Fragrance Reviews by Nostalgie

This is the sort of fragrance that makes me think: "Ah! There you are." It revives memories of a time hen I wore patchoulis, musks, and sandalwoods, and when everyone burned incense. Yet it does not have that thick, earnest, linear, "head-shop" character.

The beauty of Hindu Kush for me is how it manages to be rich but dry, dry but cozy, cozy but airy, airy but assertive, assertive but graceful. As a result, it warms in the winter and cools in the summer.

The weather is very hot and humid now. A dry scent is just the ticket. Often the fragrances associated with summer (green and aquatic scents, especially) can be actually quite syrupy, and a bit clumsy. Not Hindu Kush. It defies gravity.

Jubilation opens with a fizzy, almost lightly peppered rose chord, and dries down to the smoke and shimmer of perfectly balanced flowers, incense and myrrh. The overall impression is one of sweetness: not floral sweetness, not vanillic sweetness, and not even a pinch of sugar. No, it is the sweetness of seemingly weightless resins, woods, and balsams that give Jubilation its distinctive allure. Its confident, but never pushy sillage never fails to attract compliments.

When I tried Jubilation from a carded sample, it had no staying power. However, I liked it so much that I decided to buy a small bottle. I am pleased to report that I applied it yesterday afternoon and can still smell it the next morning before my shower.

A lovely, must-try fragrance, Jubiliation sometimes serves for me as the ideal, sophisticated, light main course. On other days, it is the delicate appetizer that sends me to Tauer's less elegant but equally delicious L'air du désert marocain or Le Maroc pour elle for the main course.

I have so often read that Lovely resembles Narciso Rodriguez for Her, that I finally compared them, one on each arm.

On first spritz, Lovely has a synthetic , plasticy note that puts me off, while the initial NR waft has a sweeter, denser, fruitier smell.

On the dry down, NR is lovlier than Lovely. The problem is that synthetic, hardware-store note (which I also detect in Covet by SJP). It lingers in Lovely, and even gets stronger. I was unable to identify this smell until I read the review from indigo.smile on another site: yes, that's it--New Barbie Doll!

It is odd, because I love all of the the notes in Lovely, but have to scrub it off. It certainly lasts a long time, longer than Narciso Rodriguez, unfortunately.

I don’t get the amount of musk in either one that I would have expected.

I do see why the two scents are often compared, but Narciso Rodriguez is much smoother and less synthetic.

[Comparing the two versions of the fragrance, Miel & Citron and Miel & Citron EDT Pailletée]

If you love the original (now called "Classic") Miel & Citron, be sure to test the new Pailletee Shimmering version before buying. The original is a smooth, creamy, caramely citrus blend, sweet but not syrupy thanks to the patchouli and vanilla base.

The the new Miel et Citron Pailletee Shimmering is true to its name: I smell two primarily notes: citrus and honey. As a result, this fragrance is at once sharper and waxier than the original: kind of like lemons in a bowl next to bees' wax candles. As it dries down, I detect less citrus and more green floral, but that bees' wax candle note never goes away, and I find the fruitiness a little sour.

Be sure to shake up the bottle before spraying to get the maximum shimmer, which is quite pretty. There's not so much sparkle that you'll look like disco queen, but just enough golden star dust to twinkle in the evening light.

In my own private paradise, Occitane would add shimmer to the original and exchange the two names.

After reading about this fragrance, I was expecting something more boozy and far less foody. Between the candied fruit, the tonka, the cacao pod,and the vanilla, I can hardly detect the promising wood and floral notes that I crave.

I am especially sensitive to rich food notes. They tend to take over the whole blend for me. As a result, and unfortunately, 1270 smells to me like a generic, syrupy gourmand.

Like a Valentine bouquet in the shape of a heart, Coeur de Fleur offers sweets, but this is not the tooth-piercing sugar rush blasting from so many candied fragrances today. I’m more of a “floral girl” than a “fruity girl” but I appreciate the fresh, never dominating mix of peach and raspberry in CdeF.

In fact, Coeur de fleur combines the dulcet tones of four different scent families: fruit, floral, gourmand, and resin. Jasmine and sweet pea hold up to the fruit, while mimosa and iris add just a hint of earthiness. There must be only enough vanilla and amber to anchor the other sweets; neither note stands out on its own, but instead they harmonize to create a slightly peppered, cream base. As the name suggests, flowers compose the heart the blend, and I believe they give it a timeless appeal.

