained and I got a chance to truly smell it. The longevity is actually not bad at all on this fragrance, averaging around eight hours with moderate sillage, and about twice that smelled near the skin.

It is interesting to contrast this with Sa Majeste La Rose, Lutens' export rose offering. The two could not be more different in their treatment of the same note. Sa Majeste is naturalistic where De Nuit is abstract; fresh, cool and dewy where De Nuit is warm, dry and leathery. While I often can't figure out their reasoning, the choice of export for Sa Majeste and non-export for De Nuit makes a lot of sense. The former is so extroverted and immediately appealing; the latter is subtle, "difficult" and somewhat old-fashioned. They are polar opposites within the same note.

Usually classified as a chypre, the bergamot is fairly mild if detectable to my nose in this fragrance, but burns off very quickly. Oak moss, however, practically co-stars with with rose and is noticeable from the top to the bottom of this fragrance, something I greatly appreciate.

I have the most minuscule sample of vintage Mitsouko parfum that I put a drop of on the opposite wrist to compare Rose De Nuit with a classic chypre directly. The two are different in many ways, but they really do share a certain feel. It's a certain mellow, velvety smoothness that gives them a soft-focus touch.

Through the heart, however, it's not a Guerlain I'm reminded of - it's a Caron. There's a touch of something smoky and leathery dancing around the mossy rose core; something reminiscent of Tabac Blond's leather note. There is also a hint of incense darkening the blend, making De Nuit's title somewhat more appropriate to my nose.

The base, however, is lighter. Some of the heaviness subsides and honey unexpectedly emerges to give a cheerful touch to a rather brooding fragrance. By this point, though, De Nuit is quite delicate and soft.

I still retain an impression that I would prefer this fragrance in a parfum format as I'd like it stronger and more concentrated. At the same time, I recognize the innate heaviness of this fragrance might make it overbearing if turned up to high volume.

All in all, Rose De Nuit is quite interesting, but I don't love it. I deeply appreciate it on some level, and it's a fragrance I want to try and savor again, but I doubt I'll ever pick up a bottle.

I feel every fragrance conjures up a personality, and Rose De Nuit comes across as a bit of an elderly high society lady wearing what was the height of fashion fifty years ago. More than a touch of Maleficent to Sa Majeste's Snow White, to be sure...

I can't say I was impressed with Jicky in EdT form. It was the phantom of a lemon-scented wet-wipe, then it was gone. Wimpy and unpleasant.

Today, however, I tried Jicky in parfum form - there's a big difference. I'd classify this with Diptyque's L'Autre and Hermes Eau d'Hermes as a transparent animalic citrus. Though Jicky is not spicy like the other two, all three share an interesting lemony-citrus top contrasted with an animalic base.

Jicky's top goes on with a strong bergamot and lemon, dry but not harsh. After twenty minutes or so the civet comes roaring in and civet's fecal quality makes this quite a dirty, skanky citrus just slightly modified by a light vanilla. In the base the civet calms down and becomes mellow, allowing the vanilla to show itself more. After about the six hour mark, it's all gone.

The thing is, the parfum behaves rather like an EdT on me. It doesn't have full-bodied quality and exceptional longevity I expect from a parfum, and given that, have to wonder if it's really worth parfum prices...

Doesn't smell like sandalwood. Smells spicy and ambery, like a bland Youth Dew knock-off. Not at all offensive but totally unremarkable.

A nice fragrance at a great price! If only those two went together more often...

It's tenacious but light, a cinnamon and carnation vibe playing through the top notes until it settles down to warm, smooth ambery-leather base. Not like other "Russian" leathers on the market, in fact more of a distant cousin of Knize Ten, albeit much softer. The sillage is decent and the longevity is good, around ten hours.

This is especially good in warmer weather, when heavier leathers can get a bit sickly.

Soft, delicately herbal and powdery in a cool, reserved way. The only note I can consciously pick out is anise, but it in no way dominates the blend.

The sillage is quiet and the longevity is medium. This is a rather shy fragrance, but charming and unique all the same.

It's a shame this chypre doesn't have a bigger reputation - it's really quite good!

The top notes are a powdery and rather aldehydic citrus, lasting only about fifteen minutes to half an hour before they've been completely absorbed into a rich, mossy heart. The moss note is the real soul of this fragrance, dark, rich, yet dry, animalic and almost musty, a faint floral haze rounding it off and putting a soft-focus touch on such an uncompromising star. In the base the moss fades, leaving a powdery layer of mixed florals.

The sillage and longevity are very good. It lasts well over twelve hours, up to twenty-four at least, and the sillage is warm and enveloping but not overpowering.

I own a bottle and, in fact, I'm wearing it as I write this review.

( To fans of the much rarer and more expensive Rose de Nuit: it has THAT kind of moss note. Check this one out! )

Elixir was a pleasant surprise for me. I'd ordered a sample as a bit of an afterthought, really, and wasn't expecting much after so many negative reviews. It's a bit quiet, it's true, but not much more so than Giacobetti's other work. Those expecting a voluptuous oriental will find this spare, etiolated and thin - it's subtle, subtle, subtle. Just a will-o-the-wisp of steam off of hot apple-cider dregs.

