This has approximately the same appeal as a large bowl of sherbet. It’s fun, sweet, not as interesting as ice cream, irrestistable, you know you shouldn’t eat too much, you eat too much, and it’s gone before you know it. I rather enjoy it, but it’s quite intense in the beginning which holds me at bay somehow, then instead of mellowing and becoming more approachable, it disappears altogether. Still, sometimes when I’m cranky and feeling the need for a bit of irreverency and not to mention sweetening up, it hits the spot.
I wore this all last summer when the weather was hot and humid, and frequently in winter as well, and my bottle is almost gone. Who doesn’t want to smell like the green drifts in a darkly shaded garden? The mint in the top notes is more the living plant leaves you bruise in your hand when picking herbs than artificial mint; I think some who were expecting chewing gum were disappointed and some who feared chewing gum never tried it, because this never got the accolades it deserved. Tomato leaves and maté add to the overall greenness, and the lush rose note gives a shadowy gravitas as well as an overall smoothness, but it’s never dark or heavy, nor is it harsh and bitter. It stays crisp and cool right to the end, without drying down into vanilla or anything hideously sticky. Its biggest problem is that the end comes sooner than I’d like, but it’s the sort of thing that’s sensuously pleasurable to reapply. It’s not sweet, a refreshing change from the usual women’s fragrances, but, although it’s feminine, it’s only a women’s fragrance in the sense that a freshly pressed shirt and a black leather watch band are women’s items.
The name refers to the juggling game and isn’t a poorly spelled ‘diablo’, in case you were wondering where the devil went. :)
I thought part of the problem with this might have been that the heavy oil base doesn’t suit a scent associated with summer breezes and butterflies in the hedgerows, and that it might have worked better in an alcohol base as an eau de parfum where it could have opened up a bit. However, given that it’s more polyurethan than posy I don’t think that would have helped much, and in any case, like it or not, it has zero lasting power and flutters right off me.
It’s not that I don’t like this, it smells good, it’s rich, and has an intriguing vibe of ‘c’mere, baby, and let me hold you close’, combined with, ‘I’m too hot for you, boy, you’re going to have to work very hard to get into my arms’. Perhaps that’s an attitude I can’t carry off, or maybe it was revealed as a poseur all along, but I don’t find it very wearable. I swear, it gets stronger and more aggressive on me as the hours pass, I start to have regrets, and it’s all a bit ‘the morning after’. I do find it well done; it’s reputed to have a ‘ladies’ parts’ note, which may be the viburnam, viburnam has a ‘fleshy’ quality, although orange blossom sometimes smells that way to me. For anyone with the enthusiasm to wear it, go ahead, but it demands more energy from me than I’m up for.
You know that taste when you stick that piece of candy that’s been rolling around in your handbag for months and you realize too late that it’s been moping up spilt perfume all the while? This is it. I don’t care how popular gourmand fragrances are, there’s no excuse to combine a caramel sundae with indolic jasmine perfume. This doesn’t even smell like caramel made from butter and sugar, it’s the bottled stuff with hydrogenated oils and high glucose syrup. I don’t know why that should further bother me when it’s obvious Miss Dior Cherie and I aren’t going anywhere together anyway, but it does. This is the least appealing combination of notes I can imagine – there is some fruit in there as well - and as to why it usurped the Miss Dior name when Miss Dior, a leather chypre with a slender figure, wouldn’t be caught dead scarfing down fake food, I have no idea. This could have been called Junk Food Addict, perhaps. The packaging is pretty enough to trick you into believing there’s something good inside.
Some say the best advice for life ahead that a child can be given is ‘be particular’. It is advice that can be applied to most situations, if you think about it, and had we followed it, the less than auspicious choices some of us made could have been avoided. Not to mention - as an example, I would not have the hundreds of bottles of perfume I now have. I would have stopped with L’Heure Bleue, in the parfum, and that would have been it, which might have been kind of a shame, come to think of it, but, oh my, I’d be so elegant! I did first sniff L’Heure Bleue when I was very young, and was mesmerized to find that my favorite time of day could be captured with a bottle of perfume. Then, evening meant quiet air, night-scented flowers, wood smoke, the first planets in the sky, and being safely home with my parents. My evenings now are very different but the wonderful thing is that a dab of L’Heure Bleue parfum still captures them. Within its familiar and comforting embrace is a metallic blue steel edge that meshes well with city lights, hard rock, and cool companions. It’s an encapsulation of the introspective moment at day’s end when we’re at peace with who we are and are willing to be swept into whatever passions the coming dark brings us.
Its blend of florals and warm notes with the coolness of the heliotrope and iris was genius. I think it’s an anytime, anywhere, anyone, fragrance; it’s a beautiful will-o’-wisp that survives in a world soaked in heavy artificial and cloying sweetness.
21st May, 2008 (last edited: 26th June, 2008)
I understand that some perfumers considered the concoction of the artificial marine note that was so popular in the 1990’s to be a great moment in the history of perfume-making and love using it whenever the concepts of ‘fresh’, ‘ocean’, ‘air’, ‘rain’, ‘cool’, and all those other charming and perfectly harmless natural occurrences give them an excuse to do so. I was hoping that it was a fad because to me it’s not ‘morning dew’ as much as, ‘I guess you don’t want this honeydew melon that’s been sitting on the counter for the past coupla weeks’. This is loaded with enough of that marine note to snuff the fires of hell. Getting past it and finding anything else requires hard labour and heavy breathing, but there is a little spice at the opening, and a heavy synthetic and generic fruit along with a hint of dry earth that comes and goes. But the killer, and heaven knows it was already dead, is that at the far drydown there’s freshly caught fish. I swear. On the positive side, with this on my hand getting the cat to take the bit of cream that has his pill cleverly crushed into it is no problem.
I’d be hard-pressed to think of a fragrance combination more likely to appeal to me than wild beach roses and salt spray, and this has all the atmosphere and wistfulness I could want. The opening is fresh and leafy, then it quiets for a while, but when I think it’s another short-lived waste of time, all the notes open and the vista is exposed, and there are the roses born on their tangled old wood, and a sea wind carrying salt and minerals inland. The oceanic effect is coolly created from vetiver and musk in the base, and it - thankfully - doesn’t turn sweet in the drydown. It’s never very loud on me, although I’ve gotten compliments on it long after I’d thought it had gone.
A graceful breathe of birch leaves and iris slides down into an embrace of leather and smoky warmth. Along the way there’s some antiseptic rubber and a metallic edge. There’s a fairly sturdy waft to it and it lasts well on my skin. It’s unusual without being difficult, and I can see myself being completely fascinated by any man wearing it, and wondering about the adventurous life he must lead, that he smells of boats, and horse stables, and hiking trails and Lamborghinis. As the name suggests, this was created in homage to the artist Tom of Finland, which makes it a man’s fragrance. Which wouldn’t bother me in the slightest and I’d have no qualms about pinching any gentleman’s bottle, should he be careless enough to leave it in my vicinity.