The dry down is what I call “clean sweet”—a category I’ve coined to describe the refreshing character of a few timeless floral scents such as the original versions of “L’Air du Temps” and “Aniaïs Anaïs,” fragrances that defied trends and typologies. While both are drier than Coeur de Fleur, I find that the three share a sort of olfactory integrity.

Coeur de Fleur pays tribute to the spectrum of sweetness available in fragrance, a variety of distinct elements too often blended elsewhere into a heavy, one-note goo. While I prefer other Miller Harris concoctions, such as the spicy, rich Fleur orientale, or the yummy, dirty l’Air de rien, I would recommend Coeur de Fleur to fruity-floral lovers. It has decent sillage--not too loud--and it lasts 3-4 hours. This chic, sophisticated interpretation of perfumery’s sweet gamut demonstrates the benefits of using restraint to achieve fragrant depth and dimension.

Nibble-me delicious benzoin creates the overall effect of a creamy, light gourmand. Too sweet and tasty to be a traditional male scent, I would call it unisex, even feminine. I sometimes wish the vanilla note were tuned down just a notch so that the orris, pepper and incense--all present for the first few breathtaking minutes-- would last longer. But as the SA on the Champs Elysées told me: "Vanilla? But that's Guerlain!"

I usually avoid vanilla (and its friends and family), but after said SA generously perfumed my hair and clothing for a test drive, I had to return to the Champs Eysées boutique the next day for a full bottle.

I love orange notes in perfumes, but have had trouble finding one with just the right dose: most either smell like a basket of fresh oranges (very nice on the table but not on my clothes), or hide the orange behind stronger notes. Not so in 1000 Kisses Deep.

1000 Kisses Deep, Eau des merveilles, and Elixir des Merveilles share a slightly bitter but very fresh, unsweetened orange note that I find scrumptious.

In Eau des Merveilles the wood notes, especially cedar, take over on my skin. Too dry!

In Elixir des Merveilles gooey vanilla and caramel end up candying the orange. Too sticky!

In 1000 Kisses deep, labdanum, myrrh and osmanthus give the blend all the depth promised in the name: Juuuuuuuuust right!

The orange is there, from beginning to end, but the wise selection of elegant complementary notes steers it in a warm, sophisticated, grown-up direction that takes 1000 Kisses Deep from daytime to evening. Modest sillage. Lasts at least 5 hours on my skin.

The homage to a Leonard Cohen song is for me a huge plus, as are the thoughtful attention to detail in the packaging.

Since I wear many different scents, I am disappointed that so many come in only 100 ml bottles. Again, B Never too Busy to Be Beautiful is the exception. The company seems to understand the financial, aesthetic, and practical needs of its many perfumista clients. You can choose a mini body spray for under 10 pounds, small atomizer, a small bottle, a large bottle, a pomander, or even a scented fan.

I am smitten with 1000 kisses deep, and am quickly falling in love with B Never too Busy.

How do you convey a sense of humor and a sense of danger at the same time in a single piece of public art? Well, start by building a 2500 pound metal cube, then mount it on one corner, and allow passersby to make it spin.

That's my reaction to Rosenthal's "Alamo" (a.k.a.
"The Cube"), the sculpture that inspired Bond. No. 9's newest NYC tribute, Astor Place.

I was hoping that the fragrance construction would echo the Cube's playful, gravity-defying structure. The notes are promising: fresh orange, cool violet leaf, earthy iris. Poppy provides the humor: the flower has no scent s far as I know. Equally invisible is what should be a sturdy base of musk, teak, and ambergris. If the fragrance tips over, blame it on the freesia: strong, long-lasting, overpowering freesia.

By overshadowing the base notes with a heart note, I suppose Astor Place does engage playfully with its sculptural inspiration. In the end, it is funny but dangerous. If you don't like BIG freesia, watch your step.

Cozé is to scent memory what the Human Genome Project is to genealogy.

When the phonemes in its name meet a first whiff of this pitchy brew, Cozé brings to mind “primordial ooze.” The rich blend, featuring canapa sativa seed oil, pepper, cocoa, ebony, coffee and pimento shocks at first, then eventually soothes by evoking something far away yet familiar, as mysterious as Easter Island, as mundane as rush-hour traffic. It is not the comfort smell of mother’s apron or grandfather’s pipe. No, one must dig deeper into the past. Cozé unleashes an imaginary journey through time and space, encompassing the La Brea Tar Pits, the African Savannah, a quest for fire, the Lascaux caves, exploration of the New World, and your favorite leather chair.

