Fragrance Reviews by maramica

An enchanting spice cabinet, in a good way.
The florals play off the sweet and pungent smoky flavour.
This perfume was what my father gifted to my mother when they were intimate.
Needless to say, one whiff, and I stole the idea of it for myself.
While I do not wear it regularly, when I do, I intoxicate.
Wonderfully composed and unfortunately underlooked.
Seduction in a bottle, much love.

I am going to be a lovely little child and break the steoreotype of love hate with this piece of... art.
The bottle, idea, and concept amaze me. I simply had so much hope in this fragrance.
However, once I sampled, at first, I was revolted. I was so shocked, I nearly hurled.
With tears in my eyes and a scrub brush, I tried to get the vile substance off.
But no, it would not budge. And so, I sat indoors, disgusted by the puke cloud of cotton candy and fluffy rainbows.
It enveloped me, tore at how terribly naive I was to fall for another ' classic '.
And then, the storms faded as I experimentally sniffed my wrist a while later.
The vomit sugar bomb had gone, and was replaced with warming comfort.
Honey rang through my senses, and just the right play of a battle between vanilla and chocolate.
I smelt edible, delicious, tolerable, and mysterious yet playful as the caramel then sang.
Once the relief of the mid tones had faded, it settled into a charming musky drift to sleep.
I had never experienced such emotion in the time frame of two hours, hunched over in a daze of wonder.
I love Angel. I hate Angel. I will, for those reasons, never wear it again.
Instead, I will gift the bottle to a dear friend, whose smile at times will annoy and comfort me to no end.
A match suitable, I find, because Angel's love is far too fickle for my senses.
And if by some fluke I do wear her grace again, I will note not to visit anywhere public for at least an hour.
Like a dancer tumbling through the curtains and making an awkward arrival, the top notes are putrid but the aftershow of base and middle are enchanting and pleasant.
But you'd never do it more than once. Or twice.
So ends my experimentation with sickly sweet and dangerous gourmands such as Angel.
How I will miss those days and cherish the never occuring return of them.
As a drug addict looks back on ' those days ', I cannot judge Angel.
Only Angel can judge one such as myself.

All I can say is public urinal with a dash of stale used products.
Disturbingly over popularized and commercially shown.
Excuse me while I crawl into a hole, thanks.