I am overjoyed reviews that talk about the multi-faceted nature of this perfume, or even that express confusion. It's absolutely unique in the world and my perennial favourite by miles. Other more expert than I am may ID the constituents and map the way the fragrance develops. All I know is that Laguna encapsulates- or rather sets free- for me all that is magical about summer. It is simultaneously bright, fresh, joyfully beachy, and reflective, introspective and dreamlike. A bit like Sagittarius is supposed to be [though of course that is all piffle, poppycock and balderdash], ingenuous, open and deep-thinking. Long live Laguna. My heartfelt thanks to the designers of the perfume and the packaging. You have given me a lot of happiness.
The one and only perfume I truly can't stand. I had some house guests it must be about 20 years ago and one of them reeked of this. It smelled to me a mixture of arrogant and urinal-like. The 'arrogant' didn't come from the wearer who was a perfectly pleasant if somewhat overly conventional girl. I agree with Darvant about the gaminess, which coupled with the sharpness make it rank. I honestly can't even stay in the room with anyone wearing this, and the sillage must be unrivalled. I get it from a mile away.
Overall impression; urine of a cyborg animal; indended for territorial marking.
I find Diorissimo extremely severe. If i were to wear it on a cold day I'd feel very bleak. It's like certain authors whose wit is penetrating, ascerbic and merciless. Agatha Christie comes to mind rather than Bret Easton-Ellis though, because Diorissimo is decorous. So I wear it to formal daytime things of an official nature where vigilance and steeliness are desirable, and only in spring. That doesn't sound very complimentary does it; actually this perfume is in my very soul, irrevocably, and its place there is deeply cherished. It's just that I could never be an elegant early 1960s twinset dominatrix, which is what Diorissimo evokes for me.
Absolutely beautiful. I've never encountered one more deeply distinguished as this on a man. Evokes all that is manly/civilised. Feels like Nelson Mandela's fatherly smile. Or maybe some fantasy businessman of compassion, humility and humour. Such man, if you come near me, wear this so I recognise you before I see you.
I might be yet to grow into this, though I'm no spring chook. It is uncompromising in its lack of top note frippery; it's straight and solidly to the point. With notes as deep and broad as these, it's surprising that there is not so much warmth. This is not so much sensual as forceful. If I were chairperson of a corporation, or party leader, this would tko any opposition before they had a chance to speak. Great psychological warfare.
What made this perfume radiantly beautiful was for me starting out late one night by car on a rush trip to a film with a really good hot cup of espresso in my hand. The combination with Boucheron brought the Boucheron complexly and richly into my less prosaic, less disciplined world. A homecoming most wholeheartedly welcome.
I love it, even if it's too ESTJ for me.
I agree with all of Darvant's descriptors [with the exception of "powdery" as follows;
"A green-floral powdery light oriental, with the dominant floral notes of hiacynth and rose and a woody-myrrh talky dry down. The final sweetness is tamed by musk and oakmoss and some animal note with its almost tart-salty undertone. The beginning is a bit citrus, green-aromatic and sour with a sparkling grapefruit waving around before the floral heart starts expressing its sophistication. The final sweetness is a sort of powdery-nutty sweet smell of sandalwood not cloying or too dense and with a floral-talky wake. I don't detect vanilla while is clear the link among amber-patchouli and wood. The patchouli enhances the distinctiveness of the juice."
...and also with Teardrop "herbal".
For me this perfume is like being thrown in cool and dewy pre-dawn dark from an alien spaceship, with a giant crash and crushing of sappy stemmage, into the steep, wet extreme bottom of the back garden. What happens after that; you struggle out into the growing warmth of a spring morning, straightening clothing and trying to project composure. But you are betrayed by an obtrusive contrary resiny?/ferny? green woodyness; the rank, out of bounds bottom of the garden asserts itself even as sweeter warmer floral notes emerge.
One of my very favourites, perfect for a bracing, windy spring or autumn day, though one review I once read in a book relegated it strictly to evening.
It has a strange MO. It starts out bright, floral and luscious in a fresh sort of way, but then rather than deepening into warmer, broader and more muted notes it thins out and sours. Remind you of anything?