Hot, tarry, dusty, as pungent as burnt rubber, and rather beautiful in an uncanny way. Not for the faint-hearted, but a must-try all the same.

It is difficult to cut to the chase, because each Etat Libre d'Orange fragrance comprises a name, a concept, a drawing, a narrative, a scent, and a cultural reference. If the word "Charogne" [carrion] does not inspire trepidation, then the association with Baudelaire's poem "Une Charogne" will give most scent samplers pause. In Baudelaire's 12-stanza memento mori, the poet recalls a warm summer day when he and his lover came upon a creature rotting in the afternoon sun. The poet points out that one day his lover will be just like that carcass, devoured and decomposed by the kisses of vermin; yet her divine essence will live on in the poet's immortal compositions.

The sample package of "Charogne" features a rose sketched in black and white with a drop of red blood at the center: perhaps a nod to Baudelaire's Flowers of Evil, or to the theme of death, beauty and the printed page.

But on to the fragrance.

Does ELO's "Charogne" smell like the putrid carcass described in the poem? Not at all. It is, like Baudelaire's verse, beautiful. Bergamot and ylang ylang provide an almost too sweet initial impression, soon tamed by the softest leather. Vanilla and incense emerge over ambrette and undefined "animalc notes". These are not the heavy doses civet or castoreum I would have expected. There is an undeniable warmth to the base, but it has the strange yet familiar indolic freshness of jasmine. The overall effect is that of layered fragility and earth. Like all of the ELO fragrances I've sampled, Charogne lasts a long time, without loud sillage.

I leave it to you to enjoy the little narrative in the sample package and on the web site. To me it reads as a metaphor of the scent's development over time on the wearer. I am nearly convinced by the last line: "How could one do without it?" But the scent in itself, without all of the words and images it evokes, would be pretty. Not striking. That's right, the "divine essence" that makes this fragrance transcendent depends upon the art of language.

Despite the beauty of the scent, I shudder when I think of the name, and in this way , too, "Charogne" echos "Une Charogne."

For a truly delicious and decadent experience, read the poem as you inhale the scent from your skin, or from the skin of another. You will be transported.

Tom of Finland (né Touke Laaksonen) was an artist known for often controversial, homoerotic illustrations of quintessential manly men, in (and out) of the uniform of their trade: lumberjacks, sailors, bikers, etc. It is no surprise that Etat Libre d’Orange made this tribute scent big and muscular, featuring some of perfumery’s most beloved, archetypically masculine notes.

Like many ELO fragrances, this one wraps classic appeal in a provocative name. Fine ingredients meet playful packaging, their union reflecting what I think of as ELO's trademark appeal: equal doses of earnestness and humor.

The first spray is a blast of testosterone, all leather and trees with a dose of pepper and galbanum, giving the impression of smoke. An aldehylic top note, with a dose of citrus keep Tom of Finland from bogging down. I can’t smell the tonka and vanilla as identifiable notes, but I have a friend who smells vanilla immediately and all the way through, For me the portions are just enough to smooth potentially rough edges, so that the smoke and leather never get mean. Musk and ambergris add tenacity. I find the dry down to be seductive and everlasting as the blend morphs into one of the creamiest, most addictive vetivers i have ever sampled. In the end, a gesture of reverse rebellion, perhaps, Tom of Finland bucks the unisex trend by delivering a true, somewhat retro, masculine leather.

A scent with muscle, I just can’t wash it off and now I’ve got the sillage of all six Village People, ready to rock.

Drifting is sweeeeeeeeeeeet and fruity. I swear I smell Pina Colada, but coconut and pineapple are not listed as notes.

Must be a fruity mirage.

Starts of like Gilligan's Island: sugary, light and goofy.

Dries down like Lost: more complicated and mysterious, but ultimately light and entertaining .

The fragrant equivalent of bright coral nail polish. An interesting fruity blend, with pomegranate and sweet fig in the foreground. I found it too fruity sweet and had to scrub it off. The tenacious remains are pleasant. A must try if you like very sweet fruity scents and want something a bit different.

before going to the beach, I sprayed one arm with Salt Air, and left the other unscented. Devious, no? Or maybe just tragically or simply redundant.

Hours later, subjected to heat, sweat, the ocean breeze and a long dip in the Atlantic, the Salt Air arm smelled just the way I *think* my skin smells after a day on the beach. My right arm, exposed to a day on the beach
un-Demetered, seemed unscented by comparison.

