Fragrance Reviews by purplebird7

I adore this fragrance. It is a unisex spicy, woody, all-natural perfume. I smell hot and sweet spices, maybe a rose heart and some patchouli, and glorious resins--probably including olibanum and labdanum. The composition is so seamless that the various components mingle to form an Oriental fragrance that is daring yet comforting, something for people who want to go beyond the pale and yet attract positive attention. This is gorgeous.

If you're looking for a delicious, edible chocolate perfume, this one is fabulous. Pure chocolate absolute and creamy vanilla combine in a melt-in-your-mouth confectionery that manages to steer clear of too much sweetness. How? By smelling just boozy enough to elicit images of a snifter full of Creme de Cacao. Maybe there's even a touch of Amaretto in there. It's mouthwatering. Characteristic of an all-natural perfume, it is never overpowering but clean and clear in its aroma even though it is rich and decadent.

Exceedingly sweet, orange, powdery, and spicy. I am not smelling flowers at all. This is definitely an Oriental fragrance. And it has a huge dollop of vanilla. The whole combined to form a root beer and creme soda accord that I enjoyed, but it began to take on a strong, almost bitter aroma as I wore it, the way that artificial sweetners tend to do in soft drinks. So, I give it a perplexed neutral.

An initial blast of galbanum gives way to pepper. Then cedar and dusky violet with green leaves take over. In the end, there is sweetness, but it is very dark and earthy. The base lists moss and hemlock, but there may be patchouli as well. These woody, grassy notes lend a dried-leaf type of sweetness. In the end, the notes combine to form a strange violet candy or a bit of Sen-Sen breath mint aroma. This fragrance is sensual and strong. It smells like dry wood and living leaves at the same time. I find it extremely attractive, wet and dry, with dark, earthy sweetness. This is not for the "shrinking violet" type of person. Midnight Violet makes a bold statement.

The notes are the epitome of "fanciful," a sure bet that I will be annoyed after smelling the perfume. And I am. This perfume smells like fruity violet over a lot of diffusive, synthetic bases. I cannot be convinced otherwise. All the claims of "living dewdrops," "atmospheric orchid," "lights," and "angel wings," will not dissuade me that is sour violet.

An interesting name for an ordinary fragrance. One would expect an epiphany, but what one gets is a trend-following perfume. On the cover is a woman wearing a cowboy hat and an expression that is both horny and suspicious. It is as though she is saying, "I don't trust you, but I'm really desperate, so I will ignore my aversion in order to satisfy this horrible craving." I guess that is how some people feel about religion.
So, I had hopes that this fragrance would be something other than the usual stuff pushed at this demographic.
The opening is the Sour Patch candy beginnings of a "new chypre." The middle notes begin to smell more interesting and woody, and I hoped for a woody Oriental, but they did not last. In the end, it returns to the sour candy and adds a big Juicy Fruit chewing gum note. Yawn. I almost gave it a neutral rating because I like gum, but actually, I wouldn't wear it. There are better bubblegum fragrances.

Galbanum lovers, take note. This fragrance takes the bitter bite of galbanum and pairs it with the springlike sweetness of hyacinth--two of my favorite notes. The mossy base blends with these notes to create a forestlike accord that is like a breath of evergreen. Edwardian Bouquet is a misleading name. One would expect to smell a sweet, old-fashioned bouquet. Although it does include a number of flowers, it is in no way typical of floral perfumes. It is a classy, unusual fragrance that stands out in a crowd. And it is decidedly unisex. If I could change anything, it would be to make it less transparent. It seems to float into the air rather than allow itself to be captured on my skin. It is long-lasting, but it hovers in the space around me rather than on me, even though I long to possess it. Nevertheless, I love it. This is a must-try and my first experience with Floris, leaving me with a good impression of this perfumer.

A serene, feminine floral that starts out cool and leafy (which reminds me of a lily) and ends up warmer and delicately sweet, while still maintaining the overall impression of a floral shop. This fragrance is a bit prim for me. I might like the EDP better, according to reviews.

A modern composition featuring heliotrope. This starts with a big fruit note. Red current is listed, but it comes across as a blend (a common occurrence these days) that smells like apple-pear and/or pineapple-mango. Just when I tire of the fruit, an unusually gorgeous heliotrope note emerges. It is smooth as butter, vanillic but not overtly so, a bit dusty and flour-like, and decidedly nutty. As the fruit recedes, a curious aroma develops which smells like coffee and cream, or perhaps hazelnut coffee, and it blends well in the composition. In the final analysis, it is the wonderful heliotrope that thrills me, but I somehow wish that it existed without the huge fruit combo. The entire fragrance borders on gourmand and succeeds in hooking onto current trends.

I like regular Chance better--it concentrates more on the hyacinth and patchouli. This one is a "lite" version--more sparkly than the original. The listed notes are similar, but Eau Fraiche smells fruiter or more citrusy, brighter, and top-heavy. So, although it is sprightly and pleasing, it is missing the stronger floral heart and solid base of the real Chance. I give it a qualified thumbs-up for a carefree, fizzy, fruity floral with better composition than many in its genre. But pass me the original.

Something for the apologetic perfume wearer who wants to smell freshly-washed, as though having just stepped out of the shower with the faint aroma of cleanser wafting off the skin. A clean, gently soapy citrus fades quickly to a skin scent. I can’t dislike it, but I want my perfumes to do much more than this

A mild, slightly spicy, soft, violet floral that creates a mellow skin scent. Like the others in the Kapsule series, it is pleasing, and I cannot say anything disparaging about it, but it fails to inspire.

A pseudo sandalwood with creamy, vanillic tones and mild spices. I can't say anything bad about it, but it fails to excite me after smelling the likes of Tam Dao, Chanel Bois des Iles, Bulgari Omnia, Creed Original Santal, Etro Sandalo, and a host of others.

Caution: Sweet alert. If you hate sweet fragrances, read no more. This perfume opens with a bubblegum note, and I like bubblegum. The name is misleading on my sample. It merely states “Hanae Mori” EDP. I don’t think it is the original 1965 fragrance, which was peach, patchouli, and vanilla, or I would be crazy about it. It must be the new Butterfly, which is strawberry, bilberry, black currant, rose, jasmine, ylang-ylang, sandalwood, almond, and praline. At any rate, the fruit notes are indistinct; they may as well be peach. Together, they form a tutti-frutti concoction that is creamy and candylike. (I am surprised that this is Japanese; I thought they preferred clean, transparent scents, but this does fit in with their enchantment with all things “cute.”) It doesn’t do anything astonishing, but the pleasing bubblegum note carries on for a long time. It’s childlike and fun, and I can’t help liking it. It won’t replace Coco the more grown-up, fruity fragrances in my wardrobe, but I do enjoy it.

