Fragrance Reviews by Quarry

Ummm … am I the only one who thinks this is predominantly Iso E Super? Vetiver + Iso E Super? I can't find an Eccentric Molecule sample right now for comparison, but I hope someone else will do a side-by-side and opine. As far as the “ink” association, I think it's more related to mimeograph ink than the haughtier ink well or Mont Blanc sort. Yes, EN smells good, and the name and bottle show marketing genius, but revolutionary? Certainly not. Now I'm wondering whether the forthcoming women's version will smell akin to CK Eternity.

[Erases former review.] I've grown up. Shalimar is all wonder and magic.

I sniffed a bunch of things at Anthropologie and decided to wear a spritz of Susanne Lang Tamboti Wood. Reaaallly different from everything else I've smelled: Tamboti (an sacred African tree), cedar, sandalwood, vetiver. The top notes reveal an unusual chemical. I feel like it could be the Tamboti tree's natural defense against insects. The bulk of the performance is dry-dry-dry woods, somewhat like a black tea. Wholly unisex. Not FBW but def a thumb up.

Hello. My name is Quarry, and I'm a green-aholic. No surprise to anyone here that I love these mint green top notes, but once they mix with Mentafollia's soapy heart, the spell begins to break. I'm put in mind of the unceasingly minty goodness of Masakï Matsushïma Mintea (discontinued), which doesn't vary to any degree, but sustains that sweet, green blast that puts a glint in my eye.

A Scent lasted longer for me than it did for prior reviewers, but I otherwise concur with their assessments: citrus, green, synthetic. Can throw one compliment: The musk base worked well on my skin.

MANY MONTHS AFTER FIRST REVIEW:
Oh. I'm getting it now. Yes, it's subtle. And because it's structured around a "simple, raw material" it smells more like just the heart or base notes of a fragrance. And that's fine, because often one prefers just one phase of a perfume. Pretty and comfortable, a whispering vanilla.

OLD REVIEW:
Nope. Un-uh. Negativo.

If you like, you can say I have pedestrian tastes and limited olfactory powers. Fine.

Leather is one of my favorite notes, and I'll continue to get my fix from Jicky, Dzing!, VIP Room, Cabochard, and Miss Balmain. By comparison, CB was cafeteria white bread.

I didn't care much for Brooklyn during a prior sniff, but darned if it is speaking to me today.

The grapefruit top note is just what I needed for a sluggish Monday morn--a bit of pleasant, bright smelling salts to open my eyes. An impetuous judgement (“masculine!”) sparked by the juniper note, is being pushed aside as I welcome the cardamom. I can enjoy this scent for a day. Not $-worthy, but Brooklyn deserves credit for working with my finicky skin and narrow preferences.

I can see where others might think this fairly pedestrian, but it's the kind of routine frag I hope the civilians (non-BNers) choose to wear.

On first sniff, I'm reminded of Black Cashmere. On second whiff, Au Thé Blanc. Sniff, BC; wait, whiff, ATB; wait, sniff, BC ... It's the funniest thing. It's like the fragrance resets each time I go to smell it. If you like either or both of those scents, you may like Isabela Capeto.

It's aquatic!?!?! Huh. The second surprise is that, for an aquatic, it's fairly good. A little more surprising was its longevity.

Rating? You know I don't want to use a thumb to connote anything. Would rather spread four fingers to form a V.

Thanks, Whisperingleaves, for providing intergalactic sensations!

How KAF is successful: Uses some of my favorite notes; creates some initial attraction in me.

How it fails: Has that ubiquitous, modern "department store" element all the mainstream perfumers seem to be using; maintains a certain monotony.

Sometimes I just look to the heavens and wonder, "Is it just me?"

No. 18, a scent of mixed directions, deserving of mixed metaphors. At the start, it's pure chemical laboratory, in the classy way Chanel stirs up synthetics. In a few minutes, brisk, fresh leaves unfurl from a branch of the same tree where Bel Respiro sprouts more distinctively. In a short time, 18's leaves die and fall into a nondescript rose garden. I feel I understand the intent of the composition and wish it could have nailed the synthetics/green leaves/roses concept a little better cuz I like the idea.

P.S.
I hadn't noticed the cumin note until Ubu mentioned it. Yup. Now it's so obvious. So, the horizontal thumb is tilted slightly more downward.

Yesterday I wore Tasnim (which is spelled Tasneem on the website) and enjoyed it right through the evening when it spoke softly of sweet amber (tonka and vanilla, according to the notes). When I first applied it, I was reminded of one of the Neil Morris frags (sorry, can't remember which one). Tasnim struck me as a semi-sweet woody, and it felt languid and tawny. According to the Profumo website notes, a second distillation of ylang-ylang produces an almond quality. A very comfortable and comforting fragrance, if not a little ambiguous and forgettable.

Cuba Express lasts and projects well. In fact, I'd call it forceful, and it makes me feel timid. There's a lot going on, like a raucous celebration that overwhelms me. The notes do not clash--they are harmonious in their way; I am, admittedly, a wimp. Thank goodness Mr. Duckfinder can break apart the elements in a more useful way for the reader.

Chillum smells dry, dusty and mildly spicey, like an old shop whose woodwork has absorbed the molecules of its pungent wares. The scent smells foreign to my experience, so I don't have names for the notes. I find them pleasing to encounter in passing, although the scent wouldn't fit my countenance. If I caught a whiff of Chillum from a passerby, I would stop him and ask what scent he was wearing because it's distinctive and unlike what I think of Americans as wearing. I guess the best summation of Chilum's impression on me is "foreign"--and I mean that in positive way. The only other thing I noticed about the scent is that it seems to fade fairly quickly on my skin.

Sweet? Yes. Fruity? Yes. Chypre? Really? I guess so. I was just so distracted by the sweet and the fruity. But then, as others have led me to understand, almost all of my favorite fragrances turn out to be greenies, so I take green notes for granted.

Libertine is one of those nearly drinkable juices that the throat longs to absorb. You might say that what Miss Dior Cherie is to strawberry, Libertine is to tropical fruit.

Of the green scents currently my wardrobe, the spectrum progresses from sweetest to driest thusly: Libertine, Molinard de Molinard, Nanadebary Green, AbdesSalaam Oak Moss, Jean-Louis Scherrer.

Does anyone else feel like they're layering a weak No. 5 with Bel Respiro when wearing Eau Premiere? I think I prefer to have my Chanels served unscrambled, but I understand what others appreciate. I can comprehend what Lilybelle's saying about the easy-breezy category that No5EP shares with Cristalle, but I think Cristalle's character is more distinctive and desirable.

First, may I say, the previous writers have executed their reviews beautifully. I will add that Cadjmere reminds me of a few other fragrances that radiate a sweet, smooth (see lizzie_j's aged liquor reference), mellow, I'd dare say dull aura: Rochas Tocade, Chopard Casmir, and the drydown of Boucheron Trouble or Liz Claiborne Spark. I can't decide my favorite from this camp. The vanilla dullness is at once very attractive/soothing and then wearying/boring. However, a cost comparison removes C18 from the running for me.

Be sure to check out the many positive reviews at Lucky Scent.

So, thumb neutral or thumb up? I think the interesting resins earn this fragrance a ...

Sanguine just isn't special enough, as compared with other similar fragrances I've enjoyed. You're better off with New Orleans Bourbon French Parfum's Eleftorea, which maintains a soft/fresh citrus/floral mood throughout its reasonably long life. My clear preference in this scent category is Malle's Bigarade Concentree with its 100-watt top notes.

Other chypres have enticed (memorably Cabochard, Miss Balmain), but J-L spoiled me. Its top notes offer spellbinding pleasure, and I wish they'd never move on: Mild, Sweet & Green (MS&G are what endear Nanadebary Green, Molinard de Molinard and other favorites to me). But J-L is a chypre first and foremost, and in this formulation fulfills my image of what real perfume smells like. J-L is may be used to best advantage to scent fabric to which your nose returns since its second act is not as alluring as its opening and drydown.

A mildly sweet citrus is made more interesting with the subtle presence of non-kiddy floral. I say "non-kiddy" so as assure you that, although this is marketed as a fragrance for children, there is nothing especially childish about it except its playful attitude.

While I often struggle with the scent of rose, its addition here perfects the previously imperfect inaugural fragrance from this line (Le Petit Prince). Be sure to seek out La Rose du Petit Prince for girls in the pink packaging. Everything about the product is cheery: It's lavender-colored juice; it's almost-Lutensesque-bell-jar-shaped bottle adorned with white cartoon and ribbon; and the scent itself, which I find moderately long lasting. The price is very good for the quality and quantity, too.

Eleftorea is a memento of a trip to New Orleans. (The Bourbon French and Hové shops on Royal Street in the French Quarter are so visually stimulating, you'll nearly forget you're there for the perfumes.)

Eleftorea (e-lef-tor-EE-ah), as I recall, is the middle name of a woman related to BF's history. It's described as "a fruity blend with hints of bergamot, grapefruit & kiwi." My first impression was that it had a lemon/lemon blossom quality. I find it somewhat tart, but not sharp, if you can imagine that apparent contradiction. The like-scented body powder is fabulous.

The most accurate description I have for Eleftorea is: O DE LANCOME WITH BETTER STAYING POWER. Coupling the perfume with the body powder will further the presence of this mild, impossible-to-offend scent.

If I fail to wear this often, it's because it is so polite, it doesn't have a lot of attitude, and I enjoy how my other frags build on my moods and cravings. HIGHLY RECOMMENDED.

There are legions of laboratory-hatched fragrances I detest for their artificiality, and then there's Bel Respiro, so clearly a synthetic and yet successful for breaking new ground. Its chemistry offers an abstract of vegetation, such that, while one can say there are woody elements and later floral notes, the proper names to identify this tree or those flowers don't exist. With a name connoting beautiful breath or air, you'd expect a citrus or other freshening agents would be involved. Instead, BR avoids any sense of breeziness. I'm reminded more of a hot summer's day when a floral garden has baked long in the sun and an amalgam of those fragrances which have survived the scorching heat then mingle and float unmoving above wood-chipped paths.

Chanel has historically used aldehydes to offer newness to the marketplace, BR echoes that tradition. Sweetness is restrained--or, better stated, was never introduced. So, unlike many gag-inducing moderns, this fragrance is allowed to have its own personality rather than that of an imagined mango or other fantasy fruit.

If you're relatively new to Basenotes, you may not have caught wind of two of the most wonderful perfume sources in the U.S.: Hové Parfumeur <hoveparfumeur.com> and Bourbon French Perfume <neworleansperfume.com>. Cannot urge you strongly enough to visit these shops in the French Quarter if you ever get to New Orleans. Alternatively, do yourself the kindness of ordering samples.

Frustrating though it may be, notes are not published for Hove's lineup. Their compositions are guarded better than Seinfeld's Soup Nazi's recipe for mulagatani soup. At times I've ventured to suggest Rue Royale may contain vetiver (one of Hove's famous ingredients) and something floral (rose?). My latest mystery ingredient reckoning is mineral oil, because both RR and Hove's Camille, have reminded me somewhat of baby oil. The promotional literature teases with this text: "A hint of musk pervades this basically dry and light fragrance, selected most often by fair brunettes who wish a quiet elegance."

All mystery aside, I can declare the fragrance to be Old World in style, soft but distinct, and a sincere pleasure to wear.

It's a story oft repeated I'm sure: A sample passes under one's nose (in this case, it hailed from trusty Twolf), it kinda registers a thumbs-up, a trial wearing is made, the vial is put in the pass-along pile, it almost makes it out the door when a haunting "better make sure" wearing is made, and, ohh-ohh--this may be something special.

This lily is my lily-of-the-valley scent, but it doesn't get there right off the bat. The juice starts out so bracing and tart (imagine an unripe lemon!), you'd never think it was on its way to becoming a floral. When it finally calms down, POP! you're wearing a bouquet of those pretty little white-bell blossoms surrounded by broad-blade leaves. No old-fashioned romance here, no powder or other add-ons. Luca Turin thinks no one ever really wants to smell exactly like a plant. To quote Bugs Bunny, "He don't know me vewwy well; do he?"

I believe CdG is no longer producing the scent, but stock remains on the market from Lucky Scent, which is where I paid full price for my bottle (that's saying something). I don't wear this scent often, because it's clearly got a springtime attitude, but it's a wonderful shock of scent when I'm wanting an unabashedly fresh floral presence.

Notes: Lily-of-the-valley, freesia, dog rose, green syringa.

Not that Jicky needs my review to compel Guerlain to keep it in production, but I'll add my voice to the Basenotes Tabernacle Choir of halleluja-ers.

Lavender is a beautiful flower and scent, but wear it without some sweetening, and it can be cold. Add a vanilla? Good idea! But isn't that just a tad simplistic? How about some civet for curiosity? Perfect! Stop right there.

I like the edt the best, but all formulations are splendid. Keep a sample on hand if you don't "get it" on your first try. No matter how short your must-try list, Jicky should be on it.

Sweet, tangy, delicious ... but 1270's $$$ thwarts any temptation to own this vapor that puts a virtual Gewürtraminer aftertaste in the back of my throat. This is a quality scent, don't get me wrong, but it's not radically superior to or different from affordable offerings like Chopard Mira Baï or even Britney Spears Believe. (Yes, yes, I realize what I just said.)

What if ... what if ComDiva hadn't sent me a sample of this treat? I'd probably never have met this easy-going staple.

From the distinctive Lalique frosted bottle with relief imagery spring some of my favorite top notes--mild, green and decidedly perfumey in a Frenchy sort of way. In my mind, I've pegged this as a sweet, green chypre even though there isn't even a rumor of oakmoss. Others dub it fruity, floral, grassy. Officially the notes are said to be (top) fruits, citrus, black currant bud, greens; (heart) Bulgarian rose, Grasse jasmine, narcissus, ylang-ylang; (base) amber, Reunion Island vetiver, incense. To think all this all this can be had for just about $30 for 3.4 oz.!

The cost of "M de Molinard," on the other hand, heads toward $185 from Aedes. M de Mol (floral green, bergamot, narcissus, rose, amber, patchouli) bears some family resemblance to Mol de Mol, but I'm happy to like the older/cheaper composition. There's nothing else quite like it.

"Mach Med" is one of the niftier-looking bottles in my collection and purchased for such a great price ($10 from Overstock). It holds nostagia for me as it resurrects long-ago, wood-lined pantries saturated by the scents of baking spices. The other image I often get is of herbs hanging upside-down, drying in the wood rafters of an old, old house. TaoLady smells fresh herbs on her skin, but I find a dry, dusty quality. I don't really care to wear MM, instead preferring to spray it in my actual pantry when visitors tour our 140-y-o home so as to enhance their retro experience.