This one should win an award for tenacity. It also gets points for not having that buttery note that makes some beach scents sticky (M. Hulot's Holiday, for example). Long-lasting, too. My favorite beachy scent so far.

A strange, wearable scent, with lots of development phases.

I was wondering how heliotrope and tonka could contribute to anything that smelled like "vapor"--but they do.

The opening is a bit prickly --sharp aldeydes create an almost citrusy feel--but hold on, once it clams down, "Vapor" is like a blast of fresh air blowing into a room where pastries (the southern French specialty "Frangipane" comes to mind) languish in a basket on the table.

A somewhat plasticy musk rises up in the dry down, and the "vapor" note becomes more industrial than earthy--but not in a bad way. Kind of like a layer of clean warehouse air over bread crust. A bit like Bois Farine minus the honey and warmth: Bois Farine left the farm for a job in the city.

Becomes a close-to-the-skin scent within an hour. I'd love to know how the sillage smells on someone else. Perhaps because I only used a bit from a sample vial. I don't think I'm radiating "Vapor." In the deep dry down it makes my skin smell fresh and tasty, but not in a foody way.

Not too feminine, not too masculine--but leaning more toward masculine in the dry down.

First, the husband test: "Nice. Fresh. Water"

Since I am in fact at the beach , and having just spend the whole morning swimming, running, and breathing sea air, I can say without hesitation that this is nice, fresh _city_ water. No suntan oil, no salt. Likewise, no wet leaves or dewy buds.

I'm reminded of a paint color I love called "Wet Pavement:" cool and gray; damp but not dank; misty, not musty; watery, not wan. Like Caillebotte's oddly clean and pressed rendition of Paris in the rain.

This is a fruity floral, with the peach and rose standing out most for me. If it were color it would be the peachy pink of some excellent dry French rosés. A very fresh, almost (but not quite) sophisticated non-bold floral. It starts out a bit too fruity but calms down some. A little more bright than I like my perfumes, but very nice and wearable.
The dry down is soft and cheerful. I can't say I adore it. But it's nice. Just nice. Attractive bottle design.

Strong and chilly. A pleasant, peppery, woody scent, giving the overall impression of traditional masculine (but non-citrus) colognes.

As I catch a whiff now and then, I forget it is my own sillage and half expect to bump into a guy in a too-tight button-down shirt who likes my smile and wants to buy me drink.

Iris is one of my favorite perfume materials, although I find it is often interpreted too literally. Just when I thought here was not much left to do with it Guerlain came up with this brilliant blend.

A good ganache provides chocolate a rich texture without adding sweetness: slowly blend a warm, heavy cream mix to dark chocolate, and deepen the flavor with cognac. Can you smell it?

Iris Ganache delivers the scent promised by its name: cool, dry iris root tempered by a lush but not cloying gourmand blend that will make you drunk with olfactory pleasure.

Playful, yet sophisticated. Unique. My only complaint is the eventual dry down to Guerlain vanilla. Enough already. But this did not prevent me from buying a full bottle, No regrets.

I am amazed to see BàV described as “soft,” “sweet,’ “romantic” on some review sites. It’s not that innocent. In my own mood categories, I’ve always placed BàV beside L’Air de Rien. I think of LdR as a kinder, gentler BàV. I am pleasantly shocked by BàV’s unabashed, sex-in-a bottle appeal. On second thought, it is more like afterglow in a bottle: lush and languid, warm and spent, a bit rumpled and hastily dressed. Rather than invite seduction, Bal à Versailles suggests the secret of having been seduced. The delicious, animalic basenotes are evident from the beginning, and dominate over time. I don’t get any powder or soap. Just a mix of leathery, slightly smoky, floral, musky, civety, velvet.

Like an olfactory tattoo, the EDT penetrates my skin so thoroughly and for so long that I wonder if it will be permanent. It smolders to such an extent that I find myself touching my arm to see if my skin indeed radiates heat.

I don’t find it dated (bottle design aside), because this sort of scent was never really trendy. The container is a masterpiece of kitsch, a parody of perfume bottles, an ironic interpretation of the scent itself. Or perhaps that’s the idea: the overdressed look of the bottle attempts to cover the nakedness of the scent within. A strange, daring, disturbing, beautiful, haunting, love-it or hate-it scent. Love it.