This one is wrong for me. It is permeated with violet and violet leaves, and the perfume comes across as sour rather than sweet. Adding iris and vetiver only makes it drier. The base never sweetens for me. On the whole, it reminds me of soap. Expensive soap, but soap nonetheless. Knowing personal tastes for what they are, others may find it charming.

Iris seems to be moving into the “note of the decade” category along with vetiver. This seems to be a highly likeable, middle-of-the-road iris perfume that avoids smelling like ordinary, feminine iris perfumes—a difficult task. Infusion d’Iris starts out bright and lemony, although mandarin is the actual citrus. It quickly moves into a cool, powdery iris that maintains just enough earthy, rootiness to make me like it. I prefer Serge Lutens Iris Silver Mist and The Different Company Bois d’Iris. The Prada creation carefully straddles the line between popular sensibilities and artistic greatness, but I would say that the former goal supercedes the latter. I am not a great lover of iris unless it truly revels in its sweet, carrotlike facet. I would wear pure orris butter rather than most iris perfumes. Having said that, I still give this perfume the green light. The base has a certain sweet, green, milky, smoothness that rescues it from becoming harsh or soapy. Of interest to me is the lentisk, or mastic, note listed in its pyramid. This resin from a Mediterranean evergreen tree is used in both fragrance and cooking. It is an acquired taste, both unusual and pleasant.

Hindu Kush is an appealing spicy Oriental fragrance and an all-natural frankincense perfume that anyone who likes incense ought to love. It starts with a conglomoration of exotic spices, both pungent and sweet, each appearing quickly at different intervals. The incense is high-quality and rich. At the base is a thick, deep labdanum--a dark amber--smelling of wood and, in combination with the spices, a bit smoky with subtle, maple nuances. Altogether, it creates a mystical, adventurous, rather sexy fragrance.

I have a yes and no reaction to this one. The listed notes are ylang-ylang, rose, and helichrysium. But what do I smell? Lemon and hay.It is remniscent of oriental lemongrass.
I believe that I am not a fan of helichrysium. It is a strange floral--strong and both sweet and sour at the same time, harsh and haylike. It also has a bitter, aromatic, medicinal note. (I don't smell the "maple" aroma that is supposed to be a characteristic of helichrysium. Rather, the sweet part smells like cut hay in the sun, a warm sweetness.) Overall, helichrysium smells rather wild and incongruous to me.
Lake Flower also has the same unrefined aspect. It is unpredictable, wafting between warm and sweet and fresh and tart. Yet neither the sweetness nor the sourness is familiar, as it would be with common, edible substances like vanilla and lemon. Therefore, it is challenging. I don't know if I like it or not.

Before I looked at the notes, I identified the frankincense. This perfume smells like sticking one's head into a bag of frankincense resin and snorting the dust like cocaine.
It is rich, heavy, and high-quality. Anyone who enjoys incense fragrances ought to try this one, especially those who like Messe de Minuit.
And it satisfies my patchouli craving. The patchouli adds an earthy mustiness to the scent, and it brings with it its sweet, chocolatey undertones.
The mint and lemon freshen and lighten the scent. And the vanilla rounds it off with softness. I cannot smell castoreum, per se.
I borrow this description from Profumo's website:
"The result is a perfume that touches the soul by its intrepid sweetness and sensuality, adapted for a truly gallant and refinely elegant buccaneer. This is the soul of a real pirate that the stylist recognized his young and trendy customers were lacking. Through their clothes they wanted to appropriate only the image of an adventurous corsair, while this perfume exudes his very soul." OMG. I'm a middle-aged woman from Nebraska, not a stylish young rakehell.
What does this say about me? I am troubled. Actually I am smiling. Well, if I can't live the life, at least I can vicariously enjoy it in perfume.
Maybe...next reincarnation...

Reported notes in the new Valentino perfume are as follows: pomelo, pear blossom and magnolia; orange blossom, mimosa and violet leaf; rice vapour, heliotrope and vanilla-orchid.
To me, it has a an ozonic opening followed by some tart-sweet florals as if it were preparing to become a "pink chypre." But then, a big, melon-and-cucumber note develops. It continues all the way to the end of the fragrance. (This particular aroma reminds me of the Calone marine note of an earlier decade.) So, in all, the new 2009 Valentino fragrance smells both fruity and aquatic and is not much to my liking.

I can't believe it took me so long to try this fragrance. After two-and-a-half years of reading about it and wondering, I finally got my hands on this nostalgic little blend. It is unique. To me, Y starts out as a spring floral, and, if it had a color, it would be yellow-green. Images of forsythia bushes in bloom come to mind. The scent is predominantly honeysuckle and other spring flowers, with a strong component of green and some peachiness and happy citrus. While Chamade is springtime and fruit trees in bloom, full of powdery pollen, Y is springtime and flowering hedgerows in the suburbs. It is powerful, in the manner of fragrances when perfumes were perfumes, and nobody had to make excuses about wearing one. In that respect, you get your money's worth when buying this fragrance. But it isn't a rude strength--no animalics, no bazaar spices, no chemicals. And, here's the best part, the drydown grows dry. The oakmoss is elegant, stepping forth and giving classiness to the entire composition. My only complaint, and one that makes it unsuitable for becoming a regular in my wardrobe, is that it is too soapy and clean overall. It is similar to vintage Vent Vert, which which I prefer becasue it lacks the soapinss. (But you can't find vintage Vent Vert anymore.) Y is a well-composed perfume in the classic manner.

Okay, I hated the newest version. I didn't want to smell this one, but my friend insisted that it was the original. How could I like it when I dispised the remake? Didn't they at least smell similar? But this one, the original Vent Vert, I love it. What a beauty. What a tragedy that it is no longer made. First note, galbanum, not a soapy one, but green and fresh. After that, a medly of flowers, with some of my favorites being prominent, namely hyacinth and gardenia. Delicate peach notes. Gorgeous light, well-behaved wood and musk base. So, you get a beautiful, well-crafted bouquet of precious florals with a hint of fruit, all permeated with gorgeous green. What could be more perfect?

Delicious, as in food. This is a simple yet deep fragrance. I believe that it has a high percentage of natural ingredients. Starts out smelling strongly of orange--not orange peel, but orange juice. The manner in which this huge orange note fades completely away makes me believe that it is real orange essence. It smells like it comes from orange pulp. The second act is vanilla, and, oh, what a gourmet vanilla it is. This is very sweet, drool-producing vanilla. It is dark and round and scrumptious. No off-notes are present. It is purely gorgeous vanilla. It, too, smells natural and fades completely off the skin with no afterburn. So, it starts out as orange, segues into creamy citrus, and ends up completely vanilla. The entire time, I want to gnaw my arm off. I got goosebumps wearing it. I want a bottle, but I don't know if I can live with myself. I know I will be compelled to bake vanilla cakes with orange frosting and big, braided loaves of sweet, orange bread.