The top notes come on warm, almost hot, a cinnamon note married to clove, cardamon, and frankincense. The rose note is warm, tart and lively, but isn't fruity.

From the very start Elixir has a certain seamlessness I find attractive. It's as though the spices have been grafted organically on to a core of cinnamon, and despite it ostensibly being a rose soliflore, the rose isn't the star; it's the stage on which the other notes perform their magic.

After the warmth of the top notes subside, an intriguing woodiness emerges and mingles with the persistent spices. The "official" notes mention eucalyptus, but this note is the opposite of a cough drop. What it reminds me of is birch.

About a decade ago I was staying with some friends in Prince Edward Island. It was late March, but as is typical in that part of the world, there was still several feet of snow on the ground. Each night we'd have big roaring fires, fed by birch logs that were freshly cut and lying frozen in the yard. These logs would bubble and hiss on the fire, the sap fleeing the heat and bubbling out the top end of the logs in a syrupy stream. Elixir takes me right back to that moment in time. That smell is its smell.

There is a faintly vanillic oriental base, but it's just a ghostly presence; a touch of velvety roundness to an otherwise sheer fragrance.

Describing the sillage is difficult. It's very soft, but it also has a reasonable amount of spread. It's something you don't notice until it you think about it and realize you're surrounded by this faint haze of delicate spicy something.

Longevity is decent, about eight hours, becoming more of a skin scent as it progresses.

This is about as pared down an oriental as you're going to find, and I think Olivia Giacobetti did a wonderful, minimalist take on an opulent genre.

This is one of Diptyque's recently discontinued fragrances. I'm sorry to see this one go, but unlike L'Autre and L'Eau Trois, the world isn't losing something unique.

In its transparency and minimalism it's very Diptyque. I only discern three notes - saffron, rose, and light touch of patchouli in the base.The saffron dominates the top, and in the base the patchouli-rose accord brings to mind similar but more vivid fragrances, like L'Artisan's Voleur de Roses and Czech & Speake's Rose. The longevity and sillage are quite good without being obtrusive.

Simple and straight to the point, I find it very wearable, if just a touch dull. Good, but not exciting.

I'm looking at that note list and feeling baffled - how does stuff resemble ANY of those notes?

The top notes are mildly aquatic, and yet somehow burnt and dark at the same time, like burning cellophane. Something caramelized sweetens this as it progresses, and by the heart I'm reminded, finally, of something pleasant that I recognize - Norwegian whey cheese! It's an unlikely analogy, I know, but a friend spotted the eerie resemblance too.

Needless to say, burning plastic, aquatic notes and whatever makes this smell like whey cheese does not make a pleasant fragrance. Its soft sillage I'm grateful for, but as for longevity - three hours and this got washed off!

Sorry folks, this one's a scrubber.

This is my review for the "2008 Harvest" edition.

The top notes have a distinct papery quality. It's a note I've smelled clearly in other fragrances, but I'm at a loss to describe it as anything other than "new magazine smell". The rose is there, demurely, as well as a floral note that brings to mind peonies.

As the paper note fades the fragrance starts smelling more definitely of rose, but the SA who gave me a sample of it described it quite accurately as "rosy but not smelling like a rose". The listed notes say something about star anise, but my nose fails to detect that as a distinct note. I only smell a slight soapy-spiciness in the heart and base.

The sillage is soft, but the longevity is good.

On the negative, there is something about this that just smells "cheap", somehow. Too much in common with various shampoos for its own good, and with so many excellent roses on the market... you have to ask what makes this one worth your time.

None the less, there is enough charm in this fragrance to give it a thumbs up.

Farnesiana is my favorite Caron fragrance, and one that I think really deserves more attention.

Though described as a mimosa soliflore, it owes as much to almond as it does to mimosa. The thick, creamy, marzipan-like almond note is accented with the tangy, fruity mimosa, and underscored with a faintly foody, vanillic base. Compared to modern gourmands this is subtle; very understated. The "fruity-floral" element is an inherent quality in mimosa rather than florals amped up with artificial fruit candy notes, as is common in the genre today.

It reminds me of a kind of apricot tart a local bakery used to sell. They were soft, almost cake-like, filled in the bottom with marzipan and in the top with apricot. Farnesiana is the fragrance equivalent of eating one of those!

The sillage is delicate, but the longevity is good ( I tried it in parfum extrait concentration ).

Highly recommended.

REVIEW FOR THE EXTREME VERSION:

Well, diversity of taste can only broaden the spectrum of art...!

This went from my most-hated fragrance to one I quite like. The top notes are loud, warm, searing and very dirty; perhaps the most vivid musk I've encountered in Western perfumery ( though still very much a meek lamb compared with Ajmal's Musk Gazelle ). The top notes can smell quite fecal initially.

Gradually the fragrance cools down and becomes a rough musk and civet blend, with a pleasant rose balancing it out. All in all fairly simple and linear, but quite pleasing and surprisingly transparent for a genre known for "thick" scents.