This “unexpected superman” (as the Etat Libre d'Orange packaging calls it) is all lavender, all day. I can't make out any other notes. I mean, really nice lavender. Clean, bright, saturated, lavender, like your favorite linen spray on steroids. A guy who irons? That’s my kind of hero. I'll take Clark Kent over Superman any day. But all that lavender in the phone booth eventually makes me claustrophobic. In the end, it's just too much of a good thing.

Why, yes you are a dandelion—sort of.

Many of the CB I Hate Perfume scents have a sharp floral top note that mellows with time. In I am a Dandelion this flower becomes slightly soapy and a little cloying. I have never spent much time sniffing dandelions, but I don’t recall all this sweetness, and because I’ve tasted the nutty, green leaves, I expected something earthier and softly bitter.

To me this is not a literal interpretation, but more a playful rendition of the dandelion’s colors, yellow and green.

I am a Dandelion dries down to an overall pleasant enough scent reminiscent of cut grass, but not as fresh,lush,clean and evocative as Demeter’s Firefly.

In the end the question is, are YOU a dandelion? I guess I am not.

A philosophical premise about the infinite recurrence of matter, a religious belief that links the present to the mythical past, and the title of Delannoy’s haunting 1943 film, “Eternal Return” brings a heavy name to a light fragrance. Easy,-to-wear, close-to-the skin, short-lived, soft and aquatic, Eternal Return represents a more gentle recurrence of CB I Hate Perfume’s The Beach 1966.

Wi-zi-wig.
Like several of Jo Malone’s blends, Amber and Lavender is a fragrant "wiziwig." That’s a sound-it-out spelling for WYSIWYG (What You See is What You Get), a user interface term with etymological roots in Flip Wilson's "Geraldine" act, and a 1972 hit song by the Dramatics.

In this no-nonsense mix, for the first twenty minutes or so, light, creamy amber peacefully coexists with herbal lavender. Within an hour the amber fades, lasting close to the skin, while lavender takes the lead. The two notes nearly regain equilibrium in a quiet, long-lasting dry drown.

I find straightforward, brisk lavender scents difficult to wear, even once they fade, perhaps because lavender is my aroma of choice for dish soaps, ironing water, and such. Unlike Jo Malone’s luscious Dark Amber and Ginger Lily, where the whole is greater than the sum of its parts, the scent of Amber and Lavender never overreaches its name. I like ti best about 8 hours in when I have to seek it out on my skin.

Lavender lovers should try this fine example of disambiguation in fragrance. As for me, while I appreciate the simplicity of WYSIWYGs when building web pages, I would rather navigate multiple layers of complexity in high-end bottles.

An interesting take on bending gender notes: the vetiver is not too strong, the raspberry and flowers are not too sweet, and the musk is just a bit synthetic (imagine that plasticy musk in SJP Lovely). A pretty, determined, far from closeted, slightly artificial scent, which like its name and the smiling, empty-eyed mask on the sample package, suggests the tears of a clown.

With the name “Delicious Drag Queen” this would be fun, but “Delicious Closet Queen” sounds unhappy to me.

I have heard that Nuits de Scherrer is a renamed Nuits Indiennes.

On first spray, there is an immediate sour note that dissipates in a second or two, metamorphosing into a pleasant vanillic blend, quite a bit brighter, cleaner, and sunlit than the name suggests. This may be due to the fruit notes I see listed. I find that Nuits becomes more interesting and complex in the drydown, but never as wonderfully distinctive as some of my favorite Scherrer scents. To me the vanilla and sandalwood stand out from beginning to end. I have to admit that in general if there is a drop of vanilla in a scent, that's about all I smell--and this is the case with Nuits.

This would be a good gift purchase for the vanilla-lover in your life. First, it costs less than many other vanillic scents. Second, no one seems to own it, so it would be unique. Finally, it is safe: not too sweet, not too spicy, not too loud, not too oaky, not too fruity, not too animalic. To be avoided only by those who don't like the dominant notes I mentioned.

A springtime scent, strangely cool and nostalgic at the same time. This is a favorite, but the new formulation is less smooth, a bit greener and sometimes sharp (especially at the beginning) compared to the creamy original. Very strong--a little goes a long way, for a long time. Even in the new formulation Diorissmo remains a stunning, classic scent. A must-have if you are in the mood for lily of the valley.

Provocative? Oh, yes!

I thought I found all bottled rose fragrance repellant, until I met Agent Provocateur.
It came on strong, with a sweet candied note—was it circus peanuts? I knew it was not for me.

