Fragrance Reviews by cestrenee

i used to wear this poison-literally, poison-and god knows why. it's incredibly overpowering and has a strange "tomato soup" note i can't explain further. i just want to publicly apologize to those who had to be near me during this pahse in my life.

i'm much too dirty and complex to wear this fragrance, apparently, though i once tried. very, very sweet and gourmand with almost no developments or textures on my skin.

I have a green tweed hat from Ireland and it doesn't smell like this, really thankfully. There is a mossy suredness to Green Irish Tweed that I like but also a tinny, sweetness-beginning-to-sour quality that I don't like. Perhaps it's the violet leaves. What a tiny little dictator, that violet! Eventually this cologne dries down to the scent of a nice man I'd like to run into occasionally, one with a smile and a broad shoulder to lean on, such as Cary Grant.

Recently my very young, attractive neighbor informed me that he'd watched 'Sunset Boulevard' in film class that day and thought of me. Now, I'm assuming he was referencing my love of classic cinema and not my eventual metamorphosis into a pathetic, delusional old lady. Anyway, if that isn't a sign that I need this perfume in my collection then by God I don't really know what is. Dark, near carbolic, strangely sweet and etheral. A scent to bewitch and frighten, slightly. Who doesn't get chills over Norma Desmond's love for Narcisse Noir? I once read that Louise Brooks also wore this perfume. Voila!

One day while perusing a thrift shop I found an exquisite pair of vintage leather boots in mint condition, their shape retained carefully by two rolled-up magazines. When I arrived home, I quickly removed the magazines, anxious to try the boots on for size. To my surprise, the glossies were vintage, also-"erotica" circa 1975. They were an au pair, special editions based on 'The Story of O.' I was somehow nauseated and fascinated at once. Well, that day I was wearing Rose de Nuit. It was perfect, really, the situation and the perfume. Perfect and disturbing. Rose de Nuit is like dark rose petals shrouded by vintage leather, a whiff of cruelty and frailty, promise and depravity, the secret under your nose. I could never wear the perfume again after that day.

To be fair, I despise violet perfumes. I mean really detest them. However, Jolie Madame is considered a classic and I thought perhaps the leather would keep it in check. I wanted to try again, I wanted another chance with violet. And upon first spray it seemed possible. No. Soon my skin and my home and the entire heavens reeked of the incorrigible fragrance of those dainty purple flowers. So much for shrinking; their scent expands, expands, expands until I can barely breathe. No wonder Napoleon, a reported lover of violet perfume, tried to conquer the world. The scent must have driven him insane! So, a no go. I tried.

I first encountered Dior Homme on a former love, and honestly, it was the best thing about him. There are reminisces of Musc Ravageur in this scent, but the iris lends it an aloof sophistication with a less, er, ravaged quality. I like this, and I like this on my own skin.

Chandler Burr's infamous retelling of Diorella as "fur rubbed with mint toothpaste" is yeah! That! Bright, refreshing with an uninhibited, feral-but sophisticated and comforting-undercurrent.

I have to say that I <i>did</i> know about this perfume going in; the scent of "sacred juices" and all-milk, blood, sweat, tears...love? So one day while in Henri Bendel I decided to take a whiff. After all, I've never been one to balk from dares or risks. Well, after that whiff I literally had to make it down to the bathroom as fast as my feet could take me because I just knew I was going to retch right there. I didn't, thankfully, but I did have to splash my face with cold water, take long, deep breaths, and endure the pitying glances of those thinking "that poor girl, she'd must have tried that perfume." Lord, the stench! It is pure and unadulterated. Just thinking of it now makes me nauseous. More like a science experiment than perfume, I'd say. I suppose there is a ballsy genius in its creation and bottling-as noted by other reviewers-an evil, sadistic genius.