I started out loving this fragrance because it smells exactly like natural neroli and orange blossom. Neroli is one of my favorite notes, but it can become overwhelming. Ditto orange blossom--even more so. That little flower, in natural absolute, is positively aggressive. Only a small amount will overtake all other florals. It smells almost animalic. So, while I did greatly enjoy this perfume in the outset because it smelled so realistic (and I do belived that a high percentage of naturals are used) it changed radically by the time it dried down and became a bit soapy on me. I have no explanation for that occurrence. It's a complex little fragrance for so few notes. Perhaps it will work better on others.

Lemon lemming. (Sorry, I just had to say that.) This is the same type of juicy, non-sweet, just-squeezed lemon that launched Eau D'Hadrien into popularity. Its a little more herbal and less woody due to the broom flower. Profumum Aqua Viva is a must-try for fans of the Annick Goutal fragrance.

A complex little fragrance. I'm not sure what to focus on here. What I mistook for galbanum turned out to be boxwood leaves or herbs. At any rate, it has a green component, and yet it remains floral in nature. There is some citrus to it, apparently from a rosewood note. No particular flower stands out, but it is like a garden of flowers, airy and plantlike.

An interesting take on citrus, and a departure from Eau de Hadrien's mouthwatering, sour, realistic lemon. Les Nuits de Hadrien plays up the mandarin and amber and is quite a bit sweeter than the former fragrance. It also has an interesting spicy, herbal characteristic that makes it more complex. On the other hand, it's direction is not as straightforward so I don't believe it will attract as many adoring fans. Regardless, worth a try.

The dominant notes I get are a lemon and lime accord and some nice woods. It is cool and refreshing. The only complaint I have is that those characteristics don't make it stand out from most of the others in the same genre. I admit, I’ve given thumbs-up to less pleasing fragrances just because they take artistic risks. This one, no. Very safe. So, I give it a qualified thumbs-up and recommend it to lovers of citrus.

Norell is an extremely retro green, floral, leather chypre. I have a history with Norrell. I always sniffed it appreciatively when I was a child, marvelling at the unusual smell but never knowing why. Surprisingly, I never put it on because I considered it too "grown-up." Now, years later, I get to try the new formulation which, I am pretty sure, comes close to the original intent.
Now I know why I always was attracted to Norell. It is a Chypre! Before I even knew what they were, I loved them. Top notes smell strongly of galbanum, a personal favorite of mine. Middle is dry, red roses, like potpourri, another favorite, possibly some hyacinth, all with a mellow spiciness. And the base? Well that is what surprised me most. After it develops on the skin, the mildly ambery base becomes animalic and leathery. Overall the whole composition is dry by today's standards. In the end, it becomes more soapy than I like, but that is what happens with some green chypres, and anyway, it adds to the retro feel. I like it. Not an everyday fragrance, but quite the thing when I feel like a blast from the past.

I expected L'Eau d'Ambre to be milder than Ambre Extreme, but although it is lighter, it is definitely not milder. It has a decidedly animalic note, which I originally thought was civit, but, upon referencing the L'Artisan site, turns out to ambergis. Plus it is slightly more floral, even though it is not sweeter. Again I had to look up the note, and it is geranium. So, although it is lighter in concentration, it still has plenty of character. On its own, I might not have picked up on the fact that is animalic, but, side-by-side with its later relative, I clearly smell the pungent note, weird and bittersweet, of real ambergris. For those of you who prefer your amber to be edible, I point you in the direction of the more vanillic, spicy-sweet Ambre Extreme from 2001, which I prefer. For those who want amber with a hint of dirtiness, give L'Eau d'Ambre, from 1978 a try.

Unique, clean, lemony, peppery, minty, herbal aroma with some warmer, woody nuances. This 100% natural fragrance is short-lived on the skin but very bracing while it lasts. It is base on spikenard, which is an herb. It is woody-herbaceous in character. Although these are not its actual notes, it's aroma resembles a combination of the sweet, clean smell of grass, plus the uplifting effect of aromatic lavendar and woods, and the sweet-and-sour aroma of refreshing lime juice. If that sounds intriguing to you, it is worth trying, just to experience what L'Artisan Parfumeur can do with naturals.

Lovely, sweet-spicy accord with a hot-cold combination that smells like cinnamon and cardamom plus vanilla and saffron. The listed notes are merely rose, saffron, and vanilla, but I'm registering the rose as Saigon cinnamon. Very heady, with the intense jammy spiciness of chutney sauce--plus a large dollop of cream. Especially recommended to those who like Chinatown, but this one is spicier and less foody to me, minus the nutty notes of the Bond fragrance. Quite yummy.

Lively, sprightly, citrus-punch jasmine. This is an idealized jasmine without the indolic, animalic notes. It is wrapped in lemon-lime-orange zest and floats merrily into the air. I would describe it the same way that I describe my obsession with juice: Frozen orange juice (and artificial jasmine perfume) is passable. Fresh-squeezed orange juice (and real jasmine absolute) is wonderful, but you can't use a lot. Five Alive citrus punch (and La Chasse Aux Papillons) is not exactly orange juice, but the combination manages to be just as enjoyable and somehow easier to enjoy.
This is a lovely, yummy, bubble gummy jasmine perfume that attracts me the same way Hermes 24, Faubourg does. No, it doesn't last a long time, but sometimes that is due to a high percentage of natural ingredients, which is a good thing. And it smells wonderful from the second you apply it until it is gone.

This review is circuitous; it takes me awhile to address the issue of Lolita Lempicka, but please bear with me. My history with the note of anise is long, and my reaction to it is strange. First of all, I love to eat black licorice; I've been a fan of it ever since I was a child. But in some perfumes, I cannot stand the smell of anise. For example: the anise top notes of Givenchy Very Irresistable (a rose soliflore) were obnoxious from start to finish, and it ruined the fragrance for me. I disliked Caron Aimez Moi, with its thick, dark, licorice syrup created by amber and vanilla. And yet, I love anise within other contexts. One of my favorites is Ayala Moiel Indigo, where anise is paired with an airy cedar, and I loved it. (She also used it to great advantage with jasmine and spearmint in her discontinued zodiac fragrance Cancer.) I've never smelled the big momma of them all, Jungle L'Elephant, but I hope to some day.
I recently tried Lolita Lempicka and feared that my aversion would be triggered. I expected it to have a heavy licorice aroma, especially since it is a gourmand fragrance. But somehow, the caramel melted all over the anise, completely enveloping it in sweetness that all but disguised the anise from me! Together with violet and a bit of greens, it stopped short of bon-bon territory, never becoming quite edible. It's strong, but I like strong perfumes. It was nice! And it is probably the first gourmand that I have enjoyed so much.
It reminds me of Angel, a fragrance that wanted to love but couldn't. I hated the cotton candy top notes so much that couldn't wear it long enough to get to the beautiful patchouli base. Lolita Lempicka is without patchouli, so one would expect that I would dislike it; but no, it is more restrained in the beginning compared to the blaring top notes of Angel. In fact, it makes me reconsider the entire genre, and I may now be able to make friends with Angel. Thanks Lolita. I think I would call this an Oriental fragance with strong Gourmand leanings.