If what you want is a simple, loud, animalic musk, this is for you. After the first blast it's quite wearable, and recommended for anyone exploring the wild ones of the musk genre.

A castoreum note melded to a flat, synthetic so-called tuberose note. There's something smoky and bitter I can't identify, too. The entire fragrance smells unnatural and not in a fun way.

Not horrible, but a combination of boring and unpleasant gives this a thumbs down.

Like most others of this house, the sillage and longevity are quite good.

On first sniff, I smelled a high volume jasmine-tuberose that was effervescent and unnatural. I put the card down, satisfied at having smelled something that fit the infamy bill.

Ten minutes later, I went back to the store and retrieved the card.

The next day or so I just couldn't stop smelling it. There was something endlessly fascinating about it to me. Was it floral? Was it fruity? Was it oriental? Was it gourmand? Whatever it was, it grew on me until today, when I returned and sprayed some on my skin.

Here is how it smells to my nose.

The first thing out is a powerful jasmine and tuberose accord. It doesn't really smell like either flower does in real life, but is anchored in qualities of both flowers. Aside from that, the first things noticeable are a loud fruity note redolent of grape crush, cinnamon, and a small dab of methyl salicylate. The latter is no-where near as powerful as in Tubereuse Criminelle, but does much to offset the overwhelming sweetness of the top notes. I think it, plus the grape, are the "cough syrup" smell many comment on. These top notes are both fascinating and revolting.

I applied the tiniest dab, but the sillage... oh boy, is it something else. Spray this in Mumbai and it'll clime Mount Everest.

The heart is the best part of this fragrance for me. The fruitiness calms down and changes from grape to blackberry or rather blackberry compote, pulpy and sweet. The jasmine-tuberose core dominates less and a certain spiciness comes forward, like allspice or clove, together with a warm musk that didn't show on paper. I find the balance of the various qualities extremely pleasing, and the sillage more manageable.

In the base, which emerges around the five to six hour mark on me, the fruits and flowers take a surprising leave of absence and what's left is a warm, musky amber with faint woody and vanillic touches. It's quiet here; almost a skin scent.

Poison, at least the EdT strength I tried, isn't a longevity monster on me. It lasts about ten to twelve hours. Such a small amount is needed - I applied a miniscule dab - that this is more than adequate.

Forget everything you think you know about this fragrance and give it a try. It just may surprise you. But remember... you only need a little!!!

The top notes of this are truly fascinating. Dark, green, tart and coolly vegetal, they captivate in a smooth, sophisticated way. It's almost like a refined version of Diptyque's L'Ombre Dans L'Eau, without the bright, sour brackishness that fragrance suffers from.

Sadly, Private Collection's charm is short-lived. In half an hour a tsunami of baby powder engulfs this fragrance, and it becomes flat, powdery and very dull indeed.

Like Trebor, I detect a waxy note which, to my nose, emerges deep into the base. For good or bad, it makes little headway against the powder tide...

Almond cookies frosted with coconut-scented sunscreen. Not horrible, but a bland, linear, and very banal gourmand riding on a vanillic tide.

What does this have to do with the original Poison!? That's only thing mysterious about this fragrance

Here's another Lutens that took me a few wearings before I could enjoy it. Initially the clash of aldehydes and myrrh seemed a bad miscalculation, but over time it's grown on me.

The opening is strongly aldehydic, slightly soapy, and also vaguely citrusy - like the dregs of an Orange Julius. The myrrh is not at all apparent at first, but the fragrance becomes increasingly bitter as it develops, until the myrrh note emerges fully formed.

After the aldehydes have burnt off, La Myrrhe becomes quite dry. Anise and myrrh combine to make a medicinal and rubbery base.

Sillage is moderate, but the longevity is quite good; over twelve hours.

La Myrrhe isn't a pretty fragrance, but it's a great study in contrast. Transparent and frothy meets dry and austere - a pool party in the desert.

Like lobster ice cream, I highly doubt this is for everyone.

Never having smelled real osmanthus, I cannot say whether this is true to life or not.

What it is is fruity, roundly floral and somewhat tea-like. I cannot pick out recognizable notes in this, but the whole seems vaguely familiar - I just can't put a name on it.

Very pleasant, but not spell-binding, especially as it reminds me of many shampoos. It's just not as impressive as some of the other offers from the PdE line.

Sillage and longevity medium, despite accidentally emptying a whole 1 ml sample on myself.

I'll likely be the first in saying I don't find this at all reminiscent of De Sade, but the fragrance itself more than makes up for its incongruous name.

This is a warm, comforting, happy scent; a curiously sweet and savory gourmand with a leather base. A curry-inflected immortelle plays a starring role here, but there is a slight fruitiness to it, too. Some have described it as prunes, but to my nose dried apricots fit the bill better. The leather is present, but mellow and understated.

Don't let the leather and apricot description remind you of SL's Daim Blond - the two fragrances are nothing alike.

In general, it's all very edgeless, smooth and seamlessly blended; a fragrance of polish and charm rather than daring.

The sillage is good and the longevity is excellent.