Macchia is defined as a wild shrubland of the Mediterranean region, a thicket of evergreen shrubs such as sage, juniper and myrtle. I like that imagery, too.

Official notes: top notes of orange, apple, cedar; middle notes of pepper, vetiver, woods; base notes of violet, cardamom, musk.

An application of BC makes me weak of knee and clear of mind. Bears some resemblance to Mandragore, which I also like. Takes a bit greater quantity of juice than some other scents to achieve the desired radiation effect. Bravo, J-C Ellena, for navigating past sweet, sour and tart, arriving at the simple essence of the citrus tree, peel, seed. Company description: Bitter orange, rose, hay, cedar.

Never would have anticipated salty vetiver as a wardrobe staple, but such are the revelations that come of sampling.

SdV's top notes compel me to sniff my forearm up close to experience a primitive, animalistic sensation -- not quite carnal, but somewhat base. This is my favorite phase, these zesty, salty, skin-complementing top notes. I regularly pair SdV with Jo Malone's Black Vetyver Cafe to achieve what I call "spectral vetiver." Just as "sweet" and "salty" enliven each other in foods, SdV and BVC make the vetiver experience really blossom for me. SdV is, however, one of those frags I don't expect others around me to understand as an art form, and this is another reason I wear it in tandem with BVC (which my husband likes on me quite well).

If you're exploring the world of vetivers, this one is a must! Very close to nature, easy on the nerves. I've not known the occasion of sitting on an ocean's windswept dunes, but I can still relate to this mild, earthy fragrance just the same.

Why only one review? Sabi is a true beauty and has been around for years. I'm wearing it today for only the first time (thank you ever so, Haunani), but I'm compelled to talk up its elegance without hesitation. Where most fragrances perform the notes of a mere chamber orchestra, Sabi conducts a full symphonic experience (think Debussy played pianissimo). The varied florals are restrained, tied up with a fine ribbon of old-world powder and soap. I'm sure the whole garden is in attendance: rose, peony, lilac, iris, lily.

I'm surprised, after all this time sampling fragrances, that one can insist something new of me as Sabi does: "cleavage only" it taught me. Wrist skin isn't warm enough, pliable enough to cushion and time-release this scent. Mild, demure, feminine, I almost missed that it inherited some green chypre framing.

WITH PERFUMES LIKE THIS, WHO NEEDS FLOWERS? Yes, this "Oak Moss" is a perfume formulation, not just the singular ingredient known as oak moss; and it is one of my most comfortable scents. With a wardrobe sampling list near 1,000, such favoritism signifies exceptionality. Further, for its rareness of breed, I deem it not just exceptional, but singular in style.

Demure, green, and sweet as true, wild nature, I relate the effects of this juice to what I know: the mature grasses of the prairie, aged tree trunks -- verdant land punctuated with nut-brown timbers, the aromatics of native earth caramelized by the sun, then distilled and blended by the perfumer and captured in glass.

The moment of encounter sends me swooning. Do you know this feeling? Upon first sniff, one's happiness seems to rise and twist and rise and twist and rise like a streaming ribbon, and a smile is unavoidable. Although AbdesSalaam does not necessarily conform to the notion of top, middle and base notes, I'll observe that the top and base are my favorite time periods in wearing Oak Moss. Vetiver, sandalwood, and oak moss transition to a point of dryness and heat after about an hour of wear, as though the midday sun has burnt off the morning's dew. Later in the day, the evening's dew seems to descend and revive green, leafy odors.

I can usually identify one product from each fragrance house as my favorite, and I thought Hindu Kush had won that honor here. But then my husband gently abducted Hindu Kush from me. So now, in a review already littered with words like rare, exceptional, and singular, I must add that the House of Profumo has earned another form of exclusivity: It is the only perfume house my husband and I share fragrances from.

I do not believe you have to be a fan of chypres to appreciate this oak moss-rich liquid. If you enjoy the smells of untamed lands, you would be entertained by the uncommon personality present in Oak Moss. There is nothing sharp or harsh herein, and I can think of no argument against your ordering a sample. For newcomers, I can only say you may get spoiled by the quality of Profumo's ingredients. To you frag veterans who have grown jaded and think you've smelled it all I say: There are new delights to be had in Profumo's "Scents of the Soul."

Sweeeet orange scent for those who like candied fragrances. As I just mentioned with regard to Malibu Lemon, this Pacifica is a fragrance I'd find preferable on youngsters who crave lollipop notes.

Lemon drops. Bright, yellow, tart with some cane sugar. Not what I consider a body scent for myself, but if youngsters want to wear candied fragrances, I'd rather they choose something like this.

Can't imagine any male or female of voting age disliking this fragrance. The top notes produce a swirl of soft, dry spices. They find their direction in the dry down, which reminds me very much of the sweet, hazy base I smell in Tocade. Not my favorite of the many beautiful fragrances from this talented perfumer, but still deserving of a thumbs up.

TL opens with a sweet, smokey leather. I am a fan of leather, but usually not attracted to smokiness, however, I like their combined effect here. I wish the personality of the top notes lingered longer because they are excellent and can compete with the best leather fragrances on the market. There is a family resemblance to Hindu Kush in the dry down. As with most of Profumo's fragrances, a natural gentleness lingers. I highly recommend your sampling a variety of creations from this house.

I don't know what ivy is supposed to smell like, but I'll give you an alternate name for this scent, and I think it's right on: Ivory Soap Lilac Spring. As with so many Demeters, it's best as a room scent rather than a body fragrance.

Thanks to Lizzie_J, I've met this fragrance I'd never have sought for myself, but have encountered on the road to finding a scent for my daughter. Two sniffs and I was instantly transported to the concession stand at a movie theater--various sweets with a hint of buttery popcorn in the background. I'll leave this for the younger generation to judge for themselves. Not for me, but not offensive.

Whimpy me, little tolerance for hot or spicy. The pepper and cedar form a strong clove-like top note, and I must retreat or give in to feeling a mite ill. This phase is somewhat reminiscent of Jo Malone's Pomegranate Noir, but PN is much sweeter and easier to digest. The heart is too austere to entertain me, but I can understand others enjoying this composition.

My notion of new-sawn wood is vastly different from yours, I'm sure. I expect your experiences harken from freshly cut trees or home-improvement-center lumber or year-old firewood. Whereas the most impressionable wood from my life is much older, as are the buildings and furnishings that make up our home. Even as my dear husband renovates our house, he's using lumber harvested generations ago and stored through most of the 1900s by my frugal father. The green vapors have dissipated from this stuff; it is tightly grained, resin-sweet, and musty-dusty in a good way. To my mind, this kind of wood is the primary ingredient in Hindu Kush. Its creator talks of "taking a walk in an Indian market, where clouds of incense smoke escape through the open doors of temples to be mixed with the perfumes of the east, ginger, cumin, nutmeg and pepper." Not having any experiences like that, I associate HK's secondary accord to be like walking past the open door of a Penzeys Spices store--there's just that general melange of comforting scents--not firey, not sharp. And this, my friends, is the totality of Hindu Kush: simplicity, beauty, timelessness, and without gender. Unlike any other of the hundreds of bottled fragrances I've smelled, I want to draw in HK's scent deeply, like you would steam from a pungent soup or narcotic smoke. It feels like you should breath Hindu Kush, and I suppose at least part of that is due to its being composed of natural ingredients.

When I first sampled HK from a bottle with a reducer opening, I thought the scent faded away too quickly, but once I applied it from an atomizer and allowed the overspray to hit my cuffs, I was rewarded with hours and hours of aroma. Now, having gotten to know the scent over many days, I can find only one drawback to wearing it: I am too contented. Where other fragrances may make me kick up my heals or swoon or smile, Hindu Kush will let me settle and feel lazy, wistful. So it isn't a workday fragrance--at least not a workday where you actually want to get anything accomplished.

An interesting phenomenon arrived with this bottle: My husband asked to wear this fragrance, and asked again. So I've split the scent between us, and it's the only one we share in this way. Of course he forgets the name and calls it The Sawdust One. He's also fascinated by the hay scent sold by Profumo.it, while I think my favorite sample yet may be the Scents of the Soul Oak Moss.

To further sell you on sampling from this perfume house, know that it was the only natural perfume source Luca Turin included in The Guide, giving Hindu Kush four stars and labeling it "resinous oakmoss," the floor-wax-and-church-incense start of Mitsouko.

Admittedly, the opening is as wobbly and uncertain as Captain Jack Sparrow after a tankard or two. In a few minutes, the fragrance finds its direction and, strangely, that direction seems to be toward the tobacco shop, not the florist's. I'm familiar with the scent of narcissus in bloom, and CB I Hate Perfume M1 Narcissus is one successful rendition of that flower. L'Artisan's FdN is successful in being very pleasant, in a mild, non-smokey tobacco sort of way. I wouldn't mind having a decant of this because it's quite wearable and special (thumbs up), although a lot weaker than I'd like, however, as a floral, it has not met its label (so neutral thumb verdict).

Based solely on the words I'm about to write and you're about to read, HdI sounds like my ideal: "A lemony opening rides a trail of green herbs to a mildly sweet floral ending." The problem comes in that the scent lacks some of the femininity I'd like, and the whole experience is short lived. I like greens under almost any circumstances, but the lemon-and-floral effect was idealized for me when I learned to use a lemon soap in conjunction with La Chasse aux Papillons. The fragrance was fleeting but wowing. The search goes on. (I'm indebted to Chestnut for advancing my experiences in this category. Thank you, C!)

Plastic, super soapy, and nothing like the real flower. Wish I could elucidate in a more useful way, but that sums up my impression.

I've long suspected there were notes that escaped my detection, and here's further proof. Parfum Sacre? What parfum? I don't smell anything. Hmmm. Must need to apply more generously. [Tips vial and coats back of hand, leaving a shiny pool larger than a silver dollar.] If I put my nose within one-half inch of my skin and concentrate, I can catch a hint of something, but nothing distinct enough to describe it. I know I've been given the properly labeled juice--it's the edp, courtesy of Twolf. C'est mon nez, c'est la vie.

From the vial ... love at first sniff: Enthralled, charmed, smitten--soft greenery, fig-sweetened. Something goes a little wrong once the juice hits my skin though. Our combined chemistry generates an almond note and the green disappears. Awww. So close to ecstacy. I'm going to smell this vial over and over and over and over.

Evidence that I am a wise woman with a poor nose:

For the first 20 minutes of wearing Baghari, I smell sour lead--yes, concentrated citric acid poured over a dirty, old bar of lead from my father's machine shop. Where others find orange blossoms and neroli, I suffer acetic stench. Gratefully, this passage ends in 20 minutes, and the faintest trail of powder scents the air, and that's the end of the performance.

So, you see, my nose is quite poor. However, I remain a citizen of Basenotes because the companionship here is the finest to be found, and I'd be a fool to leave the company of such exceptional souls.

Now, if you really want to know how Baghari smells, read on. Vibert is both more accurate and poetic than I.

The top notes present a unique stink for a fragrance intended for olfactory consumption: Crossing the pleasant fig-like sweetness is a scent I associate with rotted vegetation. I guess that's just the black tea stating its presence, but I could easier believe it's wet, decaying leaves swiped from a gooey gutter. As odd as it sounds, the odor is as compelling as it is off-putting. This phase is not eternal, and the heart notes reveal a pretty, one-of-a-kind fig. I'll always want a sample around for reference and amazement, but can't imagine wearing this full-on in the company of others.

Starts out coarse as gravel, but give it just a little time, and it flows into silk.

One of Luca Turin's favorites, "... without being overly sweet or honeyed. A deliciously comfortable masculine." Have to admit, I'm not quite man enough for Tabac, but it has my respect. Starts out quite strong, but quickly wears close to the skin. Not smokey, more like freshly cured leaves. A must-try for tobacco-loving colognoisseurs.

Upon application the sillage just floated around me like bubbles, so nice. There's nothing harsh or offensive at any stage. After about an hour, I began to detect a hint of something like cedar or citrus occasionally popping through the smooth, grounded woodiness. A little later I thought I caught wind of a patchouli, then a salty-sea accord. As the hours went by, the sillage shrunk, so that the last few hours required nose-to-skin smelling. The scent grew softer and sweeter. Right at the end I found some peppery vetiver and amber. It's now nine hours into drydown, and there's still fragrance to be found if I sniff hard enough.

Official notes: Cinnamon, cloves, ginger, ambergris, vetiver.

What's funny is, I don't particularly care for perfumes with cinnamon, and I really don't care for the scent of cloves or ginger, but in Sea Wood, I liked them all. Go figure. Since I own Sel de Vetiver, I was able to appreciate the sea-and-vetiver effect in SW.

Acqua Santa does not smell aquatic, yet there something wet about it, or maybe stone-like. I'm not expert in cyphering the nuances of the incenses, but that's the other element in play here. It sounds like I'm describing Messe de Minuit, and I wish I had a sample of MdM around so I could give you a fair comparison. Perhaps someone else can comment on that.

Thanks to thoughtful Lushsoup, I'm sampling both vintage and re-issued Le De, along with Long Lost Perfume's version. My impressions are: vintage smells like a good Riesling wine, re-issue is predominantly floral with a hint of artificial twang that I associate with almost all department store 'fumes. Long Lost is quite unlike the others and is my least favorite, more of a flat, woody chypre. The vintage is the most original smelling of this group, but didn't have longevity for me. My favorite is the re-issue. Although it does not offer a lot of change over time, it's truly pretty--nearly angelic.

I liked Mandarine Amber best while it was still wet. The mandarine was alive then. Once on the skin, the juice turned herbal--dry herbs and spices, actually. Not at all sweet. [Just went to look up the official notes, and there's little online about this scent, which was released nine years ago. However, cedar appears to be the source of its dry sillage.]

The top notes of this Angel variation are amongst the best--cheery, tasteful. Then the strangest mood comes over the fragrance. It turns sort of sullen, peppery, dark and woody, at least on my skin it does. What happened to the fresh, semi-sweet opening? Was hoping it might turn "dirty" in a good way due to the patchouli, but it simply turned dirty.

I sprayed this on my paper folder during a sniffing event (the SA was out of blotter strips and my folder was the uncoated, absorbent sort), so while I didn't have time to parse out the notes on skin, my impression was that this was the smell of someone with money--age 30-something on up.

I had only the briefest exposure to Heure Exquise during a big sniffing event, but was struck by its similarities to a perfume called Camellia from the New Orleans perfumery Hové. I'd always found Camellia to be antiquated (in the good, Victorian era sort of way). Since I'm relatively new to perfumes, I don't know how I could sense it was old-style, and that seems to be the way others here are referring to the nostalgic nature of HE. Hmmmm. Interesting.