Peony and green leaves make this a refreshing floral, and I think I also smell a lot of pepper, to give it a woody finish. Interesting, but not my genre.

I almost wrote this one off as too floral for me, and, indeed, it lacks any woody or ambery base. However, it is bang-on geranium, very heady and pleasingly floral, with that lovely minty rose fragrance of the real substance. I give it high marks for a soliflore. Not girly, more fresh than flowery, very uplifting.

Named Mata Hari, this perfume features a strong blackcurrent note and is primarily floral. I don't particulary associate that note with bygone eras. In fact, it reminds me of my reference redcurrent scent, Aqua Allegoria Grosselina, which came on the scene to rave reviews by fruity fragrance lovers and then disappeared off the radar like so many other AAs. I would expect something more exotic, spicy, dramatic, sensual, and tragic to represent this woman.

The best aspect of this perfume, Colette, was the ivy. It is a floral, but the green, leafy accord dominates. If you enjoy greens, try it. Otherwise, the strength of the greens seemed contrived to me, and not particularly well-balanced.

Not a bad fragrance, merely not what I would associate with historical recreations. It is strawberry and coconut on a woody base, pleasant enough, but I associate that with the synthetic strawberries that were all the rage in the 1970s.

This is not the same George Sand perfume as the superior Maitre Parfumer et Gantier offering. This one is a spicy pineapple on a sweet benzoin base, cheerfully bright and fruity. In contrast, the MPG is a deep, strong, smooth, woody, mossy floral. Somehow, I think the real George Sand (person) would have worn the MPG, hands down over this one.

The most unusual of the Histoire de Parfums that I tried, 1740 Marquis de Sade was spicy and sharp upon application. It features cumin, which is apt. I mean, who wouldn't sweat under the hands of this diabolical lover? A leather note is prominent, but to me it comes across more like tobacco, either way, implying dirty habits. There is no civit or castoreum that I can discern, only a tarry smokiness. This fragrance is more masculine than feminine, but unisex is where I would place it. It falls short at the end of its tenure when it grows sour on me, which ruins wearability.

Hot, sweet, smoky and pungent. This fragrance teases with a delicious, syrupy cinnamon—mixed with deadly hot pepper! It offers a deep woodiness—but the wood is burned! The dual nature of this fragrance is fun. It’s not for everyday wear because it makes a bold statement. People who love incense, especially the smoke-producing kind, will find this most attractive. As time goes by, it does become more conventional

Full-on jasmine that smells more “real” than many jasmine absolutes. It has a green quality and an extreme, fruity sweetness that exemplifies the most expensive jasmine extracts. This is a strong, heady, airy, totally floral jasmine devoid of any off-putting indolic notes. Jasmine lovers must try this unabashed soliflore. It is simply brathtaking and unapologetically straightforward, a true celebration of that flower that anyone who loves jasmine will flip over.

Feminite du Bois is a wonderful cedar fragrance—the best I have ever smelled. The cedar is prominent from start to finish, and it is the most pleasant, clear, transparent variety available, smooth and true to its nature without being harsh or calling to mind those moth-repellant wooden chests. The plum note expels all associations with pencil shavings. Together with a gentle violet, and some well-chosen spices, they shape this supremely woody note into more than it has ever been before. Fabulous fragrance.

Patchoulissime – Keiko Merchari
A clean, well-handled patchouli that smells refined and herbal. Patchouli is a difficult not to tame. There are two main schools of thought: one celebrates the earthiness of patchouli, adding little else (such as the high-quality Santa Maria Novella Patchouli and the lovely L’Artisan Patchouli Patch); the other school aims to sweeten the patchouli with fruit and amber notes (my favorites being Jalaine Patchouli, Coromandel, and Montale Patchouli Leaves). Most objections to the fist school occur because of associations with “hippie patchouli.” On the other hand, the substance, itself, causes problems with the “sweet school” because patchouli is one of the mustiest notes in perfumery. Regardless of the prettifying, it still smells like dirt, and the incongruence with vanilla can be revolting if handled improperly. Enter Keiko Mercheri Patchoulisse, almost a school unto itself. It is so light it approaches dryness. It is so soft that the patchouli comes across as an herb. This light, herbal nature completely removes all mustiness, but the perfume never becomes the least bit edible. Probably the only other perfume I know that succeeds in this same task is Aromatics Elixir. Patchoulissime is like one, tiny sliver of AE—the part without the complex balsams and florals, which leaves it spare and airy. I recommend it to anyone who hasn’t found a friend in patchouli yet.

I tried an old bottle of Parure, and I have to admit, I don't smell all of the notes that are supposed to be included. The plum is particularly weak, so I'm not getting the correct impression of a fruity Chypre. However, the oakmoss is particularly elegant in this sample. The fragrance starts off with a pinch of citrus and then a nice, dry combination of oakmoss and vetiver. A gentle leather comes in, but that is where the development ceases; from here on out, it merely fades in a pretty manner. This sample smells decidedly vintage, so I couldn't see it succeeding in today's market, but that doesn't mean I don't like it. Indeed, the quality of the Guerlain ingredients shines. This old bottle of Parure is better than many brand-new samples I have tried.

If the original Juicy Couture was a flavor of bubblegum, this one is pie. In total, the notes reminded me of coconut cream pie with some tart raspberries on top. Not my thing.

This is kind of a mess. Florals, woods, and a bit of a "new chypre" vibe (sweet and sour). I don't smell any realistic rose or patchouli. Perhaps you could convince me of the presence of the lilies. Costs $165 for 75 ml. Why? It's just another one of those needlessly complicated, tangy, vaguely woody, somewhat floral-fruity concoctions that are so abundant these days.

Ech. Dry pepper and some sour, woody, fruity substances that are supposed to be osmanthus and sandalwood. Doesn't work together. Nothing smells attractive.