Highly recommended.

It's interesting... I developed all my impressions of this fragrance before looking at the note list, so what I read definitely conflicts with what I smell. I'd describe this fragrance as a rounded, creamy vetiver, cedar and pine. All this about eucalyptus, cloves and citrus is vaguely baffling, but maybe I don't have the most educated nose...

This fragrance goes on very fresh, green and slightly bitter, but quickly changes into a mellow, woody vetiver surrounded by the green, coniferous notes of cedar and pine. In the base the cedar begins to dominate, but not uncomfortably so - this is Atlas cedar, not the pencil-wood Virginia cedar note. It occupies an olfactory space somewhere between CdG Vettiveru and Diptyque's Tam Dao.

The sillage is good and the longevity is about average.

I quite like this, despite it being from a genre I don't usually get along with.

It's dirty. It's soapy. It's weird. It's Czech and Speake's interpretation of mimosa.

I'm giving thumbs down to this, but in all honesty it's not bad. It's something unique, and its longevity and sillage are quite good. I just can't picture me, or for that matter, anyone, wanting to smell like this. It reminds me of too many public washrooms I have known.

Well-made, but uninspiring to my nose. Perhaps I'm a little jaded having seen rose, oud, and rose oud combos done better elsewhere ( may I introduce you to Czech & Speake's Dark Rose? )

The top is the usual Montale oud and rose combo, but the rose soon dominates this fragrance almost entirely. It's not a naturalistic rose, but it's not a cheaply synthetic one either. It reminds me of some rose absolutes I've smelled.

After more than twelve hours, the rose shifts, the patchouli becomes more noticeable, and Black Aoud does its best Voleur de Roses imitation.

Black Aoud may keep on developing after this stage, but I bathe at least daily so I wouldn't know.

What has been said about incredible longevity is true, but its sillage-monster reputation is undeserved. Its sillage is more than adequate, but not a sillage bomb. This probably works in its favor, all told.

Thumbs up for a well-made fragrance, but it's not bottle-worthy for me.

An exceptionally smooth and creamy oud fragrance. Simple, gentle, to the point, and charming. Not at all like the other Montale oud fragrances I've tried.

If you're unused to oud, don't judge this until the top notes have burnt off - they are disturbingly reminiscent of rubber gloves AND cream cheese. This initial quirk is more than made up for by many hours of mellow oud goodness.

This is the first Lutens I loathe. Unfortunately this is not a "this is too weird to love" reaction many have to various Lutens' fragrances, this is the reaction of someone encountering a fragrance at once bland, loud, over-sweet and inaccurate.

Sugar, and something like sawdust. Mostly just pure, searing sweetness, though. This does not smell like honey to me, and if anything, puts me in mind of Nasomatto Duro's tinned-frosting effect.

Something nasty and complex and urine-smelling might have been better than what this fragrance IS.

Lasts an eternity, as I found from my repeated unsuccessful attempts to wash it off...

Am I really the first Basenoter to write a review of Midnight Violet? Shocking - this is one of Serena's most masterful creations!

Midnight Violet is a fragrance that takes violet away from quaint, powdery, Victorian interpretations as well as brisk, green masculines and gives it a unique and edgy spin.

The violet note starts out direct and almost sharp, quickly modulating into darker, smokier and rougher-edged. This is not a wet, earthy fragrance, in fact it's so dry it's almost ashen, with any sweetness from the violet toned down with wood, incense and a touch of something animalic ( Serena seems to just love those animal notes, and if civet was here in some form it wouldn't surprise me in the least ).

This isn't a naturalistic rendition of the flower. While the violet note is clearly present throughout, this is an abstract creation of the perfumer's palette - something welcome considering the wide availability of violets-in-a-forest type fragrances.

The longevity and sillage are quite good, something that has been, in my experience, endemic to the Ava Luxe line.

If you try no other Ava Luxe, try this.

What a difference a year makes!

Around this time last year I first tried Aoud Cuir D'Arabie and found it a nightmare; something akin to rubbing alcohol but worse. A wrist-scrubber, to be sure.

Last fall I was at the Pefume Shoppe in Vancouver and while trying a variety of fragrances, Nez handed me a strip with something on I didn't recognize, but loved. I asked what it was and it she told me it was Aoud Cuir D'Arabie! What a shock.

While I didn't pick up that one in particular, I did retry this several times and have grown to love it.

It goes on with that boozy, almost winey top note I often experience with oud fragrances, but quickly moves towards something both animalic and slightly petrochemical, albeit not to the degree of fragrances like CdG Tar. I would not be surprised if castoreum played a part in its disinctive leather accord, and I suspect birch tar is here, too. The oud is ever present, of course.

This fragrance smooths out but never mellows or softens. It is stark, dark, dry, smoky and uncompromising and stays that way, start to finish, with no sweetness or modification. Somethng to be commended, really - too many fragrances come on bold and strong and leave softly woody or vanillic. Aoud Cuir D'Arabie will not let you down.

Like most Montales I've tried, the sillage and longevity is excellent.