My shortest frag review: SWEET! GARDENIA! TUBEROSE!

Of late, "purple patchouli" fragrances have been shining brightly on my radar. Indult Isvaraya is the Godzilla amongst them--love the drydown ... at a distance. Iris Noir is a much tamer candidate. Its sweetness is blackberry-like. I'll hold on to my Rocher mini and continue sniffing for the ultimate in this category--sweet, but not too, with a cultured patchouli presence. Next on the list to try: Tom Ford Purple Patchouli and Trish McEvoy Sexy #9.

If Rochas Femme is the Mae West of chypres, then Y is the Audrey Hepburn, worldly but still refined.

If I were a schoolgirl, I'd feel very good about wearing this pretty cologne. But those days are long gone, and I'm on to more clever concoctions. I wish young women would seek out an affordable little number like this instead of spending their money on celebrity department-store fragrances. Or does the next generation think DdN smells old fashioned because it has no synthetic twang? Well, if you ever feel like wearing a flower-print dress and twirling a parasol, this might fit you as well. Fairly low-pitched for a fragrance centered on lily-of-the-valley. Olfactive Family : Green Floral. Head Notes: Mandarin, Crushed Mint Leaves. Mid Notes: Headspace Daphne, Lily-of-the-Valley. Base Note: Cedar.

Arabica Coffee, Patchouli, Musk, Moss, Cedarwood, Vetiver--Sounds delightful, yes? Nothing wrong with Pure Coffee, but hardly memorable. Mildly sweet. New Haarlem gives you more wow factor. I prefer Black Vetyver Cafe overall. Also, PC takes about 20 minutes to come together. The top notes suffer from "attention-deficit dis-odor."

Peculiar but not extreme. A quiet scent. Reminds me of the Lava pumice soap my dad used to use, plus ... well, I'm not sure what else. I keep envisioning a clean, white, dated bathroom. There's the slightest hint of incense and the slightest bit of sweetness. Seek out a sample to break the monotony that can set in after you think you've tried everything.

This year (2008) it has been made evident to me that I'm attracted to green scents, and the top notes of ASLP are among the dearest. After sampling ASLP a few times, its elements came into focus, and while I'm delighted with my new-found abilities to suss out these notes, a certain degree of ASLP's charm and high-end luxury got tarnished in the process. Aside from the fleeting, dewy top notes, I now see this scent in this way: It smells like an angelica plant raised hydroponically on a diet of Iso E Super by a woodworker building sweetheart cedar chests. Iso E Super--the chassis of Calvin Klein's Eternity. Sure enough, in a side-by-side sniff, I now sense ASLP as a slice of Eternity. Ah, well. At least Guerlain's Angelique Noire still retains that magical quality of fantasy angelica and Parisian vanilla.

The notes for "Little Angel" are lilac, tangerine and licorice. Sound like a less-than-harmonious grouping? I found it so. At least it's mild.

Completely forgettable for me, but if there's iris present, that may be the cause. Suffering an iris anosmia, there's just not much going on in this fragrance for me. On the plus side, there's off-putting about it.

Am I alone in picking up the fecal top note (before the scent dries on the skin)? If you're bent on studying the many good jasmine variations in the marketplace, add this one to your sample list. Not too heavy, could be worn from day through night. Lovely execution, but only you will know if this is precisely the jasmine you've been looking for.

Makes a sweet first impression, and therefore it undoubtedly garners compliments from passersby. Would you like to smell it? Just let me know, I'll uncork my sample, and if you're downwind and stick your head out the window, you'll smell it. It's that strong.

The lemon top is too vivid and cutting for my tolerance. I prefer Goutal's Mandragore, which is slightly sweeter, deeper, and more interesting.

Update: I now own the big bottle. The citrus and greenness with a bit of sweetness pack a one-two punch I find appealing this spring.
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This is the first Goutal I've liked, but it leaves me frustrated for its meekness. I have to plant my nose right on my skin to appreciate its classy spearmint aroma. I've been looking for a scent like this, but if it has no sillage, I'll have to keep searching.

Tutti-fruity juice spiked with some citrus. There is no doubt this fragrance is emanating from a perfume bottle and not a punch bowl. Not what you'd call a natural-smelling fragrance.

I like the Le Parfum (red bottle) more than the lesser concentrations. Reminiscent of heliotrope (everlasting flower), the sweet quality of FbK smells like you've spilt the best baby powder next door to the best confectionary bakery. This is one of those sweet fragrances I love to encounter, but would weary of wearing.

Cruel? Colorless and Characterless to this nose. It must be another case of notes getting past my radar because this juice smells virtually meaningless to me.

Just piping in to mention that SDV's base is similar to that of VIP Room (which I prefer) = like sweet tobacco and Ambre Narguile.

I detect a faint citrus top note and then an effect similar to DK's Black Cashmere (minus the sweetness). L'AdDM is arid and appropriately named. Very good execution, which I can appreciate even though this is not my category of scent. Happily there was no heavy incense, as I expected. Blasphemous as it is to say, I think this could be layered with other scents to good effect.

Here's a word I don't use often with regard to perfumes: boring. I like simple, discreet scents, but Tocade strikes me as dull and flat. Maybe I'm missing something or this combination of notes just doesn't happen to hit any of my buttons. C'est la vie.

Oh, this is cute. It's the stepping stool for young gals who have yet to approach Angel Innocent or Angel. It feels a little too light for me to wear, but it's completely successful in maintaining Angel's genetics while incorporating a cooling, summery powder.

I'm spoiled by Nandebary Green, which offers superior-smelling ingredients and a more diverse experience which happens to include a green-tea-like segment. If to recommend a simple green tea scent that trumps Elizabeth Arden's, it would be the one by Roger & Gallet--same concept, finer quality, and, I think, in about the same price range as EA's (unlike Nanadebary, which, admittedly, is costly).

As I was checking this out at Sephora, I thought its top notes bore a striking similarity to Coco Mademoiselle, so I sought the CM tester to compare, but it was missing from the shelf. Brought home a scent strip (which is quite pungent) and kept sniffing it to analyze how I felt about it. In some ways it's as loud as a cheerleading squad: "Give me a P, give me an E, give me an RFUME." It's truly "perfumey." And there's something that's giving me flashbacks to my mom wearing some sample fragrance from decades ago. Then I began to pick up on a soapy quality that has now morphed to a aftershave scent. I'd probably compliment someone wearing this, but would fatigue of it quickly if it were in my own wardrobe.

Not as feminine and orangey as I expected, the vetiver keeps the orange aspect from becoming overly sweet. A very respectable fragrance, and, although I wouldn't buy it for myself, I can highly recommend your sampling it because I think many would enjoy wearing it. I venture to say it would make a good gift for any man of Basenotes persuasion or the general populous.

I'm hardly a vetiver connoisseur, but I know what I like, and this is very pleasant. The citrus sparkles above the lower notes more than other vets I've smelled. MPG fragrances carry an air of quality and blending that justify their price tag. While not a fragrance I would reach for to wear myself, I am enjoying the sampling experience and would be pleased to have those around me wear Racine.

Without referencing (or remembering) the notes for Kelly Caleche, I tried it on my skin and was so relieved to find it NOT another fruity floral, and not sweet at all. It struck me as intelligent and original. After a couple hours I decided I would classified it mentally as a vetiver scent, and although that's not its official designation, I'm going to go on thinking of it that way. You can see the correct note breakdown in other reviews that preceded this one.

The first few minutes present a touch of bite and spice which segue to a cow barn -- oh, yes, all the hay, straw and earthy qualities drawn from the dankness of a long-occupied, concrete-floor milking barn. I like it in that perverse way you're sure no one else can appreciate.

The barn scene fades and a faint, sweet tonka bean aroma lingers so meekly one has to strain to locate it, darn it. Give me more oomph.

This is Play-doh into which someone has dripped a few drops amber and incense oils.

This isn't just bubblegum--it's the whitish powdery surface of fresh, sweet bubblegum. This is food, not perfume. It could layer with something, but I'm not excited enough to figure out any such relationships.

Hot, dry incense. Just not my kinda thing.

Reminds me very much of the Pantene hair conditioner my mom used to use. Actually there's something additional. Hairspray maybe?

If you know Donna Karan's Black Cashmere, then think of Massacrante as White Cashmere. I could have sworn the top notes included vetiver, followed by white pepper and a pinch of incense. I a-l-m-o-s-t like this. This is my favorite of the Mood Swings collection. I don't care much at all for the other four.

Ummmm. Celery and limes?

I love how fragrances can run the gamut, from bloody melodramatic to stiffly austere. LS surely resides on Bare Bones Boulevard. It's wet note -- available only for one inhalation and even preceding its real top notes--comes close to a scent I've dreamed of finding: fresh carrot. It's cool, wet, slightly sweet and vegetal. With a second breath, the lemon and rosemary are kicking in, but I can't locate these notes more than a few millimeters away from the skin. A bitterness lasts for sheer minutes, and then the real fragrance is locked in, dry, reserved, and perfect for a professional environment--ideal for a modern architect like Frank Gehry. The only similar scent I've tried is Aromafit (d/c by Lancome), which was a dilute carrot and orange juice blend.

Lemon Sorbet, isn't as desserty as its name implies, and its lack of sillage and longevity are the reason most aren't investing in a bottle. I, too, don't find this even quite decant worthy. It's clearly test worthy. Additionally, given a recent queasiness with smells, it's one of the few scents that I can wear with impunity.

My feeling about Volupté is, I'm not compelled to wear it, but if I could be hugged by a nurturing woman who was wearing this, it would smell like I was being welcomed to heaven. This floriental must bear resemblance to fragrances I associate with loving women from my childhood in the 1960s.

Notes: top notes combine fresh fruit and florals like mimosa, freesia and tagette. Jasmine, heliotrope and carnation blend with a base of amber, sandalwood, incense and patchouli. Classy but approachable. I'm one of those strange souls who isn't a fan of oriental frags so I can quite give this an up thumb.

Upon first spritz and citrus release I thought, this isn't too bad--maybe not exciting or full-bottle worthy, but okay enough to consider layering with something. Within a couple minutes I'd struck a line through that mental notation. Even if Le Labo uses natural ingredients, I felt a synthetic sensation in my throat, along with sugar designed to attract little girls. I gave up trying to derive pure orange blossoms from my skin and then recognized a note of some other floral, maybe tuberose.

After I composed my comments above, I looked up the official notes. Here they be: "A natural and extremely rare Orange Blossom that took over 3 years to compose is enhanced by fresh floral and lemony notes, rounded out by musk and the succulent, sunny touches of bergamot, petit grain and lemon."

Why do I keep doing the same thing over and over and each time expect different results? I have yet to like anything mainstream aside from Donna Karan Black Cashmere and, when I'm in the mood, Chopard's Mira Bai. Department store fragrances just don't sit well with me. Here's Carolina. It's got that general perfume smell, but not the perfume of strawberries. So I'm not moved. Yes, there's Hanae Mori's strawberry variation--didn't work for me. Miss Dior Cherie--I understand the attraction, but don't want to be surrounded by a glazed dessert smell all day long. I'll check out EL's Pleasures Delight (the latest strawberry flan), but that's a department store frag, and you know how that works out for me. Right now I'm pinning my hopes on those niche artists, like Neil Morris, who process molecules with a different mindset.

I like the tangy, green mandarine top note. Then it goes a mite soapy on me. I simply don't respond any department store fragrances. Give me niche or classic.

Does anyone remember the store chain Spencer's Gifts? (They have an online entity now.) They sold/sell gag gifts, semi-obscene t-shirts and posters shown under blacklights, lava lamps, etc. I didn't remember that the store even had a particular smell until I tried Black Orchid last night and Bam! I went back in time 30+ years and found myself standing 10 feet into the store at the mall. Freaky, man. There are layers of scent emanating from the store shelves: waxy pads of sandalwood and patchouli for hippy-wannabees and sugary sweet smells that I can only believe came from edible panties, and there's another odor I can't quite name (and maybe I don't want to?). Once I had that mental picture, it was hard to shift focus to a more neutral context.

The high- and low-pitched top notes start quite some distance apart and take their time settling toward each other. I was hoping once the candy faded, I was in for some pleasure. Twenty minutes in, I was reminded of the feel, although not exactly the smell of mure et musc. The arrangement never quite came together for me because the candy panties smell hung around too long. Yet, there is something compelling about the scent of the sample sprayer itself. So, maybe someone with the right chemistry can bring out the truffle undertones I'd prefer to have encountered.

I picture the membrane of JF's scent molecules as barely capable of containing this big, simple floral. Take a sniff and, like an over-filled water-balloon, Bam! sweet, oily jasmine explodes in your face. A scent for floral lovers only (and not the teenage sort either).

Just when I thought JF occupied the top rung of the floral ladder for whalloping soliflore-like frags, along came Michael Storer's Stephanie, a buxom gardenia, and I end up standing on that floral ladder's top rung in order to place Stephanie on a high pedestal. Like florals? Try each of these.

Cute bottle in fun colors. Brilliant, sparkling, sweet, juicy top notes. Then IG quickly turns bitter on my female arm. Maybe "bitters" smell more appealing on a man?

As a woman, Djin is not something I'd choose to wear, but could carpool with a gentleman who wore it. I'm not sophisticated in reviewing male-specific scents, but this strikes me as an okay frag for men. I thought I got a whiff of rhubarb(?) along the line.

I've tried this a couple times now, and every other time I apply, I catch a minor masculine vibe but it's meaningless in the which-gender-can-wear-this sense. As a female, I'd definitely wear this.

This is a warm June, and I might have other/additional thoughts about Monk in the winter. At this point, I don't specifically notice the tobacco or galbanum, which is fine by me cuz I prefer to focus on mild notes like musk, tonka, amber, leather.

I love the vanillic, musky, sweet, powdery opening. The middle simply grows milder, and reminded me of the praline base in Chopard Mira Bai until I made a side-by-side comparison. Monk is an octave lower than Mira, probably due to Mira's cassis upsweep.

You can see reviewers vary widely in their interpretation of Monk -- which tells ya, ya gotta try it for yourself.

Give me Michael Storer's Stephanie -- that's the frag he tailor-made for me (a thousand thumbs up!!!).

Genvieve is not my style. There is an ambrette seed top that reads like pepper to my spice-fearing nose. There are roses -- a note I often shy from. And there are fruits (rhubarb, raspberry, peach). I always struggle to appreciate fruit in fragrances (just look at my wardrobe.

But let this be a lesson: Do not judge a perfumer's stock by just one fragrance. I've noticed other Basenotes members celebrating Genvieve's arrival. As little as Genvieve happens to suit me, Stephanie has more than compensated and stirred me to become a dedicated enthusiast of this perfumer.