Princess Jelisaveta apparently is a real-life Yugoslavian princess, and she made this first perfume, E, in cooperation with Sopha Grojsman--whicy qualifies as pretty impressive credentials. It is listed as a floral, but it comes across as more of an Oriental to me, something akin to Bond No. 9 Chinatown. The notes are: citrus, lily, jasmine, hyacinth, orange blossom, white iris, woods, and musk. Predominant are the jasmine and orange blossom, making this sweet and fruity, but the woody base gives it depth and character. Most florals strike me as light and airy, but this one is decidedly thick and warm. There is a vague "nutty" aroma about it that reminds me of one certain aspect of Chinatown. The fragrance ends powdery, but it still retains that deep, nutty sweetness. I found this enjoyable.

A galbanum-free green fragrance which is tangy and strong. I'm a fan of galbanum, so this is not my first choice when I reach for the "greens." That huge, musty, earthy, somewhat bitter green note which plays a prominent role in Miss Dior and Chanel No.19 (and also in Ayalitta by Ayala Moriel) is my favorite green because it blends well with florals and Chypres. However, If you dislike galbanum, you should give Nanadebary Green a try. It is tart with the scent of lemon verbena and vetiver, aromatic with thyme, and spicy with cardamom. Don't look for much softness or sweetness, overall it is quite pungent and projects well. It smells like an armful of zesty, fresh-picked garden herbs and grasses.

It went on in a bold manner, with lots of long-lasting topnotes that were citrusy and—fizzy. Yes, they bubbled, like effervescence. Eau Premiere, in this stage, was like peach Zotz. After awhile, I started to year for the warm, plastic softness of original No. 5, and although I found this amusing, my favorite part was the drydown, which more closely resembled the old fragrance. I can see why the aldehydes were reduced, as the original does improve as they disappear during wearing. But more was done to this version than remove the aldehydes. The entire fragrance was made a bit fruitier and less abstract, more likeable by today’s standards.

Freesia is a cool note. Hawthorne, I don't know. I thought it would be green, but it's really another cool floral. Frangipani is a sweet tropical flower that is also spicy and fruity, and I can smell that acocord in here. Altogether, Beige gives me an impression of spring florals. It has the scent of those lovely, fresh, waxy flowers that grow from bulbs. As it dries down, it remains rather linear, with pronounced, tangy spring flowers. In my mind, it does not portray the color beige, but the attitude. This perfume is elegant but young, certainly more so than many classic Chanels. It doesn't break conventions, so the name is apt. Rather, it is something new without being unusual. I don't wear this type of fragrance often, and when I do, I choose Chamade or Jacinthe des Bois.

Interesting, it comes off as kind of a gourmand to me, not much about leather. This smells strongly of candied fruit. It is listed as orange, but it's more like marachino cherry. Plus, I get a strong, sweet amaretto accord, that is even a bit boozy.

Hmmm. I wonder if I got the right sample in that vial. This was primarliy a citrus and orange blossom fragrance, possibly with some coconut. It was a sweet-sour floral. No leather was in there. Seemed mundane.

Not terribly impressed. The description was lovely--an attempt to capture the rose when it is closed as a bud, when it first opens, and when it is at full bloom.
I was disappointed that the rosewood doesn't come through for me. I love rosewood as an ingredient. Overall I get a rose accord with an indistinct lemon and raspberry aspect softened by a little vanilla or chocolate. I think it is better to buy a few different rose scents from Les Parfums de Rosine to get a tour of the variety in rose accords.

I wanted so much more out of this list combination of notes. I love galbanum and hay, and they should go well with tobacco. The amber and musk should finish it off with sweet powderiness. But no, that was not the case. All I could smell was slightly sour greens over a sheer musk.

Weird, incongruous notes. Fine if you're looking for something strange, but otherwise go for somehthing more conventional. Coffee and chocolate, fine, add pepper--not fine anymore. Ditto pimento. Just plain strange.

This fragrance is sour in an unbecoming way. If it were clearly a citrus scent, that aspect would be appropriate, but this is not really about citrus even though it contains a good deal of lemon. The lemon is paired with pepper, a note that I think is overused. This pairing leans toward dry and sharp, and the addition of cedar pushes it further in that direction. The result was nothing that I would spray all over myself.

I don't like this much. It smells like a bitter lime, a dry frankincense, and a sour vetiver. The spices impart no sweetness, either. In all, it is dry and unflattering from my viewpoint. I give it respect for uniqueness, but I don't feel drawn to it, either as a feminine perfume or as an atmospheric fragrance.

It's different, I'll say that. Contentwise, it doesn't hold much interest for me. The whole fragrance seems to be an exercise in airiness. The mint is the dominant note. It is layered over open, ozonic notes and what I can only describe as faint, dry florals. It may even be a bit salty or marine. At any rate, it's unique and should be tried; but it will be clear to you immediately if this is your genre or not.

Tuberose, and lots of it, tempered by an accompaning rubber aroma. Green jasmine shoots seem to be an accord that resembles a rather sharp and piercing version of jasmine. Added to that is a sugar cane accord, which adds to the sweetness. Not in the least bit subtle. Too "too" for me.

This was a very sweet, very fruity perfume, which is probably targeted at young women. The osmanthus accord is nothing more than peach, bolstered by tangerine. Really it is not floral, as osmanthus is. Plus there is a note called "honey balm" imparting extra sweetness.

The main notes that I get from Iris Taiso are cardamom, orris and honey. It is spicy and powdery, and there is some kind of fruit accord, also. It is a primarily floral and has just the right amount of sweetness.

A fruity, powdery lilac. This fragrance features a lilac accord with supporting notes of mandarin orange and peach. It has enough iris and musk to give it a powdery finish. A feminine, youthful version of an old-fashioned flower.

This should be mentioned as a good lemon cologne. It is very fresh, and strong upon application, although I cannot attest to the longevity. The notes are primarily lemon, orange, and tangerine, and there is nothing else to interfere with their clarity, no vanilla, musk, amber, or wood lurking in the base. Only a clear citrus fragrance is imparted.

This is one of my favorites of the Parfumrie Generale line along with L'Oiseau de Nuit (Night Bird), a sweet, deep, rich, somewhat leathery labdanum paired with a fruity davana flower. L'Ombre Fauvre consists of amber, wood, musk, vanilla, and a little bit of patchouli. Like one other reviewer said, "What's not to love?" And that wraps it up for my sentiments. Wrap yourself in it and feel the glow.

Opens with a sweet caramel and spice over a woody background, like resin. I get a distinct butterscotch accord. This is a gourmand fragrance that doesn't become too heavy- handed with the candy. It even has a bit of a leather charactersitic. Interesting.

I like the hyacinth, and it pairs well with the tonka. If I recall the scent of delphinium correctly, it is a bit like carnation, and that is a nice touch. I could do without the added fruitiness, though.