I want this to be my signature fragrance, but I don't think I'm cool enough, old enough, or butch enough, and this is coming from someone who rejects all those as standards of wearability. I'm just not man enough to pull this off. I would, however, be very attracted to a man who could!

Don't get me wrong with all this man talk, though - this is a perfectly good fragrance for a woman if you happen to be Irina Spalko.

Green floral pee.

I wanted to love this one, I really did, but that remains my first and last impression.

For a while I've opined that I'd like to see a perfumer's take on a local wild flower that smells pleasingly sharp from a distance, and up close... like L'Ombre dans L'Eau.

As it turns out, I really do not want to smell like that at all.

Live and learn.

As for the fragrance itself, it's complex and well made, and has very good longevity and moderate sillage.

Clean, pure, mellow, simple, and well done. Pure sandalwood accented with cedar and cypress.

There isn't a lot one can say about this fragrance, and that's part of its charm. Its simplicity is uniquely calming.

Mild to moderate sillage; decent longevity.

Recommended.

This is a cheesy, fungal, rancid horror-show of a white floral. Easily one of the worst things I've ever smelled.

The top notes feature the titular gardenia - which, to be fair, is nice and accurate - married to a note that smells for all the world like blue cheese. As the fragrance develops, the blue cheese note gains in intensity and becomes more fungal, like rotting mushrooms smeared with rancid butter.

The sillage and longevity are excellent and clearly inspired by theological notions of an eternity in Hell.

Abandon hope all ye who spritz here.

Tubéreuse Criminelle is my new tuberose love. After the aldehyde bomb of Fracas and chilly synthetic of Vierges & Toreros, I was starting to become wary of one of my favorite notes, but this has reaffirmed my faith in the beauty of tuberose after so many have failed to live up to the real flower.

The top notes are lovely. I really don't smell the whole gasoline rubber camphor menthol nails-on-chalkboard note many smell in this. No violence here, just a lively, cooling sharpness that modifies the floral bent of this fragrance - wintergreen, to my nose, though there are a host of other notes I that linger on the edge of identification.

When I applied lightly the top notes faded quite quickly; fifteen minutes or so. In the second wearing I I used a heavier application that resulted in them lasting much longer; around two hour hours.

This is quite a sillage-heavy fragrance, so be cautious about how much you apply. Throughout its development the sillage never diminishes, smelling just as strong twelve, even twenty-four hours after application.

Needless to say, the longevity is likewise Herculean. Tubéreuse Criminelle will be with you until you wash it off.

Though the tuberose is always present, as the the top notes give up the ghost the flower really comes into its own.

I find it interesting to compare the note's treatment here with Frederic Malle's Carnal Flower. Before Tubéreuse Criminelle entered my life Carnal Flower was the tuberose in my life, and the only one that could truly satisfy my tuberose hunger. Confronted with Tubéreuse Criminelle I had to ask myself - how could something that smells so different from Carnal Flower smell equally, if not more, like the real thing?

I think a few fellow of my fellow Basenoters - purplebird7 mentioned this a couple reviews before me - are on to something when they talk about real tuberose being rubbery. I don't smell tuberose or tuberose absolute that way but there is a certain something about tuberose; a richness; a heaviness; a hidden depth. Something that adds almost an animal element to an entirely botanical scent, and something that Tubéreuse Criminelle emphasizes in a way that makes it smell almost more real than the living flower.

The tuberose in Carnal Flower is the fragrance of tuberose carried on the evening breeze; the tuberose Tubéreuse Criminelle is a bouquet of tuberose blossoms inhaled deeply.

There are other differences in treatment, too. Carnal Flower has a luminescent transparency; cooling and green. Tubéreuse Criminelle on the other hand, is smolderingly warm and rather oriental in style while still being a soliflore through and through. It's impossible for me to choose between the two when it comes to accuracy, but Tubéreuse Criminelle suits my tastes and aesthetic sensibilities more.

For someone wanting to experience tuberose, try either - and avoid synthetic monstrosities such as Fracas.

Getting back to Tubéreuse Criminelle's development, the drydown is dominated by the tuberose note I just elaborated in detail upon, but there are subtle modifications, including a distinct vanillic base and a gentle whispering of spices. The official notes are listed as "tuberose, orange blossom, hyacinth, jasmine, musk, vanilla, styrax, nutmeg and clove", but other than tuberose, vanilla and the not-listed wintergreen, I wouldn't be able to identify what exactly is in Tubéreuse Criminelle.

Can a man wear this? If he's comfortable smelling like tuberoses, why not? If you love white florals, go and sample this, whatever your gender.

If I ever return to Europe, you better believe I'll be coming home with a bell jar of Tubéreuse Criminelle. Until such a time, I'll just have to make due with decants of this ravishing elixir.

This fragrance is almost two fragrances in one. The first isn't terribly remarkable - a pleasant, lemon-centered eau de cologne with a slight musky tinge. The second is far more interesting - a cumin-heavy animalic fragrance with a leathery side.

Sadly neither of these two last at all long at all on me, and once the citrus has vanished, the sillage is poor. The top notes last ten, fifteen minutes at most, and the fragrance is gone in an hour or two on me.