SAMPLE FOR YOURSELF!

This is the story of two Basenotes perfumistas who were scent-opposites but drawn together in friendship. One liked her florals light and fresh (let's call her Shycat), and other liked her florals deep and mellow (let's call her Quarry). Each found herself embracing Michael Storer's inventiveness. The one loved and ordered Yvette and Genvieve, but disliked Stephanie. The other adored Stephanie, and didn't understand Yvette or Genvieve at all.

Okay, that's not a very cryptic story, is it? I, Quarry, cannot appreciate "soprano" florals. Like a dog who's pained by a high-pitch whistle, I twist my head from side to side at the likes of Yvette. Stephanie, however, makes me drool. So, while I'm giving a thumb's down to Yvette because she's "squeaky" to me, does not mean you shouldn't try her. I have a lot of respect for Mr. Storer's professionalism and for Shycat's tastes.

Yes, sir! Not complex, but beauty needn't be. I've only sampled this on my hand, and I couldn't swear to its longevity. Elegant and easy-to-like lemony cedar.

I haven't seen any official notes as of this date, so let's see how my "cold reading" stands the test of time.

Watermelon, no, sweet, watery cucumber top notes. Then, no surprise, that Angel-like base, faint but omni-present like background radiation — a hint of patchouli, a bit of chocolate. Then it seems to fade along its merry way. I don't get the point of it. Angel Innocent was a worthwhile sequel, but the rest of Angel's progeny smell to me like a quest for sales and nothing artistically special.

A few qualifiers here: (1) I haven't sampled Youth Dew; (2) I'm reviewing at the point of just a second wearing; (3) it's an especially hot June this year.

The first time I applied YDAN, and without referencing any history on it, my first thought was that this amber is highly filtered, the way American wines are passed through fine-micron filters to polish the liquid for visual effect (Europeans aren't as put off my murky sediment). My impression was that the amber was restrained and straight-laced. I did not recognize that the top notes were tea and grapefruit (there is no telltale sharpness), but it is these molecules through which I was straining to detect amber, one of my favorite notes. For the heart of the fragrance, I thought, tra-la-la, this is pleasant enough, tra-la-la. Finally the base set in like dew fall at dusk. Now we're talking! Give me deep, dark, sweet, dirty notes. I'll probably hold onto this sample (thank you very much, Quinpus!); it amuses me. And now I'm curious about Youth Dew for the first time. But for a rustic, bohemian amber that gives me an instant pleasure fix, Ambre Narguile my sweetie.

Ambre Narguile has become one of the most important fragrances of my acquaintance — an immediate, welcoming attraction, like "I'm home."

The crazy thing is, I got a small Hermes bottle as a blind buy, something I'd never normally do, especially given the high cost. But the descriptions I'd read told me AN was the sweet, deep, dried-fruit-and-amber entity I'd craved and never found elsewhere. I've read others complain it has an apple-pie quality. My dears, it's much darker than that. It's like fine, sweet, melt-in-your mouth dates.

I'm happy to report my husband likes my wearing it. And AN can play well with others layering-wise — from my wardrobe that's Guerlain's With Love (which has a blond amber base) and that crazy spice girl Black Cashmere (the dark-on-black cloud makes me feel like an all-powerful, fear-my-sillage witch).

My fragrance "key signature" is contralto, and this sings down around middle C perfectly.

Official notes: Saffron, Masala Spices, Clove, Nutmeg, Pimento Berries, White Pepper CO2 Extract, Mediterranean Broom Flower, Patchouli Singapour, Crimson Red Marechal Rose, Ethiopian Guggal Incense, Wengue Wood, Bois de Miel.

I should hate and run fleeing from BC based on its notes and everyone else's descriptions. I'd never have sought out a sample, but Taolady included some in a mailing, and bam! I began salivating. I can't stand clove, recoil from spices, get picky about roses, feel so-so about incense; so I have to wonder if the broom flower is somehow creating a context that unifies and makes palatable all these off-putting notes. I'm also puzzled how I can like a "mainstream" scent when I gravitate only toward niche formulations and a couple of French oldies. I'm stumped. And I don't just LIKE BC -- I could swim in the stuff. Sweet, deep, intoxicating. A powerhouse that doesn't make me flinch. Yup, I'm stupefied ... but happy.

Other than being a smidge sweeter than reality, this is a spot-on experience: I'm lying on a freshly mown lawn which was populated by dandelions until the mowing that day. My face is right on the ground as I would have done in childhood (and might even be found doing today, multiple decades later). There is the smell of the soil and I'm looking right into a Lilliputan panorama of dewy green blades over a thatch-carpet world. A fragrance to wear? Not for me. But I love to revisit my sample vial for that "how'd they do that?" experience.

I'm indebted to flathorn and her lovely review for pushing me over the edge. I'd been comparing Goutal's Mandragore and Nan Green, trying to decide which suited my tastes more. I'm very happy to now have a bottle of Green. Crisp, sharp notes are NOT my friends, so Green's sweet, gentle citrus top notes make the greatest introduction for me. There is a brief rough spot for me in the middle notes I accredit to a nutty cardamom (although I could be misidentifying the source), but then it's clear sailing — mellow, mildly sweet and still refreshingly green, almost like spearmint. Official notes are: citrus and bergamot, middle notes of basil and cardamon, rounded with a base of vetiver, musk and thyme.

If you remember American TV from the '60s/'70s, you may be able to picture comedian Charlie Callas making all kinds of twisted-face noises. That's my reaction to Patchouly's top notes. It's just a little zany cuz it's sooo patchouli (perhaps with some pepper added). It also burned a bit on my skin shortly after application. It mellows during its middle phase while remaining bright, awake and alive — I know that's weird, given patchouli's placement in the "dark" fragrance category. It's probably just me, but it also started to smell a bit bleach-like. If your skin sweetens scents, you wouldn't catch the chlorine note. Yes, patchouli-lovers must give this one a whirl. It's a hoot, twrrrr, plp-plp-plp, brrrrr. (You gotta know Charlie.)

A couple got together for a night on the town. She wore Donna Karan Black Cashmere. He wore Bulgari Black. They drank rum until the gal got sick and threw up in her leather purse which contained Red Hots candy and stale cigarettes.

That said -- I've smelled worse. And I believe that on the right guy, the drydown on Idole might be pleasant. Clearly something you have to sample for yourself.

I was almost sure I'd like L'Ete en Douce based on Tovah's description. I imagined a beauty of the ilk of La Chasse aux Papillons, but with a field replacing the garden through which the butterflies flee. Not to be. The opening (linden?) was a little higher pitched than I anticipated, and then -- Shock! -- I smelled Alfred Sung's Sha, which I once liked and then grew to abhor. I could be alone in this perception of L'Ete en Douce. For others' sakes, I hope so.

This is one frag whose name excited me when I first read it. I love that sparkling, wet scent of a freshly scraped sweet carrot--it reminds me of the scent of modern roses, and I suspect L'Artisan figured that if irises/iris roots work in perfumery, why not its cousin the carrot? Reviews I read said this carrot, however, was more boiled than fresh, and, sadly, I suppose that's so. Still, it's not a bad scent, and then again, I don't blame L'Artisan for discontinuing it. I think L'Artisan needed to confer with Christopher Brosius (of Demeter and CB I Hate Perfume fame) to tweak this formulation.
This is a weak scent on my skin, so it takes a good wetting down to create sillage. This could be a darling first scent for a very young person -- well, maybe not at this price.

I'm infatuated -- and so unexpectedly. This is MY gardenia, girls. Take your Kai, your Fracas, your what-have-you. I don't have the real flower to test Mr. Storer's claim that his mixture comes close to matching the headspace of a real gardenia, and I don't care. Stephanie DOES have a natural air about it, and I think MS may have improved on nature anyway, so who cares where the inspiration came from. Stephanie smells sooo floral and slightly green and, admittedly, fairly sweet. I just mentioned elsewhere that I allow myself to fall into its big flowerhead unflinchingly, like leaning into a big wooden roller coaster's first drop with eyes wide open.

Stephanie's intoxicating and delivers great sillage to me (but doesn't throw too far, according to DH). It's a bit more expensive than I generally venture, but there's nothing comparable. At first I thought it similar to Montale Jasmin Full in some ways, but upon actual comparison, the Montale is like a rough, raw diamond, and Steph's a rare, polished gem.

If you read other reviews I've written, you'll see I seldom rave. Well, I'm raving now.

Unless this is the first review you're reading about Flowerbomb, you already know it's not flowery. It is sweet and styled to make friends quickly when first encountered: vanillic with caramelized sugar and a passive patchouli presence; any "flowers" must have been dribbled in from a vat marked Generic Floral Mixture #3. Until a better expression comes along, I'm going to refer to department-store frags as being manufactured with "A Big Paddle." (I'm attracted to niche and vintage-style scents whose molecules are stacked more meticulously.) For a Big Paddle frag, Flowerbomb is pleasant enough not to scrub off, but not attractive enough to mean something special to me.

Milwaukee, Wisconsin, Catholic Church on a Friday night when the Germans serve lemons and vinegared cole slaw with the fish fry. No fishy smell, but the acid and citrus with slight sweetness and herbs so puts me in this particular situation that I can't even bring myself to wear what (only to me) has such a foody association. No one else will make this connection, I'm sure, but there you have it.

Preface: Thanks to Purplebird7's sharing of a vial sent to her by Twolf (I think I have that lineage correct), a series of us are enjoying the experience that is Djedi.

First off, when I sniffed the vial right out of the mailing envelope and imagining the wearing to come, I got a rush of minerals that made me think I had put my tongue to our basement wall of sedimentary limestone, glacier-rolled fieldstone and the leachate of a hundred years. The cool scent I'm attributing to aldehydes and vetiver came to me on the inhale and morphed into a warm wood scent just before I exhaled, when the vapors had been warmed for an instant in my nose.

The next morning I showered and scrubbed my arm with vigor, applied only a little moisturizer to my face, in order to be fragrance free, and waited for all household activities to subside.

"What does it smell like?" Mr. Q asked as I sat ceremonious at the table. I offered up the open ziplock bag laden with rich, Djedi basenotes. "Smells like a diaper, doesn't it?" he ventured to say.

(I didn't hurt him.)

Then, at 8:05 a.m., I put a shimmer of Djedi on my left arm, just above the wrist. And the ride began. This is a beautiful perfume. I guess there's a rose here, but it's been cross-bred with something dark--not dark as in depressing (that was my take on Caron's Or et Noir), but dark like coal. I sort of see my mother's leather purse, warmed by the sun, supple and radiating something elegant due to the presence of a perfume sample she must have gotten from the Sunday paper and tucked inside her purse. This pleasurable moment is reminiscent of Dzing! ... I run to my bottle of Dzing! Oh, my gosh, kids, other than Dzing! being much sweeter, there's a real similarity.

An hour later I smelled all nice and musty. Five hours in, and the mustiness was gone. I'm surprised. There's a sweet base left--woody, maybe cinnamon-like. If this is the patchouli, it's mildly tempered.

I had put a single drop of Dzing! on the other wrist for comparison. It's more potent, and clearly has what I call a sweet Magic Marker accord, but I'm still finding a bit of similarity.

That was it--a one-time ride. Ain't this a fun hobby?

I remember reading someone's comment that Attrape-Coeur is a creamy Mitsouko, and that description spurred me to sample A-C because I find Mitsouko a bit overpowering.
Top: Rose, jasmine, tuberose
Heart: Peach
Base: Amber, musk
I can appreciate this as a true Guerlain and a true work of art. However, like many beautiful works of art, it just doesn't speak to me on the "gotta own it" level. In the drydown I pick up on a kitchen-variety vanilla, very sweet and delectable.

Notes: Pink pepper, iris, rose, coriander, benzoin, Indonesian patchouli, incense, precious woods, musk and balsams.

This is how I like my scents: mellow, a touch sweet, and in a contralto key. The floral top notes hardly register to me. It's like an "instant basenotes" frag. Because I already have Ambre Narguile, Feminite du Bois and Black Cashmere, I don't think there's a place for Bd'A in my wardrobe. For one thing, those other scents have more throw, and Bd'A is, like other Guerlains, a skin scent, which is frustrating when you look at the price tag.

Kohl's has lots of good general merchandise, but their fragrance offerings have never impressed me because they're the usual department-story-quality offerings. That being said, I have to give a "thumb up" to the new Flirt launched by Kohl's. It smells like what it purports to: an intoxicating blend of exotic wild berry, enchanting honeysuckle and creamy vanilla. Yeah, it's another fruity floral, but better than most. It has lots of oomph, so only a small spritz would do ya. I'm smelling the paper strip a couple weeks after having sprayed it, and the fruit and vanilla are still apparent. It's not for me, but a young gal could do worse than Flirt.

If fragrances were brassieres, Ginestet Le Boisé would be a 34B, and Pomegranate Noir would be a 42D. Finally, a break-through scent with a personality. It's been months since my nose has been surprised like this. Husband says he smells furniture polish. Okay, dear, make that royal furniture polish used on a rich Frenchwoman's Louis XVI vanity.

I think MPG's jasmine is of the indolic sort, but I'm not confident in my use of the word indolic, so I'll explain that this is not the sweet, dripping nectar of Montale's Jasmin Full but a dirtier hyacinth-like flower. With so many jasmine fragrances available, and given MPG's price tag, I'll pass on this one.

Very, very, pretty, pretty, girlie, girlie lilac that smells like I've just bathed with a triple-milled French soap. Happily though, the fragrance doesn't smell soapy, which usually means icky to my way of thinking/tasting. (Do you understand the distinction--soap good, soapy icky?) The cottony-soft sillage hovers approximately four inches about me. If I put my nose directly on my skin, there is a funky quality, but that's a minor deduction. You might need to reapply Sha every few hours during the day to keep the good times rolling, or it may be the perfect scent to apply at night and ride into dreamland. A lovely mommy or grandma scent and a joyous discovery. If member Musse hadn't sent some Sha to me, I'd probably never have tried it since I had such a sour attitude about Sung's Shi.

An extraordinarily sweet and unnatural orange blossom top note trails through the evolution of the fragrance for hours. It is met with jonquil, a difficult scent to balance, as even a small quantity can be pungent. Perhaps depending on skin type, the jonquil can cross the threshold into the realm of honesty stinky (it did on my skin). My Caron samples were ordered fresh from the New York boutique, so I cannot attribute their off-putting nature to anything but a true mismatch between them and me--the exception being the acceptable Acaciosa.

During my first trial of En Avion (translation: by airplane or in airplane), I developed a comical mental picture: Someone had dropped a lit cigarette on the plane's leather upholstery and (as the clove note developed), I was cinching my parachute, ready to bail out on this ride.