I like this fragrance. The first note I smelled was an attractive Saigon cinnamon, underpinned by orange. The base is sweet and delicious, due to the chocolate, and somehow it manages to stay dry and woody enough(probably due to a bit of patchouli and some tea) to keep from smelling too edible. Nice, well-balanced, and distinctive.

Orange, sweet florals, and pungent, unsweet green notes, plus a bit of a tea scent. It wanders, somehow. I'm not sure what to focus on.

Dispite the plethora of notes, I am primarily receiveing violet, galbanum, and probably vetiver. Together, they make a dusty, earthy, violet that is also fruity, which doesn't work for me.

A nice, true grapefruit scent. The mint is a good choice for a supporting note. Kind of simple, though.

This is primarily a mango tea scent for me, with some kind of nice base. It's pleasant, neither overwhelming nor terribly distinctive, and more fruity than I usually wear.

Labdanum 18 is more warm and cuddly than the smoky, cool, outdoorsy, woody, musky scents in the Le Labo line, which makes it easier for a woman to wear. This fragrance doesn't cover much new ground, being a leathery amber. Montale Blue Amber is better (and a good deal stronger, too) for the money. L'Artisan Amber Extreme is comparable. Amber Russe by Parfum d'Empire does it with a sense of humor, adding booze into the amber and leather mix. Anyway, it's fine, but try alongside the others mentioned here.

Strange scent. Prominent violet and earthy iris, a bit powdery, very cool. This an austere fragrance with a cold, rich, woody violet. It is well constructed and fascinating, but I generally prefer my fragrances warmer. (This proclamation is coming from someone who loves Chanel No. 19, so you can imagine how cool Iris 38 is.) In the final analysis, like a character in a vintage cartoon once said, "It just dooooooon't send me."

I’m a die-hard patchouli lover, but I don’t like the interference of the smoky note in here. Paired with a slightly sweet base, I find the juxtaposition of acrid and syrupy to be off-putting. The patchouli is subordinate, the sweetness buzzes around like bee that has lost it’s hive, and everything submits a billowing cloud of smoke.

Its a masculine vetiver, bracing--with notes of pepper and cedar, outdoorsy--with smoky vetiver, and fairly animalic like all of the Le Labo scents I have tried so far. The "plainness" of the vetiver is great. I don't like my vetiver converted into a sweet fragrance, but I prefer my vetivers to be softer. Great on a man, but not for me.

Very expensive for a vanilla fragrance. Nice, but not $500 a bottle nice. That's all I have to say.

This was recommended to me as a substitute for Aramis, but I still like Aramis better. Devin also resembles Yatagan with its strong pine, moss, and leather notes. Yet I like Yatagan better. So, it's really a middle-of-the-road scent surpassed by those two others, in my opinion. Rather dry, clean and evergreen, Devin is distinctive because there aren't many in its genre nowadays. I'm okay with it, but not overly enthused.

This one is too incongruous for me. I love natural orris root butter, which smells like carrots. It goes well with green notes and florals, but not fruits. In this perfume, there is a strong apricot/osmanthus note. The rootiness of the carrot is musty, and the fruitiness of the apricot is fresh and sweet, so it gets pulled in two opposing directions: musty and sweet, which displeases me. Yes it is a unique scent, but I prefer the iris in Serge Lutens Iris Silver Mist, The Different Company Bois de Iris, or even Chanel No. 19 or 28 La Pausa.

Wow, they say this has 68 ingredients? I can’t smell most of them, and then end result is rather common citrus and herbs with one difference—among the grapefruit and thyme is a heavenly heliotrope. Nice, but not remarkable enough to replace something like Jicky. And if I wanted heliotrope, I'd get something that showcased it better.

Crack the whip, feel the bite of sharp bitter leather. This is a policeman’s shiny, black, leather shoes. Decidedly manly. I could see this as rugged and sexy on a man, but on a woman, it’s going to come across as kinky. High marks for being unique in this day and age, but a neutral rating because I’m not sure how it would wear in reality. I have no volunteers to demonstrate, and it’s a bit harsh on me.

More atmospheric than perfume, I would prefer this as a room spray. It's very dry and sharp with no sweetness. Aromatic woods such as camphor, turpentine, cedar, and pine combine with unsweet herbs like thyme and rooty vetiver to make a realistic "branch of evergreen" aroma. It's fun. It doesn't last long. I like it as an experience, but I probably wouldn't wear it.

An attempt at a vetiver without lemon, choosing instead a strong cedar note, which results in an admirable attempt at something different from the usual citrus combo. However, it was a bit thin and dry.

In my book this is good, but not great, vetiver. Since I have cultivated a taste for the rooty, natural scent of vetiver, I don’t tolerate many supporting notes, preferring it sans adornments. Here it is combined with lemon and nutmeg, two very common choices. There are some sweet notes that I do not recognize, but the entirety leans toward masculine, barbershop territory. Not what I’m looking for, but it’s perfectly decent for the menfolk. Guerlain Vetiver for men somehow avoids the cliche aroma dispite using the same supporting notes, which must have been applied more lightly, leaving a "plain" vetiver note dominant. It remains my favorite, along with Frederic Malle Vetiver Extraordinaire, which is even more rooty.

Billed as a powdery floral, I will agree that it is so, with a difference—China White has a dusty, dry, green powder over sweet, fruity florals. The combination is both jarring and interesting. While the powder is tart and salty, the florals are as sweet as caramel. This powdery chemical is close to providing a leather scent. All in all, it is odd and fascinating.

I don’t smell any wormwood in here. The company gives absolutely no information on notes, only saying that this perfume intends to “invoke degrees of hysteria” and “stimulate irresponsible behavior.” Call me crazy, but this is almost gourmand to me--creamy and fruity. I smell a tart apple dipped in milky caramel and rolled in crushed peanuts. Come to think of it, that is enough to drive me to hysteria. It’s fall, and it’s “Happy Apple” time

A bitter leather opening fades quickly away to a deep, sweet (yes, it's sweet to me) woody scent with oud, sandalwood, and some nice patchouli and musk. Duro is designed for men, and the Italian word is slang for hard-on; yet, I find it more wearable for women than the dry, bitter genre of other masculine leather fragrances. Duro is big, wet, and warm, like… oh, heh, heh. Sorry about that analogy.

A high-octane grassy-woody scent, fired by a minty-herbal concoction and a big hit of patchouli. One component is similar to the diffusive, green, woody aroma of Timbuktu. Possibly some nice anise-like aroma is floating around in there, maybe some marijuana, too. Although I cannot call it classically beautiful, Hindu Grass is pleasing, and I find myself drawn to it. Oddly attractive and satisfying.