I can imagine this fragrance being wonderful in hot weather, where the frequent re-applications to keep it going would be welcome and refreshing, but for most of the year, I don't have much of a use for this.

Thumbs up for a refreshing cologne with a funky animalic side, but be advised it has the faults and virtues inherent in the Eau de Cologne genre.

Bold and brash and a little tacky, Jasmin Et Cigarette is the only ELDO fragrance I've tried where these apparently endemic ELDO qualities seem appropriate.

There's not a lot I can say about this fragrance. It's granddaughter's fruity jasmine fragrance spilled into grandpa's tin of tobacco. It's a fairly linear progression from "mostly jasmine" to "mostly tobacco". It's rich, fruity, dirty, smoky, and all in all, a unique creation in the world of florals.

Like most ELDOs, it lasts till you're dead and has nuclear-fallout sillage. Apply cautiously.

An offensive pepto-bismol and bubblegum blast... no wangs or other bodily secretions present, but a wrist-scrubber none the less.

I've had a mixed relationship with #88. I've always recognized its quality, but found it a little odd and heavy for my tastes. It reminded me of grape crush or cough syrup mixed with Nag Champa, albeit a well done rendition of that accord.

This evening I decided to give it a thorough wearing, and applied it more heavily than I'd done before. The result changed my mind.

This is a heavy, deep and rich fragrance centered on rose and sandalwood. There is a fruity tang particularly prominent in the top notes - I assume it comes from the bergamont, though both frangipani and mimosa are naturally fruity florals and are listed in the blend.* The top notes soon modulate into a fuller and more distinct rose with sandalwood smoke billowing through its heart.

It is very hard to describe the nature of this fragrance, because while it is rose and sandalwood, it's so much more than that implies. Sweet, rich, thick, voluptuous, smooth, heavy - these are some of the attributes that come to mind. It's the olfactory equivalent of wading through a knee-deep pool of red velvet, and subtle is certainly one adjective that doesn't seem apt.

This is a big fragrance with a big and somewhat disconcerting personality. It's definitely a "character" scent; the perfect scent for the extrovert eccentric of either sex, or just someone who feels like attracting attention or showing off.

The sillage is good; the longevity is moderate.

#88 now takes its place among my other two favorite roses, being totally aesthetically removed from both the dry refinement of Paestum Rose and the limpid naturalness of Sa Majeste La Rose.

*The cynical side of me says "Really? Frangipani in an ELIZABETHAN recipe!?" But I'll forgive a good fragrance highly dubious ad copy.

It's not terribly offensive, but I really didn't like this. I got a blunt, synthetic, powdery, one-note rose that screamed ROSE, AND NOTHING BUT ROSE at maximum volume.

Great sillage and I'm sure it has the longevity endemic to the ELDO line, but I couldn't be bothered to wait long enough to find out. A wrist-scrubber for me, I'm sorry to say...

This is a strange, spicy fragrance, not at all what I was expecting yet at the same time, something more.

Its own ad copy states "Works like a medicine and behaves like a drug", and that may well be the case, but unlike some other reviewers I haven't found this to be a strongly medicinal fragrance. Perhaps it's because I associate "medicinal" with herbal, camphorous smells, and this is more of a spice-cupboard to my nose.

The top notes come on strong and almost a little fierce, clove, cinnamon, cardamom and nutmeg leading the charge. They're somewhat moderated by a honey note, and accompanied by a very peculiar note I can only describe as being the olfactory equivalent of Thrills chewing gum.

Thrills are supposed to be rosewater, but taste nothing of the sort. This note likewise smells nothing like rose, but a great deal like Thrills. Perhaps this is the rose listed in the official notes...?

The heart of this fragrance takes one of the most dramatic left-turns I've seen in a fragrance. The spices fade, and in their place is a sandalwood note that manages to be both smoky AND soapy.

The base is the least dramatic part of this fragrance. It's a fairly pleasant sandalwood and honey combination, the honey taking on a peculiar salival quality.

The sillage and longevity are both moderate on my skin.

If you like spicy fragrances or just odd fragrances in general, try this. Even if you don't like it, it's definitely a conversation piece, and you'll smell nothing remotely similar on the market.

Personally, it's become an instant favorite of mine, and has been added to the ever-growing category of "must-have" bottles.

I find this fragrance charming, luxuriant and unusually well priced for a niche fragrance.

I think the title may have mislead people looking for something in the vein of Ambre Sultan or Ambre Russe. This is nothing like those rich orientals.

Sure, I can picture an Anbar where the carnation was amped up to clove territory, more spices were added, a stronger amber note present in the base... but then it wouldn't be the refreshing citrus cologne it is.

Anbar starts out all sweet orange, mandarin and neroli, the carnation adding spice to the blend. Gradually the amber begins to take over, and after two to three hours this is a quiet ambery skin scent.

For a cologne, it has excellent longevity.

This is a warm fragrance rather than a cool aquatic, and I find it to be every bit as good in winter as in summer.

Searching for a myrrh fragrance, I was recommended Dyptique's L'Eau Trois.