A day or two later, after contemplating the notes and others' reviews, I entered into the experience again. I sought to focus on the leather (a favorite note in general). Present is a coarse, working leather as found on early farms and in industry, not the supple purse leather of Dzing! The problem for me comes from the clove effect of the carnation, which is more intense than can be ignored, and it seared me for a good two hours. After that, the clove died away and soft rose and powder were unveiled. Therein lies En Avion's beauty to me. However, it comes so late, I'm not willing to wait through the clove experience again when Guerlain can take me to this pretty place without such tribulations.

I'm not entirely clear on how honeysuckle is supposed to be represented in a fragrance, but I can tell you what impression Kate Spade's floral made on me: Laboratory lilac with the tiniest pinch of orange blossom. Awfully strong (maybe I applied too heavily?) with little development over the time.

I have no particular affection for spices in my fragrances, but in an effort to smell beyond comfortable boundaries and partake in spicy talk here on wonderful basenotes, I got a sample of Opium Fleur de Shanghai (aka Opium for beginners or Opium with training wheels).

My first trial was a nose-wrinkling experience--ick, spices. My second sampling was more rational as I tried not to shy away from the notes. The wonderful mandarin gave me a starting point, and I began to take baby steps into the heart of the fragrance. A few reapplications later, and I can say I'm warming up to the myrrh, although the carnation's clove-like note will never be a favorite.

Delightful, with grand, glycerine-weight sillage, Acaciosa proves there is at least one Caron which can put a smile on my face. I haven't been able to isolate the rumored pineapple note, instead having been distracted by a full-bodied jasmine that put me in a Montale-Jasmin-Full state of mind (that's a compliment!).

Just as Guerlain fragrances bear a Guerlinade quality, I think Acaciosa smells representative of a Caronesque aura (and vintage florals in general). Of course, after heaping rare praise, I also have to mention that Acaciosa is supposed to be a discontinued fragrance. As of October 2006, it can still be purchased from Caron.

Imagine an enormous blossom with endless ruffles of sweet white petals spilling from one of those tub-size containers theaters serve popcorn in. Next, insert that tub of blossoms under the theater's artificial butter dispenser, press button and drizzle, drizzle, drizzle. Enjoy your Monyette Paris!

I respect this fragrance. (Uh-oh, that's not an intro that's going anywhere good; like the line, "We have to talk...")

I pronounce this odor ancient, European, and male. However, being a modern American female with an aversion to anise and spices, I'll seek my pleasures elsewhere. For adventurous the man with a hankering for the off-beat, there should be a surplus Fd'A available for you.

Very pleasant. It's not too sweet, not too bright nor too sharp. For a juicy scent, it bears a mark of quality. I just don't think I want to smell like I spilled pineapple juice on myself. If I had a decant, I'd experiment to see if AF would layer well with a floral. Hmmmm.

The top notes smell like a Charms grape sucker, which quickly suckered me in, but HPP then turns quirky and dark until it becomes just another 21st century department store fragrance.

There is something attractive, compelling, odd, and natural about Rose Ikebana, so I'll give it props for that, but I don't think I'd wear it or really wish to sit next to someone for a long time who did. For an interesting twist on roses, I prefer to revisit Diptyque's Ombre dans L'eau.

I am so gosh-darned envious of those who can smell violets. I didn't even know violets had a scent until I began reading about perfumes. I attribute a certain imaginery scent to them, based on the flowers' appearance, but it exists only in my mind. Thus, Les Meteorites proved completely meaningless for me. [She laments.]

In addition to an inability to detect orris root (iris), I believe I may also be "blind" to honeysuckle, which might explain why so little translated to me from Chant d'Aromes. A truly sour opening, bland heart and forgettable base, forces me to turn thumb down.

If you do not like anise/fennel/black licorice, then walk on by. I gave AL a reasonable try, but I couldn't get past that repugnant note. The Guerlinade quality is there, so if you feel differently about that black/green note, sampling will be worth your while.

Yes, this frag pitches its tent in the same camp as Mugler's Angel. If you take a look around, you'll also spot Nirmala and Bond's Nuit de Noho pounding down their stakes.

Although at first sniff I thought these four near equals, in head-to-head competition, Excess offers the least quality and appeal. It was more difficult choosing who came next, Angel or Nirmala. However, the frag that made me a happy camper (due to its delicious pineapple top note) was the wallet-emptying Nuit de Noho. In this case, the price tags did reflect the proportions of desirability.

I understand that Sweet Tea is a most popular product for elizabethW (yes, they use a small e and cap W), and it is precisely what it claims to be: sweet tea, nothing more, nothing less. The tea part is fine; it smells like Lipton black tea. The sweet part imparts simply too much honey. Put one check mark next to "cloying" and one next to "boring." I find Carthusia Io offers more personality and depth.

I'm not a vanilla aficianado, but I can believe this is the best vanilla scent available. Even when I didn't want to wear VP, I liked having the vial nearby to sniff.

Of interest to no one but myself: This is the only fragrance product I have ever been able to smell through my left nostril, which is, for whatever reason, normally incapable of transporting news about scent molecules to my brain.

I'd like a big bowl of Vanille Banane served with a spoon and mug of coffee, however, this banana juice is positively God-zilla-awful for a body scent. Maybe realtors could use it as a room scent to make potential buyers feel at home?

Ah, aldehydes, the gremlins of many a poor sniffer's nasal cavities. What is that I sense--citrus and fennel? No. Laundry on the line? Smoke? No, and no. A spice market? Well, according to Carthusia, I'm supposed to be recognizing mimosa, iris, jasmine, peach and bay leaf. I'll go back to my Carthusia Io Capri. I understand it, it understands me. Aria? I will say it's completely original (and a little odd on me).

Sweet and dirty--like a piece of hard candy left in an unwashed ashtray. I'm one of those few who just doesn't care for traditional Oriental frags, but must admit to a little attraction to this sweetie. I can understand others salivating for the comforting drydown, so I'll say thumbie neutral for me, but probably thumbie up for you.

Ho, hum. A contemporary fragrance reminding me of other faceless modern frags. Some fruit, some patchouli, dispensed with a light hand. Short life on the skin. Let's see, is this a twin to Excess, Bora Bora? Don't care.

Dim attic. Ancestor's chest.
Nectar exhausted, rose petals pressed.
Dead geranium, dried in its pot.
Medicine bottle with smudged tin top.

Roller shade up, powder charges the light.
Murphy's Oil Soap. Grime sliced.
Brittle lace, unfit for auction.
Inheritance. In heir: exhaustion.

FdC is a quality scent, but it does not trump Guerlain's Terracotta Voile d'Ete in the carnation/ylang-ylang arena, nor does it compete seriously with all the other pleasant white florals. A sweet opening burst quickly reveals a softly spicy carnation heart. There is supposed to be a lily-of-the-valley component. If it is here, it does not come across sharp or piercing. FdC is weak on me--not watery, just mild. Oak and sandalwood make up the base notes. A good enough fragrance, but not special to me.

An obvious fig opening soon gives way to a long-lived soapy heart and drydown. By comparison, Mathias L'Eau de Figue (discontinued) presents a fruity fig; Carthusia Io offers an attractive and interesting tea/fig aura; and Ginestet Le Boise provides a more creative interpretation of what Napa Valley represents. I can recommend those products, but not this one.

Lilacs tease as the top notes blossom, but just as lilac bouquets are short-lived in a vase, so was this hopeful opening. The bouquet morphs into one with gardenias and tuberoses (although honeysuckle, not gardenia, is an official note). For an instant I thought JB could rival La Chasse aux Papillons, but there's something a mite peculiar and cheap here, I might even say stinky. The middle smells mostly of jasmine, but having recently sampled Montale Jamin Full, I'm spoiled and find this one lacking. A few years ago I might have been impressed by JB; now I'm a down-turned thumb snob.

A giant glass of acid-reduced lemon juice into which one leaf of mint and one leaf of green tea have been dropped along with a dollop of honey. Can't imagine any circumstances under which I'd want to smell this, not even as a room freshener.

This stuff is triggering a scent memory I cannot bring into focus. Murphy's Oil Soap? Non-oily fingernail polish remover? Something from the hardware store? It's going to bug me. At any rate, it seems like whatever the product is, it has a warning label.

You know what this is? It's Mira Bai with lavender substituting for the MB's cassis. RM is even gentler than the women's version of Hanae Mori. I'd very much like to be in the presence of a man or woman who wears RM, but I don't see owning a bottle for myself or my husband because it's a little too simple. Clearly a thumbs up though.

First off, I wish all my favorite scents radiated the way RF does. Too often I have to suck my skin up into my nostrils to appreciate all the notes of some EDTs. Not so with this product--it's got sillage and a half. I do not pick up on the fruit notes per se; there's just enough sweetness to make the fragrance attractive. It's the (coining a new phrase here) "headshop cumin" you can't ignore.

A discussion in the women's forum relates additional opinions - http://community.basenotes.net/showthread.php?t=187991

Member vinterdroppe mentions having craved RF for a whole week in spring. I can understand that. I don't imagine developing a regular lust for this, but the occasional craving can develop for an edgy, one-of-a-kind fragrance like this. But, then again, you know those occasional cravings can grow to loom larger, too.

To give you a sense of Rochas Femme's strength - she could beat up sweet Rochas Man any day!

I have no argument with the accuracy of the pyramid of notes provided by Chanel, although when wet, I'd interpret the scent to be based in gin. There's certainly no mistaking this as a scent intended for women. Actually, I got the feeling that PE would be worn by a man who was trying to assert his virility. I sought to fathom some redeeming quality in the drydown, but could not bring any to the surface. Of course, I am sampling this on female wrists, so it might develop better on those who bring a different balance of hormones to the experience.

My mother used to make a dessert/salad with Jello gelatin and applesauce; perhaps Paco's mother did, too (don't suppose Jello was that popular in Spain and France). First I smell apple pulp, then the scent of cherry Jello. Later I find buttery vanilla, but nothing very gothic. I'm starting to wonder whether Perfume Worldwide mislabeled my sample which reads "XS Black by Paco Rabanne for Men;" or else my female flesh has rendered some alternate character. I was hoping to reenact Scenteur 7's experience of strawberries and patchouli.

You can tell from the many reviews here that people are smiling as they report about this well-executed juice, although it inspires no use of exclamation marks in their texts. XS for Men strikes me as a smart scent with a little coriander bite.

A scent whose time, perhaps, has come and gone, at least amongst sophisticated fragrance consumers. Conversely, there is absolutely nothing wrong with this friendly, summery scent. There is only one note in here (wish I could name it specifically) that keeps Geir from a feminine, or at least unisex, qualification--it's generally difficult for me to tease out Geir's individual notes, but I perceive a partially aquatic quality.

They say the Angel family of scents creates two camps: lovers and haters; yet I developed an ambivalence about the women's Angel and Angel Innocent (which I preferred to Angel). I was attracted and yet not enthralled. After reading about A*men's popularity, I bought a sample.

This is the best of the bunch. At the moment of application, there's a discordance, but in a few minutes I'm conveyed to a coffee shop with vintage wooden floors and tables. The coffee and chocolate don't announce their identities overtly, but are present within a semi-sweet and cozy atmosphere. The men's fragrance escapes the shrieking high-pitched and overly sweet notes of the other Angel products I've sampled. I'd declare the men's Angel to be wholly unisex, so my lady friends, give it try.

Do you know the arcade game Whack-a-Mole? A number of mechanical moles pop up from their respective dens in random order, and the player tries to hit a mole before it retreats to its hole. The notes in Bois d'Iris erupt and repeat randomly for me like the moles: fresh, dirty, sweet, spice, plastic, powder, a burnt odor. I know this is due to my "iris disability." Try as I will, I can get only a shadow of an impression of what iris (or violet, for that matter) is supposed to smell like. It took months of sampling to figure out this physiological handicap. So, I write this review not for the average researcher who is trying to find a favorite fragrance, but for the odd soul who, like myself, wonders why they just don't "get" what everyone is raving about.

I will blame my chemistry for not allowing NN EDT to reach its potential. The first spray releases a mouth-wateringly sweet orange blossom, but as soon as the scent mingles with my DNA, it's as though the fragrance has all but disappeared. If I put my nose right to my skin and breathe, warming my flesh, I can still pull out some sweetness, but all the notes go mute. I'd never guess any incense to be present. I'm fine with civet in other frags, but it's hiding from me here. I want to try Narcisse Blanc because, if it's anything like NN's top notes, there's the possibility I'll find some success with it.

http://community.basenotes.net/showthread.php?t=185213

To learn a lot about Vega, visit the thread linked above. Thanks to Buffalo_Gals' (Diane's) creativity and generosity, a number of us were able to experience and discuss Vega in her vintage form.

My Basenotes compatriots are superior in defining Vega's elements. My perception is limited to these observations: I appreciate the comforting mustiness and the ylang-ylang (probably because I smell y-y in my Method daily shower spray cleaner which makes me hyper aware of that note). Vega smells so French and wears like a soft, lovely cloak. Knowing her age, I feel like I'm actually wearing a secret.

What Gatorade is to real fruit juice, AromaFit is to real orange blossoms. Herein eminates an impression of orange (whose sugar content is not too high) and something mildly vegetal (not too green). Very pleasant and eye-opening without any sharp citrus edges. I don't think of this as a regular wear-all-day fragrance, but more of a scent treat--one of those items to keep in the fridge for a chilling spray to help change gears after a hot, hectic day. It doesn't last long, especially the orange portion, so my interest in it wanes in a short time. I won't seek more once my decant runs out, but I appreciate having known such an original scent.

Nav presents a congenial opening with no obvious single note jumping ahead of the others. The recipe employs a light-handed mix of blond wood, pipe tobacco, and soft spice. It personifies a virtuous young man on whom is pinned the hopes of a nation. (But, as this frag is defunct, the nation appears doomed.)

Thanks to Shycat, I'm celebrating the rare treat of sampling this attractive fragrance. The top notes strike the most harmonious chord immediately upon application, then, after turning a little dirty, X transforms into a spicy Christmas pomander or simmering pot of wassail. I like how joeseattle interpreted the scent. Very special.

We all bring our biases to these reviews, and I own up to a heap of them, having always eschewed mainstream tastes, wanting more from my architecture, landcape, purchased products than "pretty and predictable," preferring personality, originality, even some angst. Such qualities just ain't present in a fragrance like Chance, so obviously conceived of mainstream marketing.