But then the rose revealed itself in the drydown over a salty, dusty, slightly animalic note.

Amazingly, the scent maintains two distinct layers all day. Not a duel, not a duet, it is like a weak Bal à Versailles (formerly impossible to imagine!) shimmering under a layer of rose that is always fresh (in every sense of the term) .

This perfume is not exactly for me (and my husband hates it), but I hope someone I know starts wearing it so I can enjoy it from afar.

This agent provocateur incited me to try other scents containing rose and I regret nothing.

The EDP is very strong, very tuberose. It is also richer and fruitier than the EDT on the drydown. Neither one is my type of fragrance, but I can understand the appeal if you like very floral, very feminine scents. A funny thing: they both have a sparkly, shimmery odor that makes me feel like I'm smelling the snowy glitter in the bottle! It is odd: I think there is something sort of brilliant and wonderful about Fragile, but I can't say I like it. On the other hand, I do simply love the snow dome and snow globe bottles.

An green, long-lasting, seductive, original, complex. harmonious scent. I prefer Scherrer to better known chypre classics. I discovered it in the mid-80's because a very fashionable student from Romania wore it every day. It was a gift from her boyfriend in Paris. At that time you couldn't find it anywhere in the States, so I had to wait months until I was in France to buy it. It may have been more popular in Europe, but in the States it was--and still is--a unique scent. Gorgeous. Green. Glamorous. Rather bold. And it goes on and on.

Last summer I noticed that a waitress at a charming Derbyshire hotel restaurant smelled like very nice shampoo and wondered what kind she used. She explained it was her Envy Me that I detected. I think that says it all. Envy Me smells like nice hair products. Fruity, floral, perky, and in a pink bottle. Quite pleasant, but I prefer Envy, which actually smells like perfume!

I had high expectations of Dia, given the untouchable beauty of other Amouage fragrances, such as Lyric.

On me, the aldehydes, rose, and peach strike a soapy chord, somewhat pleasant for its nostalgic associations. I'm reminded of Ma Griffe and other scents worn by grown up ladies in lipstick, scents which remain in my mind unidentified but indelible. Paris and Chanel No. 5 may be Dia's less distant cousins, not in note-for-note matches, but in general mood.

After some time, I detect Dia's orris and woodsy base chiming in, but too softly for my taste.

This fragrance is ultra expensive. I recommend sampling and comparing to other soapy mixes before committing to the purchase.

Every time Angel is mentioned I find myself humming that Serge Gainsbourg tune: "Sorry Angel, Sorry so." I tested Angel briefly once before and did not like it, but decided it was worth experimenting with it for a full day, since it is such a popular fragrance. Despite its ubiquity, I have never to my knowledge smelled it on anyone else, and I remain curious about how I would react if I encountered Angel in a crowded space.

In the interest of full disclosure I should admit that gourmand is not my thing. It was no surprise, then, that I found the initial spritz to be a blast of sweetness. My beloved leaned in for a kiss and then backed off, voicing his preference for "more Catherine Deneuve, less Willy Wonka."

I kept right on humming it: "Sorry, Angel, sorry so."

But far be it from me to wash off a fragrance before experiencing the drydown. Will there ever, ever be a drydown? This stuff is intense, and my indoor sillage frightens me.

I will say in Angel's defense, that it is lasting and layered. But the patchouli just can't stand up to that sweet, foody dominatrix. In the drydown the musky notes turn sour on me and the candy just keeps on giving. I'm left with a not-so-fresh, someone-left-the-cake-out-in-the-rain feeling.

I am thankful for the Gainsbourg ear worm, though!

"Sorry angel ..Sorry so...Maintenant tu es avec les anges...Pour toujours..."

Sorry, Angel...sorry so !!!!!!!!

I expected Envy to stomp into the room, cold and bossy, a conversation-stopper, an elbow-jabber, a party-spoiler, a bundle of sass and sillage with a bad perm. After a drink or two, she would skulk off and settle in the corner with a few peevish civets.

But no! Envy floats into the room fresh from a walk, a sunny personality bathed in cool spring air. On first meeting she sparkles and cajoles, leaving a soft trail of cut grass and flowers in bloom as she works the room. One-on-one, she leans in and listens, at once earnest and lighthearted, sweet but not needy, never clingy. She’s there for you but she gives you some space.