It's really unfortunate that Dyptique has discontinued some of its best fragrances recently. I've only tried two of them - Opone, a great rose-saffron fragrance, and now L'Eau Trois, my holy grail myrrh fragrance. If they're any indication of the quality of this line, the fragrance world has indeed lost something special.

It would be wrong to classify L'Eau Trois as purely an incense fragrance. Myrrh is always the starring note, but this is a fragrance that is atypical of incense fragrance accords. Dyptique mentions Northern Greece is its description of this fragrance, and sure enough, it reminds me more of garrigue fragrances such as Fleurs de Sel and Eau d'Empire more than the likes of Avignon or most orientals.

The top notes arrive dry, woody, and almost medicinal; myrrh, as ever, to the fore. Thyme and rosemary are prominent, among the notes I can identify, and there is a salty tang in the top that L'Eau Trois shares with Fleurs de Sel.

I'm beginning to suspect thyme is the note that partially creates or at least modifies the "salty" quality I detect in both fragrances.

Through the heart oregano makes itself known, adding a slightly culinary twist, modified by what my nose perceives as pine, lavender and something civet-like ( which I don't see listed in either the official notes or any reviews, but I definitely smell something animalic here ).

Slowly the vegetal elements fade out one by one, leaving a warm, smoky ghost of myrrh on my skin.

Though this is EdT strength, it has EdC sillage. This is a quiet skin scent if ever there was one, and six sprays gives me decent but quite subtle sillage. Conversely, longevity is excellent, lasting well over twenty-four hours on me.

It would be interesting to see what a parfum extrait version of this would be like, though I'd be happy just to see the EdT back on the shelves again. I recently received a bottle of this from a fellow Basenoter, and I'm already eyeing the few sites that still sell it for back-up bottles.

To fans of myrrh and fans of garrigue-style fragrances, as well as fans of unusual fragrances in general, I highly recommend this.

I thought I was in love with the top notes... but after a minute it calmed down to a pleasant but somewhat flat oud and rose combo.

I'm underwhelmed, but this fragrance does have excellent longevity and sillage.

After several wearings I was impressed with Paestum Rose. It passed my tests of being neither too sweet, too soapy nor too powdery, and gave a fresh interpretation to an archetypal note.

PR is a dry, woody, interpretation of rose; a gradual transition from a pepper and oud top through a geranium and cedar heart to a vetiver and patchouli base. Rose is primary without ever dominating the blend. This is a soliflore in name only.

Unlike most others, I do not get the resinous medicinal note of myrrh that I know and love. Never mind; PR is none the poorer for its absence or my anosmia on that account, and the dry, smoky touch engendered by cedar is enough to balance the sweetness of the rose.

Though truly unisex, it strikes me as quite reserved and masculine - a business-man's rose. It's the polar opposite of lush, voluptuary interpretations of the flower like Lutens' Sa Majeste.

Excellent longevity; moderate sillage.

Highly recommended, especially for men seeking wearable rose fragrances.

Carnal Flower is a stunning fragrance, a picture of the living flower in olfactory form. Anyone who's smelled tuberose flowers in real life will recognize the scent immediately.

Fairly linear, I find this fragrance consists mostly of tuberose, jasmine, coconut and rich green notes.

The latter, often identified as wintergreen or eucalyptus, are what really make this fragrance special to me. They add green depth of realism, and a freshness that reminds me of taste of snow peas.

Carnal Flower has good sillage and moderate longevity, but honestly, it's totally out of my price range.

There's been a bit of debate among perfumistas as to how "unisex" this fragrance is.

It smells like a flower. If that's okay for you, then you should feel comfortable wearing it whatever your gender is, as it's not perfumey in a traditionally feminine way.

Cedre Sandaraque is a charming fragrance, the brother though not the twin to Bois Blond.

The cedar in the title is somewhat misleading. While there is an Atlas Cedar note in the base, I mostly pick up on the grassy and "pralined amber" notes.

I find Cedre Sandaraque's "pralined amber" note almost identical to Dzing!'s "cotton candy" note, though the two fragrances are quite different otherwise.

I mostly steer clear of gourmands, but Cedre Sandaraque is sweet and mellow without ever crossing the line into cloying.

Fairly low sillage, but decent longevity.

When I see all the excellent noses that have reviewed this positively, I have to wonder what I'm missing.

I smell a mild, pleasant musk surrounded by cheap synthetic florals. Neither bad nor good, inoffensive but totally uninspiring, it reminds me of a soap I used to use.

Blandness is hardly a crime, but I can't see myself buying this despite its good price.

I tried the EdT - perhaps the oil is better.

Smooth, urbane and pleasant, the only anarchist I find in L'Anarchiste is the name.

L'Anarchiste is a cool blend of mandarin and cedar, fading to a light musk. Though I'm sure others are present, the trio of mandarin, cedar and musk are only notes my nose notices.

This fades quite quickly only me, lasting three to five hours; I tend to use it mostly as a light cologne on warm days in summer.