We used to live next door to a large, modern Catholic church in the suburbs. By "next door," I mean down wind. Every Sunday morning, along with the banging of hundreds of car doors, came a wind scented with consumerism, the olfactory representation of a storeful of deodorants, hair products and colognes. Chance reminds me of that homogenized scent of the masses. I just can't relate to its appeal.

Oftentimes I have to laugh at my own interpretations, as in this case: The top notes (and we know aldehydes are schizophrenic shape-shifters) I get a parched impression, as though I'm sampling alum or that sillicate they put in pouches inside aspirin bottles to keep the pills dry. The sage may play some part in this, but I truly do not find the galbanum, which usually stands out to me in other fragrances. In a while, I pick up on unsweetened cinnamon powder which smells a bit toasted. At the same time, I sense I'm smelling French perfume, which is a fine thing, but there are other Frenchies who please me more.

Smelling Matin Calin on my skin, I see before me a can from which the fruit cocktail has been taken and only a watery juice remains, nondistinct but hinting of pineapple and pear. Floating on the surface of this weakly scented juice is melted creamery butter. Once I get the image of butter in my mind, I'm convinced this is salted butter, and there's no hope of perceiving MC as anything but cake frosting related. The throw is good during the early stages, and I can still find the scent up close a few hours later when it smells a bit milkier.

My husband picked up a phrase when he was serving in Vietnam. Some locals would say, "Same-same, but not same-same," meaning something was similar but not identical to something else. For GG, I want to explain that it is green-green, but not green-green.
It smells green, yes, but not green as in cucumber (which is a scent I like), not green as in basil (I have basil, harvested from the garden, now drying in my pantry), not green like candy or gum (although its top notes are definitely sweet), not green like tea (because GG lacks any tannins). Not to frustrate the reader, but somehow GG still smells green.
I find the top notes pleasant and "harmless" with a sugary quality equal to, say, orange blossoms. The middle notes strike me as slighly aquatic or soapy. The base notes contain some indistinguishable spice. Not a thriller for me.

According to Penhaligon: "Oriental notes chime with jasmine, vanilla, violet, and nectarines, while beneath, precious sandalwood, musk, and amber add mystery and intrigue."

Now, Penny, don't you think that's exaggerating this frag's range a little? If such a melange of notes is present, its members speak in a singular voice, and I think its fair to title that entity Artemisia because wormwood is the closest effect it radiates, at least by my olfactory experience. However, I've read that real wormwood is supposed to be bitter, and this is slightly sweet. At any rate, the impression is owed to something from roots or bark.

Part of the top notes' instant appeal to me is that they're not too high pitched, emanating from the same "musical key signature" as something like sassafrass root (although not quite as sweet). As pleasant as those top notes are for me, after a couple hours I find myself tapping my foot and asking, much like Peggy Lee, "Is that all there is?" Oh, Artie, Is this relationship going anywhere? The more I explore for some gratification from the base notes, the less reward I find. What's this now--potato peelings? Aw shucks, the honeymoon's over.

This CdR has generated one of those opportunities to say I, a woman, wouldn't wear this scent, but I have to aknowledge its distinction.

When I close my eyes and try to follow this scent to its source, my mind conjures a visit to an old sawmill with decades of pugency. This mill offers historic reenactments, so I can smell the large metal sawblade glistening with oil from a recent sharpening, and there's just a bit of burnt odor from the enormous leather belt that chafes on and turns the sawmill's flywheel. I'm not sure what kind of wood they're cutting, but it has a mildly spicy content.

This is an attractive scent that I'd prefer to encounter as a foyer potpourri.

DH (and he really is a dear husband) has begun wearing scent for the first time now at age 57. Today he put on something I didn't recognize--a challenge for me to parse out its elements. First I noticed an attractive sweetness. When I smelled the frag up close, I thought I detected cardamom and sandalwood, plus some spice that produced a warmth. I never would have pegged cocoa as a note. Overall, pleasant enough to use up the sample, but nothing more.

Initially, during Cabaret's topnotes phase, I experience flashbacks to two frags from my wardrobe: Guerlain With Love and Stella Rose Absolute. It's the fresh peony/rose combination talking. But With Love sustains the freshness with quince and adds continuing interest with a hint of pepper feathering into powdery amber. Cabaret just flat-lines for me. Stella RA, on the other hand, expands on the peony/rose theme and dives to the darkest depths with its sweet amber.

Ho-hum, little Cabaret, you're okay, you really are. I may use you up behind my knees while the bigger personalities will spray/stay closer to my heart.

I love orange blossoms, and Z contains my favorite floral commodity at every turn. The tuberose and jasmine are clearly present, too, sometimes making me think I smell gardenia. It's the mild amber gridwork that successfully ties the florals together in a way that's new to me. I'm confused which I like more--Zohar or Palas Atena. Both are excellent. Zohar has more sillage of the two.

I have with me the last of my Jicky, a fresh sprig of lavender, and Lovender. Lovender is reminiscent of Jicky entering phase two. Having each on different wrists, plus the fresh lavender, I can say the flower itself is brighter and more astringent than these fragrances, as you'd expect. I never before picked up on Jicky's incense note until I just compared it with Lovender. I may be missing some element of Lovender, since I can never smell orris. Jicky EDT lasts and lasts on me (not true for others, I know) and it's affordable, so I'll replenish my supply, but I recommend Lovender to those who find the civet and leather in Jicky off-putting.

I'm glad SilkandSteel wrote such a detailed review before I did. My interpretation is too simple. Keeping in mind that I can never detect orris/iris, and I'm not a fan of the frankincense, all I can report is that I get a soapy smell, which I'm guessing is a result of the combination of floral with musk and civet (I like civet in other fragrances). I'm obviously an inferior sniffer not to be able to appreciate what this scent has to offer. Happily, Dia is not too strong, so I'm not compelled wash it away.

Top notes: Ylang ylang, Grapefruit, Rosewood
Heart notes: Tuberose, Jasmine, Gardenia
Base notes: Sandalwood, Tonka bean, Coconut
If I didn't have access to the notes listed above, I'd be stumped to define WP's population. I would say white floral (without orange blossom) with a hint of heliotrope. This is sweet (not cloying), simple, soft, elegant, and incapable of offending a soul. If you are a grade school teacher and want to be remembered as beautiful, I recommend White Potion to you. As with other AM fragrances, I'd need a liberal application to radiate the range of sillage I'd like.

Tamya--as pretty a jasmine fragrance as any I've worn. I like florals, but I know some folks don't, and I suppose one reason might be that a single flowery note rises above all others and starts drilling its presence into the brain. In Tamya, the surrounding notes restrain the jasmine from growing too boastful, while at the same time none of them really steps ahead of the jasmine either.

Today it happens to be misting outside, and I wish it were a mist of Tamya I could walk through. I'd love to experience this scent in the outdoors. But I fear Tamya is so mild, I'd lose track of her in the wind.

Top notes: Sweet Orange, Lavender, Neroli
Heart notes: Champaca, Jasmine, Cinnamon
Base notes: Amber, Patchouli, Sandalwood

Look at those notes! As an orange blossom junky, I'm drawn to this scent. Yet, that's not all that's here to reward. There are earth nymphs scampering around this orange grove, alternately peaking out from behind the trees. Once in a while I think I'm teased into believing I smell gardenia or cloves, but the notes dart away and hide in the patchouli underbrush. This is the kind of scent I could wear a couple times a week: pretty, not high-pitched (so my "alto nose" is happy), interesting enough not to become boring. The thing that's lacking is a volume knob that would allow me turn up the sillage. Once I find something this pleasing, I don't want to strain to enjoy it.

Family: Oriental Ambery, Oriental Woody, Chypre Leathery
I need to qualify my perspective--I don't own any oriental frags. Maybe it's because Mom used no spices in her cooking (I still love boiled cabbage, adorned with nothing more than salt). Of all the Ayala Moriel scents I pre-sniffed from my large array of samples, I knew this was the one I'd care for least and the one for which I'd have the least effective vocabulary (my apologies to the reader). I like sugar with my leather (Dzing!, VIP Room), and this is dry. Espionage comes across as unisex, and the floral aspects are not obvious. It smells expensive, not like cheap musk or vanilla scents. The tobacco is subdued, more reminiscent of leaf than smoke. I'm sorry that I'm so unfamiliar with similar scents that I cannot compare this with others of its class. I can say the fragrance wears close to the skin and smells well balanced.

My husband is a home winemaker, and before you scoff, let me direct you to his state fair awards, including best-of-show. Because we don't have French oak barrels here in Wisconsin, he splits pieces of wood from American oak logs, chars them over an open fire (this disinfects them and renders them similar to wine barrel interiors), then drops these sticks into the glass carboys that hold his wines so they may impart their tannic flavor. I'm keen on tannins, and that's probably what caught my attention in Le Boise. Truthfully, the wood is more cedar-like than oaky, but it flatters the white wine quality I clearly detect in LB. This wine, er, I mean fragrance is crisp and sweet, and a really cool change of pace for any fragrance wardrobe.

I received a small sample of Cabaret in a swap. At first sniff I thought, this is too "busy" for me (I have a low tolerance for any spice, preferring soft floral scents). Upon my first trial wearing, I noticed an opening rose note, and in a short time a totally new fragrance made itself evident to me. It must be the massoia bark! The next time I wore Cabaret, it seemed like I flew right past the other notes and zoomed in on the massoia. Funny how, even though massoia is a scent peculiar to itself, it connotes wood--amazing how our nose/brain know to classify such things. I don't know how much the amber and vanilla are sweetening this new-to-me ingredient, but the effect is very compelling. I'd like Cabaret as a potpourri. The fragrance is just moderately long-lived on me. In sum, I'm very eager to try more Ayala scents.

I haven't left a review for BVC? Gasp! I guess we take some of our best friends for granted.

BVC feels as much like a second skin as any scent I've sampled (that's 300+ and counting). Subtle, cozy, the coffee note is not strong--more akin to the strength of an empty coffee cup left over from breakfast, but it is perfectly supported by the dearest suspension of soft vetiver notes. Hinting at sweetness, BVC is entirely gender neutral. I'd like to smell this on any body, any age. The only drawback is its throw: It hovers close to the skin and can stand to be replenished every couple hours. On the plus side: This is the first frag I got a compliment on.

Very pretty, feminine white floral--tuberose is dominant and, although not officially among the notes, there's a whisper of gardenia. After wearing #1 a second day, I compared it to La Chasse aux Papillons. In my mind they were similar, but I was surprised. Smelling #1 first made the orange blossom within the La Chasse really stand out. When I compare Jo Malone Orange Blossom to La Chasse, the OB makes La Chasse's tuberose stand out. The three scents compose a sweet-smelling spectrum. #1 does not last long on the skin, but that's the only derogatory remark I can make.

I understand you now, Miss Balmain. It took some experimentation, but I have found the ultimate perfumey pleasure with you. The secret is to keep you off my skin and sweeten you with Jo Malone's Orange Blossom. Then! Ah! Extraordinary delight overwhelms me. I think the coriander is what makes a bitter impression on the skin, but spray Miss Balmain on an envelope, and the recipient will swoon. Put her on a pillowcase, on the shoulders of your blouse, and she will put Cabochard, her nearest smell-alike, to shame. Again, add Orange Blossom, and I can virtually guarantee an orgasmic experience. I may never know a more beautiful fragrance experience--how's that for a testimonial?

I think I'm sitting at an outdoor cafe where breakfast is being served. On the small round table with white linen tablecloth before me is a bouquet of assorted flowers in a cut-glass vase, and, nearest me, a tall glass of mixed fruit juice. These two colorful but slightly distanced creations vie for my olfactory attention. Altogether pleasant, but I wish the nectar in each was more fully ripe--not Chopard Mira Bai sweet--just rounder somehow. Or, as so often is my wish, I'd like to bring this down in pitch so my "alto nose" could declare contentment.

I appreciate that reviewer lunarpanic pointed out that Bulgari Black, L'Artisan Dzing!, and VIP all have their merits. There is a good chance that if you like any one of these, you will like them all. VIP's merits include sweetness, a tobacco note, and the luscious scent of leather (drool). The name had set a vision of an executive lounge or men's club in my mind prior to application. What I hadn't factored in, but which became evident after about an hour, was some boozieness. But, of course, there would be liquor in a VIP room. I'd say this is a cozy, comfort scent. Very soft, no harshness at all.

This review is circuitous, but bear with me. On the PBS show "America's Test Kitchen," they have done product reviews for all manner of things, including butter. Wisconsin's Land O' Lakes butter is prized for its taste. I'm from Wisconsin, and I've never eaten margarine--butter is better.
Now, gardenia (or tiare) in fragrances had been, until I sampled Montale's Intense Tiare, a sort of queasy note for me. This scent (as well as tuberose sometimes) has an artificial butter quality that reminds me of the snack aisle at the grocery store where the microwave popcorn is shelved. (Gag!) Thus, I tried IT with prejudice, but was happily surprised. I probably wouldn't buy this scent since tiare isn't my single favorite note, but this is clearly the most beautiful of its class. I'll enjoy my whole sample as well as my new-found attitude. (Thanks for the sample, Vijay!)

My label-reading eyes can't convince my scent-sniffing nose that this isn't a product of Guerlain. A skin scent of the same mood (but not identical to) the foundations of Terracotta Voile d'Ete or Jicky or Mitsouko (as a former reviewer so aptly pointed out). I actually prefer this to Mitsouko, which is a little too powerful for my delicate senses. As much as I admire Ligea's serenity, it lacks that one special something, that hook that would catch and hold my attention.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again here: I'm utterly handicapped when it comes to smelling iris or violet. Right at the time of application, while the juice is still wet on my skin, the scent reminds me of an old dentist office (metal and sterilizing fluids?). Then, 20 seconds later--nothing. I smell nothing. If I put my nose right to my skin and breath warm air against the shiney spot where I applied my sample, I smell a hint of something, which I cannot define. Like those who range in color-blindness, I must have partial note-blindess.

If I could pick up on the leather, perhaps I'd get more emotional about 19--or maybe I'm looking for a little more emotion from the juice itself. It neither laughs nor cries; as much dutiful as beautiful. The soapy sillage is politely confined to my immediate vicinity. Could be worn by a man.

What is wrong with me? Or, what ingredient are perfumers using today that causes me to conclude that SJP's Lovely, Estee Lauder's Beautiful Sheer, and LC's Curve all smell the same on me--like pretty lemons?!?!?! [She shakes her head and logs off murmurring ...]

What a bummer. The chocolate note was just too obvious for me. I prefer to have to close my eyes and "find" the chocolate in a fragrance.

Decidedly manly and not unisex to me (and I love leather scents). In a blind sampling, I would have dubbed this Ginestet Botrytis Pour Homme.