Envy may be green, but a deadly sin? More a heavenly virtue to me. She radiates serene energy, she is true to herself, she lives in the moment, she gets along with small children and animals, she performs random acts of kindness, her carbon footprint is small, she can bake bread, and she looks fabulous in a little black dress. She’s her best possible self, the envy of men and women alike; yet her grace, confidence and good breeding keep her from ever thinking, much less saying, “Envy Me.”

I hope Kors does not disappear altogether, because it is unique and brilliant, though certainly not right for everyone or for every occasion. The top notes are listed as red wine and rose, and it does have a delightful, boozy quality. The strong masculine note seems to dance a dramatic tango with the strong feminine note. Although I don't smell cigarettes (and some people do), Kors makes me feel like I'm in a smokey bar or at a great party in a New York Loft. If New Year's Eve were a fragrance, it would be Kors.

I with mademoiselle nicole's "heartbreakingly beautiful."

The top note of En Passant is gorgeous, perfect lilac, which is a multi-layered scent in itself. It reminds a bit of vintage Diorissmo, perhaps because i tend to perceive lilac and muguet as similar in nature: sweet floral over a polleny, dry, vegetal, gently earthy layer. En Passant is more restrained than Diorissmo, and the notes of cucumber and hay (or rice? bread?) give En Passant a lasting warmth and freshness.

I simply adore this perfume and my only complaint is that I wish it lasted longer, especially since it is so expensive. It dries down quickly and almost disappears from me in about one hour. The fleeting quality of En Passant certainly fits its name, but that is some pricey poetry! It reminds me of Baudelaire's "fugitive beauté" in "A une passante: "Ô toi que j'eusse aimée, ô toi qui le savais!" [O you whom I would have loved, O you who knew it!]

This scent is so beautiful I could cry. If I could designate a single perfume to be the scent-track of my life it would be this.

I am a huge fan of acacia farnesia, the dominant note to me in Une Fleur de Cassie. I also detect the earthy, spicy, cumin note, in perfect contrast to the floral. This is not for everyone, however. The cumin can smell a bit funky. Some people perceive it as the scent of unwashed human bodies, must, mold--and while that is not how I would describe it, I find that sort of dirty basenote glorious. If this seems just too creepy but the rest sounds good to you, I would recommend Après l'Ondée by Guerlain, which is in a similar scent family, but sweeter and cleaner, and every bit as haunting. I prefer, slightly, Une Fleur de Cassie, but I wear Après l'Ondée, and here is the reason: what makes me cry about Une Fleur de Cassie, besides its perfection, is that it simply doesn't last. Within about 30 minutes it is as if I had never put it on. Love is so elusive!

Not to be confused with Cristobal Eau de Toilette (which I haven't tried yet), and which is listed elsewhere of having "fruity oriental top notes with lower notes of patchouli and sandalwood." I ordered sample of Cristobal on eBay and discovered the listing was incorrect when I received Eau de Cristobal instead. This is a common error on the net, so order with caution. The Eau de Cristobal turned out to be just lovely, a welcome eBay mistake. A soft, feminine floral with no screechy candied fruit, yet no overly lite "blue" water vibes. I usually prefer something woodsier, dirtier, but Eau de Cristobal is just the ticket if you are looking for a gentle, warm (yet not overly happy) knockout. Frangrance.net describes it as "freesia, jasmine, vanilla, fig, peony, bergamot, and patchouli." None of these notes stands out to me. The jasmine is there, but not overpowering. I don't get much vanilla, and like the jasmine, the peony is toned down. It's a bit powdery in the dry down, but still pleasant. Eau de Cristobal reminds me of some of the 80's oriental florals but with 21st century makeovers. A very harmonious mix. Hard to find, which makes it all the more desirable.

Candy candy candy. I would would write my own review, but what it comes down to is this: What purplebiord7said.

Love. Hate. Love. Hate. Love. Hate.
Hate.
I appreciate the innovation, and find the scent daring. There was a moment, about one hour in, when I thought it had me. But as time went on I found the chocolate note more and more nauseating against the floral. I also detect the sharp chemical scent Nukapai mentions. There is a similar irritating plasticly, hardware-store thing going on in Lovely, but Lovely is less noxious. Covet nearly made me sick, and I have a strong stomach for fragrances.
I wonder what it would be like to smell it on someone else.

One of my favorites.This was my “signature scent” until one day I woke up and realized: so little time, so many fragrances. Men and women complimented me nearly every time I wore it (which was just about daily in fall and winter). I would spell the name slowly, scribble it on business cards, cocktail napkins, matchbooks—but “ Scherrer 2” is not a household name in these parts, so it remained my own, special perfume. It was also very hard to find in the US pre-internet shopping except for a window of a few years when Sephora carried it, so the Scherrer 2 stop was one of my favorite pilgrimages in France.