The blast of the top notes in this fragrance is incredible - a rich and spicy hit of cinnamon, incense, tobacco, and most of all, CLOVE.

There is also a faint touch of something tart and fruity in the top notes, though this fragrance really isn't a gourmand aside from the spices.

After the first hour or so the spices fade and a rich tobacco fragrance takes hold, the incense and tobacco maintaining a duet through the drydown.

The base is ambery and faintly musky.

While this is a charming fragrance, it's somewhat "top-heavy" and the base bears little resemblance to revelatory top notes. After the first two hours I already found myself missing the cloves.

Intense clove fragrances are rare, but pleasant ambers are all too common. After five or six hours all of the uniqueness of Kretek is gone, though what remains is nice enough.

Kretek has moderate sillage, and like all the Ava Luxe's I've tried, good longevity.

L'Ombre Fauve is a lush but light amber fragrance; a pleasing mixture of amber, sandalwood, vanilla, patchouli and musk.

While I appreciate the demure charm of the juice, I cannot say anything particularly grabs my attention or sets L'Ombre Fauve apart. Especially when compared to the more unique offerings from this house, I find this comparatively underwhelming.

For dry amber with sandalwood I'd recommend L'Air Du Desert Marocain; for a richer, sweeter amber Ambre Sultan. L'Ombre Fauve trails behind both in sillage and longevity.

Still, this is not a negative review. L'Ombre Fauve is a small fragrance with gentle charms, and does well within those parameters.

Razala is an intriguing multi-faceted fragrance. Though I seldom feel moved to wear it, it remains my favorite of the fragrances I've tried from this line, and is one of the most interesting niche orientals available.

Myrrh is the dominant note in the composition, but is modified by other ingredients at every stage. This isn't a myrrh "soliflore", to misuse a phrase.

The top notes burst out rich and spicy, with pepper, myrrh, oud sweetened by white florals - Ayala mentions magnolia and tuberose, I get mostly the latter - and neroli.

Something about this combination reminds me of a mulled wine I had years ago, made with port, spices, orange zest and raisins. Perhaps it's the oud, a note I often associate with fortified wine for some reason.

As the top notes fade, Razala becomes richer and the myrrh and oud stand out more as it moves from mulled wine to a mosque, and becomes predominantly an incense fragrance.

This is the first and only fragrance I've tried that contains real ambergris - I'm afraid most synthetic ambergris notes smell like soap on me - so I'm not sure of my nose's ability to detect it. There is a buttery warmth to the base.

Whether it's due to the ambergris or this being a base-heavy blend, Razala is a long-lasting fragrance, something unusual in all-natural blends. It has medium sillage but its longevity surpasses most fragrances, including the others in this line.

If you like myrrh and rich orientals, try this. You won't regret it.

Aquatics, on the whole, are a genre I avoid. My reaction to Oltre was all the more surprising given that fact.

I've lived by or near the sea for more of my life than not, on both of Canada's coasts and in the UK.

Oltre, to my nose, isn't the sea itself, but rather a cold, stormy day beside it. The aquatic note is rain-soaked rather than pure salt spray, and the botanical notes place its olfactory world firmly on terra firma.

It's a fairly linear fragrance, based on a quartet of the aquatic notes, pine, seaweed and muguet. It goes on cold and a fresh with the pine prominent and gradually softens and fades to allow the muguet to shyly peak through. This is never a floral fragrance though, and seaweed is always the biggest green note in the composition.

The sillage is good and the longevity is excellent. This lasts well over twenty-four hours on me.

Like some of the reviewers before me, I find the variety of interpretations as to just what this fragrance smells like are quite surprising.
Bearing in mind that I'm relatively new to the fragrance world and this is my first test of this fragrance, here is what my nose tells me.
Cuir Ottoman opens with a sweet, powdery, almost tangy violet note. This is probably caused by the orris, but the orris here is so strongly modified by the other florals as to send it directly into violet territory. The scent almost reminded me of Parma Violet candies, which were favorites of mine as a kid.
The leather entered fairly soon after the brightness of the top notes faded, but it's very soft. While related to the leather note in Tabac Blond - the closest as far as my nose has experienced - it's far, far more mellow than that leather or for that matter, any of the other leathers I've tried. If this was translated into leather, it would be sueded cotton. It is, however, a realistic leather note, especially as its presence becomes more noticeable in the dry down.
I didn't sense the other florals too strongly. I think I might have smelled a touch of rose, but no jasmine, despite it being listed.
The base notes came as a surprise to me.
I noticed two distinct base note sections. The first happened about five hours after I put it on, when the leather faded and the violet morphed into a recognizable orris note, that scent dominating for some time. After about two hours of this, the orris mellowed out, bringing forward the benzoin and balsam, a gentle vanillic quality initiating the second base section.
The smell at this point is almost gourmand; it reminded me of fresh-baked sugar cookies. There's a slight impression of almond, too; those who've experienced Farnesiana will find it in miniature here, hidden in the last phase of this fragrance.
The sillage and longevity are both great on my skin.
All in all, a lovely leather fragrance, though I hesitate to call it unisex and I'm pretty sure it's not for me.