The first part of this fragrance is decidedly masculine because of way the herbal notes of lavendar and rosemary combine with the sweetness. It has a classic barbershop aroma. Before I regarded it as an exclusively masculine scent, it turned into a sweet, spicy sandalwood. There are still hints of herbals, but the cinnamon and vanilla make the drydown unisex and almost candylike. I love sandalwood in all its many forms. Although I favor the woody variety, this one is fine for a creamy, ultra-sweet fix.

I am impressed. This is elegant and classy. Moreover, as a woman Chypre lover, I would wear it. What a lovely, well-balanced blend of spices and woods. Such finely tempered animalics. Gorgeous, subtle use of patchouli. Nice dry version of vetiver. Altogether, Givenchy Gentleman smells much greater than the sum of its parts. I can sympathize if some people think this stinks. Those same people probably think Yatagan stinks, too, so I forgive them. This is strange, yes, and alluring, and unique. It's not an everyday type of fragrance, but it definitely makes a statement--retro, bold, daring.

Among the range of Polos, it is one of the best, with a pronounced herbal opening along with sweet jasmine and deep earthy notes. I like its distinctiveness. It is in no way watery or wishy-washy. My other favorite is the original green bottle. I give it a neutral because it is too masculine for me, a woman.

This is a nice, sweet, feminine perfume, but I give it a neutral rating because it doesn't deliver its promise of a fig note like L'Artisan Premier Figuier or Diptyque Philosokos. For a pure, green, sappy fig note, those two fragrances are the places to go. However, if they were too dramatic and edgy for you, Aqua Allegoria Figue Iris would suit the bill. The opening is citrus, and at this point it is closer to being a grapefruit perfume than anything else. After the citrus wafts away, the fig note emerges, green and pretty, and tempered by iris. Please note that iris lovers would be better served by the likes of The Different Company Bois de Iris or Serge Lutens Iris Silver Mist with their genuine, rooty iris notes. The Guerlain iris note is the classic "powder" scent found in many women's perfumes. All in all, this is a perfumer's creative version of fig and iris, very pretty and feminine, but not the green and earthy variety that I prefer.

This perfume was sent to me by a Basenoter as a mystery, sniff-and-guess, and I thought it was a duplicate of Rochas Femme. Then she asked if it was the new or the old Femme. I puzzled over that--it had a cumin note but it was much better than the new Femme. Lo and behold, the joke's on me. It is a new perfume called The Party in Manhattan. And such a party I would like to be invited to. This fragrance takes the best parts of the old and the new Rochas Femme, adds some modern sweetness to update the original Chypre formula, and balances the elements artfully. A big plum note reveals salty cumin, but only for a short while, and then an elegant, woody, animalic base smooths everything over. It projects like crazy, and it lasts a long time. Okay, well it isn't exactly Femme: the fruit is actually listed as mandarin and there are lots of florals in here (carnation, jasmine, may rose, and ylang-ylang). Another alluring aspect is the multiple earthy, rooty, plantlike notes such as clary sage, iris, carrot, vetiver, patchouli, and oakmoss. I could blather on and on about this, but I won't. Cruelly enough, it is hard to find--my friend who sent me the sample lives in Italy. The only other stock can be found with Rojas Dove at Harrod's in London. Sorry, sorry. I wish you all could smell this. I should pass my vial around, but I'm going to be greedy and use it all by myself. Isn't that terrible? I trust you understand.

The plain Vetiver EDC is so much better and truer to the vetiver note. Plain Guerlain Vetiver is a wonderful fragrance, but it's much lighter than Vetiver Extreme, so folks might be tempted to buy this one instead. I tell you, don't. This has a bitter undertone that is very much like the "rubber" note described by other reviewers. I thought perhaps it could also be described as a leathery carnation. Any vestige of vetiver is outlasted by an extremely strong note of nutmeg.

Fie upon the note pyramid! I don't believe one word of it. This is a sweet, hot, spicy gourmand frgrance. I don't usually like gourmand fragrances, but this one I do. It is a crazy juxtaposition of ingredients: deep, sweet, rich caramel, strong chile powder, and dried fruit (maybe lychee, tamarind, or mango) and a good deal of peanuts. I let my Korean friend smell this, and the first words out of her mouth were, "That smells delicious," as in "edible." I agree. It is a strange dish, like Mexican mole, but one that keeps you coming back for more. The drydown smelled of peanut butter cookies, slightly overdone, fresh out of the oven. Please excuse me if I'm missing something, but it is neither a floral fragrance nor a patchouli one. It is a strange, unique, gourmand fragrance fully worthy of note.

Nobody ever accused Lorenzo Villoresi of being too simple. This is another big combination of surprising notes but, unlike Sandalo which smells complex, Alamut doesn't smell much like any of the notes listed. At first I thought I smelled myrrh, but later doubted my suspicion. On the whole, it comes across as a very sweet, spicy and powdery amber to me. The big, sweet opening is rather hard for me to sit through, but I love the woody, resiny base that follows and lasts for hours.

Pleasant rose with violet and nectarine, not too sweet, with a soft, feminine musk base that avoids becoming bright or powdery. I enjoyed it, but I rarely get excited about simple florals. Rose lovers, it's a nice one to try.

All I can come up with for a list of notes for this is rose, iris, and ambergris. However, I find it to be an over-the-top sweet, deep floral with huge animalic notes--actually borderline fecal, as in civit. Maybe it just has a great deal of raunchy musk. At any rate, it is an exceedingly sweet with a big dose of animalics, and it doesn't work for me. My apologies to the many who find it charming. It certainly isn't subtle.

One of the best of this newly popular genre, the peppery woods. Both men's and women's fragrances nowadays are striving for light, diffusive, exotic wood scents. To this end, they make lavish use of peppery bases interspersed with tangy vetiver or tart fruits. Any sweet notes are downplayed; and often they occur in the top and gradually fade into the background (in contrast to the traditional development which allows top and middle notes to fall away and reveal a sweet base). On the women's side, Estee Lauder has recently launced Sensuous, and YSL has offered Elle in the same spirit. Terre d'Hermes, being masculine, is unburdoned by the sweet and fruity ornamentation of the feminine offereings--and it's all the better for doing so. TDH has a better-balanced formula and doesn't try to do more than one thing at once. In the grand scheme of things, there were other, previous fragrances leading us in the direction of this genre. The first fragrance I remember with black pepper was Bulgari Omnia, but it was really all about sweet, gingerbread and sandalwood. Scents more similar to this new genre were Creed Royal Water and L'Artisan Timbuktu, which groomed us to accept the light, dry, almost astringent qualities of wood. It's a far cry form the patchouli and sandalwood of yesteryear, my friends. And it dovetails nicely with the rising popularity of veitver, which also has emerged in a starring role in fragrances. Overall, I still find vetiver to be easier on my nose. In the final analysis, I tire easily of pepper. But Terre d'Hermes ranks in the top of its new class.

