Fragrance Reviews by cestrenee

The story behind Brandy is so sweet, like the perfume itself. As others have stated, apples, hay, spices, smoking pipes, autumn carriage rides, a small flask of (brandy) to warm you up, snuggles under tartan throws, a horse's gentle eyes. Beautiful scent.

Generally, I don't want to smell like smoker's cough and climbing ivy. I don't want to smell like black leather gloves sprinkled with gasoline and gardenia perfume. I don't want to smell like dirty underwear, and I don't put in orders for burnt tar and orange juice. Nonetheless, a few years ago I ordered Bandit pure parfum unsniffed, and this is what I received. Thankfully, I was able to return it and live to tell.

This smells like chalk dust on me. In and of itself, Blush is a pretty, clean, light floral and smells faintly of tangerine and honeysuckle with a warm base. I can imagine this as a modern Anais Anais for blossoming young women. But on me, chalk dust. I suppose I've graduated.

If underwear had shoulder pads, this is what it would smell like. I think AP works better as a sachet. When this fragrance was first introduced, I received a pack of tissues scented with AP. I used them as sachets and it was lovely and intriguing. However, the straight-up perfume is too much for me.

I love that this simple, classic cologne is available in such huge bottles, like a 40oz or something. In the summertime, you can chill this in the fridge, place it in your favorite brown paper bag, and off you go. You'll have a refreshing splash always at your fingertips.

I am joking. About the paper bag.

Hi, I'm Corso Como and my insides are made of sweet powder and LOTS of
wood and I'm going to give you a BIG headache,ok? Giggle.

MassMenace says: "Drakkar Noir is that annoying guy that talks too much and needs to get attention from everybody no matter what measures need to be taken.Some people like this guy, some don't..."

Well, it was worn by Truman Capote ;). Which is just one of the reasons I love this. It smells so good. Simply, that's all. Masculine, soapy and dirty at the same time, fresh, classic, comforting. For me, this will never go out of style.

A friend of mine once declared "What is that smell...like rotting flowers??"-she does not like floral perfumes-to which I replied "C'est moi, I of the rotting flowers!" It's true, Ce Soir Ou Jamais does smell a bit...overripe (hence the tonight or never bit), but not in an unpleasant sense. At least not unpleasant to me. Full bloom roses and sweet, sparkling champagne, that's what I think of when I recall this perfume.

I was 2 years old when Opium made its debut. I began to wear Opium in my late teens, which is ridiculous because Opium in all its heady, spicy mystery is made for a WOMAN. I really had no idea what I was doing regarding perfume or anything else then, and subsequently avoided Opium (and lots of other things) like the plague for years. Now, at 33, I'm ready to give Opium another try. This time I know what I'm doing. Sort of.

Well, I've had to eat my words regarding violet perfume. I suppose I've met one I really enjoy. Of course it would be from Penhaligon's, because they're amazing. The thing I love about Violetta is its deep purple but resilient green nature, much like the flower itself. There is no sickly sweet candy, no stray Choward's mint found in a Harris Tweed coat pocket. This violet isn't trying to choke me or take over my world (I'm not going to make another Napoleon and his love of violets reference here, even though I just did), it's simply a lovely, elegant fragrance. Darn sexy, too.

this smelled a bit like wee-scented leather on me for a bit, which really turned me off. then warmth and incense. a nice affair, but nothing to write home about, particularly the wee part.

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.