I like a number of unisex frags, but the spices in Coze reminded me too much of men's products. What a shame--I was looking forward to those chocolate, coffee, vanilla basenotes.

This was not love at first sniff, actually the word "love" may never enter into this relationship, but what a wonderful companion IO is. Its sillage is politely persistent--softly reminding the wearer, "I'm here (wait some minutes), I'm here." A tea scent, gently sweetened by fig and releasing a bit of green mint in the topnotes, it just feels so right during the recordbreaking heatwave we're experiencing just now. For an extra thrill, add a layer of Jo Malone Orange Blossom--a real smile-making combination!

There's a new streaming music source from Earthlink called Pandora. It's an interactive, personalized station the listener shapes by their rating songs played from a certain genre. (Yes, I'm getting around to talking about Nuits de Noho.) Anyway, by choosing how well the listener likes/dislikes the songs played, a seemingly infinite pool of pleasing music will be programmed for the listener, offering a person not only items one already likes, but introducing one to very likable but previously unheard music. Some fragrances are like this. I would not have intentionally sought out pineapple as prominent note, but it's the way it performs within NdN that makes it pleasing. Where Mugler's Angel plays a particular tune with Sweetarts and chocolate, NdN plays a gentler rendition along the same line of melody but with pineapple and patchouli/vanilla. I may not want to be entertained by NdN every day, but, like Bonnie Raitt's rhythmic "Have a Heart," I'd like to enjoy it on a regular basis.

I sampled this scent without knowing the official notes, figuring it was predominantly iris (duh). I have since confirmed that I cannot smell iris. You say, "Violette de Parma?" I say, "Water." Now as I read the notes for Iris Nobile on this page, I have to smile since my impression of it was that of orange blossoms--very pretty orange blossoms. Wish I could smell the rest of the notes.

Warning. This is not unisex. Warning. This is not unisex. I like unisex frags. This isn't just masculine, it's Neanderthal. Not a hint of anything sweet, which can make leather scents luscious. No softness. It should have the word Extreme appended to its name.

I should not like this fragrance as it contains some of the notes from my no-no list: aldehydes and spices. It also includes notes from my hard-to-smell list: orris and moss. Apparently I'm in love with what's left over: jasmine, rose, ylang, geranium, leather, tobacco, amber, patchouli, musk, vetiver, and castoreum. Quite a stew, isn't it? By layering in one element, Jo Malone's Orange Blossom, I'm blissed out--the combination is similar to the effect of Balmain Jolie Madame, but she's dull in comparison.

I can tell you precisely what Fracas smells like to me: A wilted tuberose bouquet discarded inside an empty microwave popcorn bag labeled "artificial butter flavoring." That funky oil smell you can detect as you walk down the grocery aisle by the microwave popcorn has been mixed with sweet flowers that have just started to decay.

Although the notes are different, Dat Noir feels related to Un Lys. If only it had Un Lys's sillage and staying power. However, I'm glad Dat Noir is nowhere as bombastic as Keiko Mecheri Loukhoum or Etro Heliotrope (which also rely on almond-like notes). This would be a safe scent to wear when you're sitting close to people, as in a car, but you may not solicit many comments from your fellow commuters, unless it's something like, "Is somebody wearing vanilla hand cream?"

As sweet and light as white grape juice, La Chasse is my favorite floral blend. The orange blossom positively sings, and the other florals (linden, tuberose, jasmine) provide backup harmony. The jasmine does not stand out as a single voice, and that's fine by me.

The opening is reminiscent of a dilute Mira Bai, however, the drydown is different in that L'OdT slides into a sort of semi-sweet incense that I would not have labeled "coffee." I can find no fault with L'OdT (which really is saying something), but neither am I moved. When I want to be comforted by the feeling of coffee-like aromas, I'll turn first to Black Vetyver Café or New Haarlem.

Calchic has done a commanding review. I'll simply add that, in addition to the floral/heliotrope impression, I sense an amber tone. In a blind sampling, I'd have guessed this was Boucheron Trouble applied very lightly.

All that rises to the surface on me is something akin to cloves. I suppose it's the spice/carnation composition or some element of the incense note. It's so hot and ugly it's almost painful. Another demonstration of how personal chemistry and individual perception play into the marriage that is fragrance and flesh.

I must amend my earlier review from August 2005. I revisited Terracotta after making good friends with Jicky and its soft Guerlainade base. I recognize that softness now in Terracotta and need only distract myself from the first half hour of carnation spiciness to arrive at the all-day pleasure of a sweet, chalky floral. It's truly a skin scent. Have plans now to put that Old World-looking bottle in my fragrance cupboard.

Picture this: The sun is shining down hotly on an otherwise coolish day. I lay my leather handbag on a sunny outdoor cafe table and order a cup of hot black tea. While waiting for my beverage, I pull a Sharpie marker out of my sun-softened leather handbag and scribble a little note. The ink's unnatural smell wafts about me slightly as the teacup is set in front of me. I put away the marker and add sugar to the steaming black tea. This is Dzing!
I'm grateful to the reviewers who mentioned Bulgari Black (which I had a slight fondness for) because this reference stirred me to hunt down a sample of Dzing! Bulgari Black gets boring where Dzing! holds one's interest. Pleasant, mild, I don't think this will edge out Black Vetyver Cafe or New Haarlem from my wardrobe, but you can never predict these things for sure.

My husband and I both smell apple on my wrists, and then I get pear, or, more accurately, the juice of canned pears. Nice lasting power for such a delicate scent. I want to serve this to a very young lady. Doesn't suit big, ole me, but I applaud its quality. I should also mention it has that soapy element that I sensed in the other two AG frags I've sampled, as well as in Alfred Sung's scents. I can imagine why someone would like a soap note, but I feel like I'm tasting soap--not a good thing.

I'd recommend this as a superior sandalwood fragrance. The rose is very fleeting, but the lovely sandalwood persists a long time. Although the name 'homme' means this rose scent was designed for men, we women like to wear this, too.

The illusive lilac scent can truly be found in this juice. Jessica McClintock #3 comes nowhere close (dominated by lily-of-the-valley rather than the lilac it claims to represent). Un Lys is creamy soft, but a bit simple. I want to play with layering it. It's already sweet enough, so a pinch of something green or ... hmmm?

I must amend my previous opinion (Aug. 10, 2005, review). I now so enjoy layering Orange Blossom with almost any scent that I've bought a full flacon. With Ambra del Nepal, I get something like Boucheron's Trouble. With Demeter's Wet Garden, Orange Blossom smells like it's really outside. I think this could be used remedially, too: If a fragrance sample isn't exactly to my tastes, the addition of Orange Blossom seems to steer the scent closer to where I want it to be.

THEE BEST SCENT FOR SCORCHING HOT DAYS. There is the initial cuke blast, which shortly mellows to something akin to a soft floral that lingers a long time right next to the skin. Cooling, refreshing. My favorite of the Fresh line. Can layer with other florals.

Some of us must be wired differently when it comes to "reading" rose scents. I'm almost nauseated by rose water. To me, real roses smell akin to a freshly grated, sweet carrot. I tried to like Fresh Bulgarian rose--I tried like a cowboy tries to ride a bucking bronco--but by the time I walked from Sephora to Barnes & Noble in the mall, I had to go bathe up to the elbows in the ladies' restroom. If you appreciate a range of roses, you could try this, but if you're a little flaky about roses, don't hurt yourself with this. I've found Stella to be much more approachable.

I'm sure there are bad ambers out there, but I haven't run into one yet that's offensive. Comparing MPG's amber to Ambra del Nepal, my scale tilts toward the i Profume di Firenze juice. Nepal reads a little smoother and quicker to give a powder impression. Ambre Précieux comes across as elegantly forceful. I'd want to smell Ambre Précieux on my lawyer and Ambra del Nepal on my lover.

I prefer L'Artisan's refreshing Vetiver to Lorenzo Viloresi's celery-tinged version. Where LV's is antiseptic, L'Artisan's is oh-so-slightly minty. I'm no connoisseur (more accurately, connoisseuress), so don't go by my review alone. The differences between vetivers can be just an element or two, and each of us has to fine-tune our preferences without regard to other's opinions.

Reminds me of Guerlain's Herba Fresca, but I like this better. If I had to compose a marketing name for L'Artisan's Vetiver, it might be "Mountain Grass." As a woman, I feel compelled to add a touch of sweetening, perhaps just dab of a fruit or floral--or this would be good for cutting the sweetness of an overly sweet frag. Although refreshing and soothing, I would not grab this on a daily basis (or maybe I'll feel differently when it's not autumn).

When sampling fragrances, so often a memory circuit gets lit up. The top notes of New Haarlem zoomed me back to 7th grade home economics class, a lesson in using the broiler to make cinnamon toast. I smell those darkened toast edges where the cinnamon gets a tad burnt, but there is no cinnamon listed among the official notes (bergamot, cedarwood, coffee, vanilla, lavendar, patchouli). The wood and patchouli register with me, but sadly not the coffee. Still, there is something most compelling about the composition. I will try this on my wrists as my new go-to-sleep scent (in place of Boucheron). Great potency, addictive qualities, don't know if I'd wear New Haarlem in public.

I sense carnations in this cold, wet garden, and maybe roses in the distance. I appreciate how this addition to my fragrance wardrobe has added new life to Jo Malone's Orange Blossom, which is lovely, but oh, so plain and sweet. Will seek to find other complementary combinations from this starting point.

Sweet and pleasant, except a tobacco quality dominates on my skin. Even my SO asked, "Are you wearing that tobacco one?"

Yes, it's pretty, but so are dozens of other fragrances. At least it doesn't give off that soapy "taste" I get from Alfred Sung's Shi and Pure. A delicate, safe fragrance for a young woman, but nothing innovative.

Reviewer Serpent said, "Amber is the star here." I think it's a double billing co-starring patchouli. I like the dry, woody quality, just as I crave tannin-rich, oak-aged wines. But the scent seems incomplete to my palate. I'd like to consume its notes á là carte, removing one or two and adding something else. In other words, I won't be buying any beyond the sample vial I have. Yes, this could be a unisex fragrance.

After reading volumes about the legendary Mitsouko and finally landing a sample vial, I'd like to believe that I just need to mature in my tastes. At this point, though, I have to report that Mitsouko is bitter and too spicy for me. I can't cultivate an appreciation for spices. I've tried. If you're not keen on them either, skip this classic. I have issues with aldehydes, too. (Go ahead, look down your refined noses at me!)

I didn't care for the original Obsession, yet I like Prada, which everyone compares to Obsession. I like CKbe and CK One on my fella. Contradiction was okay, but I have not been tempted to purchase a Klein fragrance until Obsession Night for women. It's a soft, feminine floral built on CK's traditional base. I appreciate the bergamot, vanilla, tonka bean, amber and sandalwood, topped off by the rose and gardenia which make it feel womanly. Husband gives this the nod, too. If you sorta liked the above-mentioned CK fragrances, try this one, which is also available in a men's product, too.

There are distinct phases to Stella. The top note is my least favorite--a rose water reminiscent to me of dime store stuff. Then there is an intermission where I lose track of the fragrance, followed by a delicious, deep phase. My flacon of Guerlain's With Love will not be replaced by Stella. With Love's rose quality (apparent in the middle and base notes) is extraordinarily compelling to me. Of course, I find carrots to be rose-like in some ways, so maybe I'm unsophisticated and would be satisfied with Demeter Carrot. I'll use up my Stella sample by layering it with Mira Bai or Jo Malone Orange Blossom.

I may not be qualified to judge Rumba as I'm not crazy for hot, spicey food or a noisey nightclub scene, and that's where I picture this fragrance. Although the notes* read harmless enough, opening the sample vial was like releasing a wild mariache band. The smell was hot and busy, and I could not isolate any favorable note. If you like intensity, this might be your signature scent (for male or female).

*Plum, peach, orange blossom, raspberry, magnolia, tuberose, orchid, gardenia, jasmine, carnation, heliotrope, honey, lily-of-the-valley, amber, oakmoss, vanilla, sandalwood, cedarwood, tonka bean, musk, styrax.

Having found so much pleasure in Boucheron Trouble and Boucheron for Women, I eagerly anticipated sampling Jaipur, which is supposed to have fruity top notes, a floral heart and musk base. It just wasn't as complex as I'd hoped. Leading me to conclude that Boucheron produces better heavyweight contenders.

Sweet strawberry cotton candy with a little wood. Hanae Mori is extraordinarily popular, and many men love it (my husband is not one of them). You may find it cloying or too foody a fragrance. I'd peg it as a young woman's scent. It's fairly simple, but has good staying power. I find Chopard's Mira Bai more interesting. I highly recommend comparing samples of each.

For eight months I've been on a quest to study fragrances, learn something about the ingredients, the perfume industry, and to build a wardrobe of scents. I wouldn't, as they say, "Kick Bijan out of bed," but after diverse product sampling, my notes for Bijan conclude: "Less disappointing than others I've tried. After a few optimistic wearings, I find Bijan to be a 'Who cares?' fragrance."

Sadly, I found Eau de Ciel to be a soapy floral, a floral for babies and mothers perhaps, too gentle for my crude senses to appreciate. I know some fragrances are skin scents, and one has to be very near to pick up on their attributes, but that wasn't the problem here.

I think I might have liked Burberry London if not for having previously experienced Chopard's Mira Bai, which is richer and sweeter. By comparison, London seems weak and watered down and doesn't go the distance. To be fair, they are two entirely different compositions, but they share a similar first impression to my mind.

Chemistry and perceptions are funny things. I got a very clear picture in mind after sampling this floral-fruity. With eyes closed, I would swear I was standing in a Chinese food restaurant where someone had spilled a bottle of baby lotion. Wish I could have experienced the notes as they were intended, but such is life!

'A' for originality. This is one of the few scents I prefer to smell in the bottle rather than on skin. The purple packaging distorts my perception and has me thinking of sweet grape soda before the aroma even registers its twisted spicey personality. A neat experience, but not something I want to wear. I'd like to encounter this as a room scent in an exotic locale.

Its composition succeeds in balancing fresh AND woody AND spicey AND pretty. (Yes, I said, 'pretty.') I'm a female, and I like the men's Allure Homme Sport (on hubby) better than Chanel's Allure for women (on me). I think it's the green briskness that lifts this above the ordinary. Good for day wear.

I bought Wild Musk because someone had said it satisfied some retro experience for her. Not for me. I pity the era when this satisfied an audience of noses. It's so simple and smells like babies. That's not bad, it's just not worth spending money to acquire. I've tried layering the musk with other fragrances to get some use out of the flacon, but that's valueless. The powder, however, is pleasant, and I'll use it up for its functionality.