It bursts my bubble to hear that Scherrer 2 smells like the disconcertingly named “Youth Dew” (which I’ve still never smelled, and may never smell out of sheer denial).

Scherrer 2 is an elegant, arguably perfect scent: spicy but neither sharp nor gourmand; feminine, but not sweet; a bit floral, but never, ever powdery; strong and lasting, but not loud. The Chrysler Building-esque bottle captures the character of the fragrance.

All of this said, this type of scent is out of date, but not yet retro, so it is not for everyone, not even for me right now, although the fall weather makes me reconsider.

Not to be confused with its older sibling, the equally gorgeous, equally out-of-style chypre, Jean Louis Scherrer.

The drop-dead gorgeous bottle, the marvelous name, the delicious list of notes--I was drawn to this fragrance in a flash. The first spritz was heavenly but it turned medicinal within thirty minutes. In a blind scent test (I offer my wrist and ask, "What do you smell?"), on two separate occasions, three unbiased noses identified the scent on my wrists as moth balls. And it lasts.

Courtesan opens with a hint of the fuzzy, sexy notes I associate with Bal à Versailles, but it is as if watered down BAV leftovers were reheated in rich,spicy sauce. I find Courtesan way too foody for me, and for its name. Makes me appreciate the unblushing animalic blast of Bal à Versailles. In fact, it’s as if the two names were switched at birth--kind of like Greenland and Iceland.

The name conjures images of Joel Grey in campy makeup and the bottle says the circus has come to town. Hence some initial hesitation. Once I repressed these associations, however, I actually tried a sample and was smitten. Cabaret balances equal parts freshness and depth, making it a perfect fall scent. I get compliments from men and women when I wear it, and I find myself looking around to find the source of that beautiful scent. Why, it’s me! I use it sparingly, as it is strong and lasting. I thought I could never wear rose, but in gentle doses, Cabaret has become one of my favorite fragrances. If, like me, you have had a sample in a drawer for some time, I urge you to forgive the name, ignore yellow and red Barnum and Bailey packaging, and live with Cabaret for the day. You may be pleasantly surprised!

Did I get a bad sample? The name, description, reviews, were so promising and Guerlain is--Guerlain. What's not to like? There are so many wonderful scents out there using vanilla (which, admittedly, I prefer in subtle doses), that this one seems bland by comparison. I don't get any complexity here. This one smells like vanilla extract, and a very sweet vanilla extract to boot. I have to be careful not to leave it in the kitchen or I might bake cookies with it by mistake. If you love vanilla, give it a try.

I owe Paris an apology. I tried it the year it came out, found it brassy, and avoided it for two decades, along with that “never-in-million-years” fragrance, Poison. Maybe it was just guilt by association (Paris and Poison were ubiquitous in the 80’s in France), because when I mustered up my courage and gave Paris a second try this weekend I was surprised to find it elegant. I suppose this says more about me than about Paris: it took me a while to warm up to unmitigated florals and still feel like a bit of an imposter when I wear them. Paris has nice staying power, but it is not loud: lots of flowers, yes, but never sweet-- in fact, rather dry. Always clean, but not in a crisp, hygienic way. I do not get the rose upon rose blast others have mentioned, and would not recommend Paris you need a serious rose fix. There is a moment on the way to drydown when Paris threatens to go powdery, but then the woodsy, musky notes take over. Here the depth, sparkle, and complexity that were apparent on first spritz persist, but now in a different, very up-to-date key. A grown up fragrance, classic but not dated. The bottle may be perfect. I apologize to Paris for confusing it with Poison for all these years, and in fairness, will retest the latter when I am feeling brave.

The bottle design had me expecting something sexier and spicier. At first spritz Tumulte is very busy, yet not complex. I do not detect the 60’s vibe, the patchouli, or the naughtiness a few others mentioned. For me this is a “G” rated fragrance from start to finish: it goes on sweet, and dries down to candy. In a side-by-side test (comparing the two red bottled-fragrances from Lacroix) Rouge comes out on top. I like both bottles, but in design as in scent, Tumulte seems to be trying too hard, while Rouge comes across as less garish, more elegant, more adult, more subtle, and for all these reasons, more seductive. Good news if you like Tumulte: it lasts and lasts and lasts and lasts and lasts.