This is one of those classics whose production should never cease. I associate it with women who, in the 1960s, frequented department stores when they weren't home being housewives. If you can live with that, then enjoy this traditional oriental with amber and spice. It is so French, with its rose and warm heart of sandalwood, patchouli and vetiver, but (happily) apparently no aldehydes. Sure, candy-like scents are the rage, but every woman has got to have at least one perfume like this in her wardrobe, too.

A friend recommended Herba Fresca, and I was hopeful to like it, but the mint ran interference with the other herbal notes. Repeated wearings only made the mint more annoying to me. A better grass-like scent might be found with Demeter products (although their pungency is short-lived). I'd further recommended Fresh Index Cucumber Baie for a mild green scent.

I received a sample with a perfume order and placed the L'eau Bleu on my husband's dresser after a quick sniff of the vial. As another reviewer noted, sampling this way tells you little of its true character. On skin, I get an agricultural smell. This is a good thing, reminding me of a mixture of scents I associate with the country landscape. It's very pleasant, and I'll enjoy hubby wearing this. I doubt we'll buy more as it seems to be just a little too obvious: 'Hi! I'm a man's cologne!'

I found this to be very much like Christian Dior's Pure Poison, which makes no sense if you read each product's note descriptions, but there you have it. I like hyacinth, musk, sweet amber, but I didn't love KC Black for Her. It was dark without being intriguing, sweet without inciting interest. Big and blah. At least it didn't send me running for the soap and water the way other EDPs have.

Fresh in a tart way until it dries. I like a little more floral in my fragrances, but my husband wears this well on occasion in the warm months. It's a safe scent that won't offend your companions--well, except for those who look down their noses at scents that are supposedly passé because of fashion. There's a reason CK Be and One are still selling--they appeal to the masses.

I like this warm, bold, spicey, woody oriental. But since finding Chopard's Casmir (sweet and foody, but otherwise satisfying similar cravings as does Boucheron's Trouble), I can't bring myself to buy more Trouble. This is another fragrance I'd nominate for men to try for its cedar, amber and vanilla.

A fragrance seemingly put together by a committee much like the proverbial giraffe. The milky caramel tones are cut by the ascetic fruits and remind me of baby bib smells. I held out hope for Mukki as I'm crazy about Fresh's Index Cucumber Baie, but from what I've sniffed from the Fresh lineup, Cucumber Baie is the only recipe I understand.

Currants, tangerine, lily-of-the-valley, cinnamon, pepper and honey make for a peculiar blend; I'll even say they clash. That said, I can imagine this might work for a man (yes, a man) with the right chemistry, but with so many other riches in the marketplace, don't hurry to sample Initial. I've put my sample on my husband's dresser, but wouldn't mind if it got lost amongst his pocket change.

Where's the scent? It's hard to detect anything but very watered-down juice. If I had to compare this with any other scent, it would be faint insect spray. I wonder what this smells like on a person with the right chemistry?

I compared a couple Chopard fragrances within a short period of time, and Casmir won out over Wish, which seemed a bit weak and powdery. There is an evident family resemblance between Wish, Casmir, Mira Bai, so if you sort of like one, do sample the others. My tastes turned out to be sweeter than I would have expected, so I like Casmir's bakery air better.

A scent whose time has come and gone. It's pretty, light and not too exciting. No real faults except staying power. Poof--it's gone. If only it could have delivered on the notes promised, many of which I love: cucumber, lilac, coconut, sandalwood. Maybe the next generation of perfumers can make these notes real.

If by "fresh" they meant astringent, yes it is. There is nothing new or better here. Eau de Cartier has a better Juniper quality. Au Thé Blanc is fresh without the tartness of Dunhill Fresh. Hope I never have to be cooped up in a car with someone wearing too much of this as it might send me from 'neutral' to 'thumbs down.'

I'm giving this an up thumb because it still makes me go a little cross-eyed when I smell it on my husband's skin, but I have to say it has fallen from our graces since we sampled Baldessarini's Del Mar. If you know something about wines, you'll understand when I say it's as though CK Be is like a young wine and Del Mar is the same product aged until it's really s-m-o-o-t-h. They both contain a nice mix of woods and musk, and the Del Mar is a little "brighter" for its Italian bergamot. Dollar-wise CK is a good deal.

I agree with howardbweiner: Men, give this a try. It's a root beer served at a Middle Eastern drive-thru (delicious, sweet sarsaparilla tree roots with a pinch of spice). I, as a woman, am drawn to it, but have no urge to wear it. Happily my husband is learning to like fragrances. A "yum" scent.

I almost added Coco to my lineup, but the cloves wore me down. At first I ignored the clove note, but after a while it began to burn in an impression until it occupied a disproportionate presence. I respect this fragrance and feel we parted on good terms.

The notes described here are almost funny in their creativity (high-altitude laurel, morning dew orchid?). The entry I made in my fragrance diary after sampling Happy mentions little more than carnation. Maybe I'm unsophisticated, but I found no range of experience here. From my notes: Simple, sweet, mild, clean, flat. Not very interesting.

This isn't unisex? Why not? The spice and woodiness make me think it could cross over, although it is gentle, too. It is exotic, even a mite odd in its blending of mandarin, saffron and tea. Credit is due for originality. I'd say Omnia fits autumn. I'm giving my miniature flacon to my husband to use.

Envy Me (which sounds like such a Valley Girl sort of thing to say) might please the younger consumer. It's a fun, flirtatious springtime scent fairly represented by its notes: peony, jasmine, pink pepper, litchi, pomegranate, pineapple, pink musk, seringa, white tea, sandalwood, teakwood and sensual musk (whatever that's supposed to be?). It didn't fit middle-aged me.

No one wanted to like Joy more than I. My name is Joy, so what could be more wonderful? In what I thought would be a pinnacle moment at Disney's EPCOT, I entered the French perfume shop and applied my namesake to my wrists. Within minutes I was bent over the decorative fountain outside the store washing my arms. I couldn't get past those artificial aldehydes, which turn off some percentage of the consumer audience. If you're new to fragrances, sample one of the classic aldehydic potions from Patou or Chanel and see which camp you fall in. If aldehydes hurt your nose, you can rule out some fragrances right off the bat.

I'm not shy about meeting a full-bodied fragrance, but Rush struck me as heavy and flat. The notes described on this site certainly appear interesting, yet they wouldn't come alive on my skin. I had a similar reaction to Rush 2, although that has a different composition. I'm guessing Gucci's fragrances aren't designed for my chemistry.

Upon first sampling, there was something I liked about Contradiction, especially the evolution of the cedar, sandalwood, musk and oak moss at its base. I thought the woman's version somewhat manly, but that was okay. A few months later, in warmer weather, I discovered I couldn't like it anymore. I think it's because my tastes had changed, and the scent seemed more harsh than I remembered it. There are finer products that offer similar accords, and I'll keep sniffing around for a better candidate for this category.

Someone has to present an alternate perspective from the previous reviewers', so I'll stick out my perfumed neck and say, "Ick." It's the aldehydes. I'm certain science will eventually describe the olfactory apparatus that translates aldehydes into an enhancing experience for some, but I lack that bit of biology and thus am instantly repelled. Don't think less of me, please!

If you like the smell of Jasmine, then here you go. Not surprisingly, Blush is slotted into the floral-fresh category. It just doesn't have enough business going on to be interesting to me. Other than that, I wouldn't discourage anyone from trialing Mr. Jacobs's formulation, and it might be a good gift scent for a young lady.

Boucheron stands at my uppermost tolerance range for old-style women's perfumes. That sounds disparaging, so it might be better to say it fulfills that end of my wardrobe spectrum and is best suited to cooler weather or nighttime. A full-bodied floriental, no single flower stands out from the overall bouquet. Spices and woods dominate the foreground. I lack the skills to decipher them, so let's let author Jan Moran assume that responsibility: "Top Notes: Sicilain tangerine, Calabrian bitter orange, apricot, Persian galbanum, African tagetes, Spanish basilica. Heart Notes: Moroccan orange blossom, Grasse tuberose, Madagascar ylang-ylang, Moroccan jasmine, Auvergne narcissus, British broom. Base Notes: Mysore sandalwood, amber, Indian Ocean vanilla, South American tonka bean."

This is a big perfume, as expansive as a Broadway production of "Oklahoma." It's labeled as a floral, but I detect some spices. It just crosses the line as being too much for me (although I like it when others wear it). I had read wonderful things about the lighter version (24, Faubourg Eau Delicate) and would like to sample it, but have not been able to find it online, at Ulta or Sephora. I even contacted Hermès by email, but they said sample sizes were not available. I'll see if they have it in the French shops at EPCOT next time I travel to Florida or watch for it on ebay. Hermès' full line can be difficult to track down.

For my senses, Shi reads as green, young, soapy and sour. I'll believe you if you tell me it's better on someone else's skin, but I was left with the feeling of having had soap in the back of my throat. Shi may appeal to 20-somethings looking for a light scent.

Ouch! I thought I was grown up enough (I'm 50) to sample this "big girl's" perfume, but Habanita, Rumba, Aromatics Elixir, and White Linen have me feeling abused. Habanita could be a unisex fragrance if its history weren't tied to women in the 1920s. I consider it manly and smoldering with a baby powder quality. Hope not to run into this again on anyone unless their body chemistry manipulates Habanita in some better way than I experienced.

Eternity Purple Orchid Eau de Parfum makes a lovely first impression, but quickly fades to a weak, watery floral with the soapy quality I dislike in Alfred Sung's Shi or Pure. Very pretty visual presentation, which attracted my attention, but an utterly forgettable product.

I was comparing samples of Must de Cartier, Panthere de Cartier, Boucheron's Trouble, and Chopard's Casmir on different parts of my arms over a period of days. Panthere was the first to be eliminated as it seemed undistinguished against the others. Must de Cartier went next. I appreciate its civility and woody qualities, but was looking for a fragrance with more personality. It lasted well, but I won't be purchasing any. I'm a bit on the fence about Trouble, but am happy with a miniature of Casmir at this point.

Yes, "steel-belted radials" can be an acceptable note. I also was reminded of a family friend, a machinist who always had a stogie (short cigar) in the corner of his mouth. Despite the apparently negative associations, I like smelling Bulgari Black on my husband once in awhile, partly because I admired Bulgari's departure from the ordinary. I'd also notice and admire any woman who had fortitude to wear this routinely.

I liked SF enough to buy a tester-size flacon, but now regret that quantity. This is a delicious, juicy, juicy, sharp floral, but I found I tired of it in short order, unlike most purchases which I tend to grow more fond of with use. It is fairly sweet and remains linear, unchanging after it dries on the skin. I'll use it up by giving away samples to friends and spraying correspondence to those I think will appreciate its cheery first impression.

None of the previous reviewers has mentioned that Eau De Cartier gives a juniper berry/gin impression (makes me thirsty for a gimlet). It clearly qualifies as unisex, but teeters a bit more toward the female (moi) because it is so light. It's nice to have a sample-size vial or mini around for a diversion, but it's too simple a fragrance to use every day. It's a safe scent in that it won't offend your companions, and it soothes and cools on an oppressive August day like today.

The top/middle/base note descriptions seem comprised of only a few words, but my impression was that Estee Lauder's perfume factory's night janitor had poured dozens of leftover ingredients into a single vat which he jokingly labeled "Aromatics Elixir." Then, as in the story "The Emperor's New Clothes," the next day no one had the nerve to confess they didn't appreciate the concoction. This struck me as a cacophony of florals, conflicting like the sounds of a full orchestra of instruments all tuning up at once. Perhaps it's aldehydes, and I lack the ability to appreciate how they sew the notes together.

Although this might be classified as a refreshing scent, I (a female) prefer to wear Au Thé Blanc in cold weather. The crisp citrus and white tea notes and frostly bottle seem to match up with the cold, white days of winter and the solitude that time of year brings on. I'll save my florals for months when flowers bloom and wear this after a steamy January shower with sandalwood soap. I wear a number of other fragrances, but often close my eyes and sniff the Bulgari flacon like smelling salts. Its simplicity seems to clear the senses and make me feel calm. I don't share this scent with my husband because it's not how I like him to smell. It's for me alone and adds diversity to my fragrance wardrobe (which could also be called a mood wardrobe).

My husband loves the scent of lilacs and hyacinths, so I bought the fragrance rumored to have good lilac qualities (JM's Number 3), but did not find what I was looking for. In all fairness, lilac cannot be extracted from the real flower and has to be synthesized. The first Jessica McClintock fragrance was a true lily-of-the-valley composition, and Number 3 seems to have inherited most of its genetic material from that product. Number 3 is a refreshing scent for hot weather, and the flacon's atomizer is the best of any I've ever pumped. Staying power is only moderate. I don't regret owning this, but I will not be buying it again.

Can a rose scent qualify as seeming nicely chalky? Can a rose scent steer clear of the dreaded, fetid rose-water smell? Can a rose-based perfume intermingle with human flesh so masterfully that, after a few hours, the two produce a delectable dream state when sampled up close? Yes. Guerlain's With Love is an under-publicized, under-appreciated, limited-edition gem which can still be purchased at PerfumeBay.com. If you like tannins in your wine, you might appreciate the dry, tannic quality that balances the lovely floral notes. I'm most inclined to wear this from spring into summer. Strangely, it layers well with Fresh's Index Cucumber Baie.

"Grrrrrrrrrr" (as Bob Hope would growl). This is the stuff for sitting in front of a crackling fireplace on a snowy night--perhaps a contradictory scene for a fragrance with notes of tropical coconut and mango. These are not cheap shampoo scents, but sweet notes well interlaced with "amber, musk, vanilla, sandalwood and patchouli" (as Chopard claims are basenotes). A definite comfort smell.

A nearly syrupy compote of fruity scents, masterfully blended so as not to be candy-like. The citrus element keeps it from becoming too heavy, and the woody base notes help offset the sugar. A smile-inducing springtime fragrance for middle-age me. It can be layered with Chopard's Casmir to give greater depth. Author Jan Moran describes it this way: Mira Baï begins with the fruity flavor of black currant, followed by a floral heart. For a distinct culinary treat, a mouth-watering combination of praline and vanilla is supported by smooth sandalwood.

Instant "holy grail" fragrance for my husband. It is impeccably smooth, rich (spectral--not overbearing) and without error in ingredients or proportions. The promotional text reads thusly: "A spicy, woody-based fragrance. Lush blend of mandarin, Earl Grey tea and black pepper combined with warm woods and exotic spices. Perfect for evening wear and special occasions." I picture the richest gentleman with eminent credentials and breeding when I take in this fragrance (imagine the distinguished Michael Caine character in "Dirty, Rotten Scoundrels"), but it's simply splendid on my laborer-husband. File this one under "classy" as it is not necessarily a bedroom scent.