This is the most elegant vetiver I have ever tried. It is bright, crisp, almost astringent compared to the earthy, smoky varieties offered elsewhere. (Guerlain must use this vetiver in a host of its fragrances, floating in the background.) The topnotes contain lemon and pepper, the middle is remniscent of frankincense in its dustiness, and I believe there may be some aromatic cedar in the formula. It is an open, clean, dry, meditative aroma. This vetiver is mellow and smells deliciously like a cellar full of wine barrels filled with a fine, dry, white wine.

I've had my Le Labo Rose 31 experience, and I'm here to say, guys, this is a manly rose fragrance--in a unique way. This is an animalic rose on the raunchy side. It has a funky musk base with a nice, smooth rose heart. It smells like a man wearing rose fragrance. In that way, it reminds me of a mild version of Muscs Kublai Kahn with roses. The only reason I give it a neutral rating is because it smells LIKE a man as much as FOR a man. Although I would enjoy smelling it on a man, I would not wear it (nor MKK) myself. If I were a man, I would give it a thumbs up. To be sure, it is not fecal like Rasa Extreme; rather, it is spicy like sweat and naughty like musk.
This is a well-balanced scent. The cumin does not bowl you over, as it did in Alexander McQueen Kingdom, and the rose is prominantly featured from beginning to end whereas, in Kingdom, it crept out of the sandalwood as a chypre rose in the final stages. Rose 31, it is fresh and real.
However, I repeat, it is animalic. Compared to Lorenzo Villoresi Musk, which is another rose and musk fragrance for men, the LV is clean, even soapy. The Le Labo smells lived-in, like a man in rose fragrance, straight from the bottle.

I love the package with its fuschia, swirly, op-art pattern, and I am attracted to its promise of a bold fragrance for free-thinking women, but Elle is not my type of scent. I love woods, but my preference is for wet woods--those with earthy, mossy, ambery supporting notes. Elle is dry and peppery wood laid over a sweet, fruity base with sour underpinnings. To me, the dominant notes are pepper, lychee, and cedar. It is hot, arid, and sweet-tart. This new genre cannot replace the old-school Chypres or the rich, floral, woody Orientals in my wardrobe. If you like this type of bold, lively scent, don't let me dissuade you. But for me, it is out of synch.

What a nice surprise it is to find an old-school green Chypre re-issued. I must assume that the formula was changed to compensate for oakmoss (and/or other) restrictions. Still, it emerges relatively unscathed. Notes are as follows:
Top: aldehydes, galbanum, peach bergamot
Middle: gardenia, jasmine, jonquil, carnation, rose, lily, orris
Base: amber, patchouli, oakmoss, myrrh, vetiver, castoreum
On the whole, I like Miss Dior better, and so I wish it the same luck with its reformulation. Givenchy III is soapier and less sweet. It opens with an unmistakable blast of galbanum plus a big slug of aldehydes. Then it moves quickly into a pleasnat spicy floral accord with peach floating overall. As it wears, it displays the delightful, drastic development of this genre, moving gradually away from sharp, green top notes toward its smooth amber base. The addition of vetiver makes the base tangy and clear, rather than sweet and full of labdanum. If Miss Dior was too heavy, earthy, and sweet for you, give the cleaner, more sparkling green Chypre of Givenchy III a try.

Eau Fraiche--the name implies citrus and herbs, right? Right. And that is exactly what I smelled upon first application. I am picky about lemon scents and prefer orange, so at this point I was unimpressed. I thought that was all it had to offer. But no, I was wrong! What came next was a surprising leather phase that was not rude and animalic but smooth and suedey, like the leather in Jolie Madame. However, no vanilla creaminess followed, as it does in Jicky. The Dior fragrance remained clear. On the whole, this fragrance was short-lived. It is remarkable because it stands out from the rest of the "fresh" genre due to that clever base. Anyone looking for a lemon scent shouldn't overlook this one. Very nice.

A classy, well-balanced amber with woody notes of lavender and myrtle. This perfume is so well-behaved on me that it blends beautifully into a warm, sweet, skin scent. It is avoids becoming overly sweet, yet it never veers too far into masculine territory with leather or herbal notes. It is wonderful for a straight amber scent—as close to being "plain" while still being complex, skillfully crafted and smooth, but quiet.

Unusual amber fragrance consisting of a mix of booze, leather, and amber in equal parts, with nuances of dusty frankincense and cinnamon. It impresses me as masculine because I have known many men who have smelled like this, ever since I was a child—men wearing sweet cologne and leather coats, men with the smell of hard liquor on their breaths. I can almost hear the clink of ice cubes in the glasses of bourbon on the rocks as I hug them. Mercifully, these men do not smoke. Maybe they carry cigars in their pockets, but they do not light them. The addition of a strong smoke note would render this fragrance trite and trashy. Instead, it is clean, warm, and boozy. Ambre Russe smells like sweet rum and animalic amber. It is cuddly but tough.

This joins the growing list of what I consider to be "atmospheric" fragrances designed to evoke a place or setting. I like to smell them, but I don't want to smell like them. Apparently there is a demand for environmental aromas in hotels and stores to strengthen memory and feelings of loyalty among customers. People are starting to enjoy man-made fragrances which create a hyper-reality, like smoky bonfires or old libraries. L'Air du Desert Morocain is a clever composition that uses a host of ingredients to deftly imitate lemony frankincense ground to a dusty powder and laid upon polished black leather. It is dry, citrusy, and bittersweet. I could experience a similar aroma by donning a leather jacket and putting my nose into a bag of olibanum. Both are equally enjoyable, but they fall short of constituting an entire perfume. As a point of reference, Messe de Minuit is deeper, more complex, and accomplishes a greater range of contrasts, although it also can be difficult to wear. For use on the skin, I still prefer softer, sweeter, more traditional, skin-compatible scents.

Instant time transport back to a different era--Habanita is an extremely nostalgic, perfumey-perfume consisting of a sweet powder and a strong tobacco accord. It is the scent of a couple, she wearing the powder and he holding the cigar, their bodies entwined on the dance floor of a nightclub in full swing. It's forceful stuff, too; not designed for the meek. My only complaint concerns the sour and bitter edge that it must wield order to avoid sliding into "ordinary" territory, making it less than enjoyable for everyday use. Perhaps I would wear it occasionally when I felt like dressing up naughty and making a statement, but Bandit already occupies that function for me. I can't say that I really like this, even though it is a marvellous work of art well worth preserving. A good experience, and I'm glad that many people find it more practical than I do.

I've got to give Estee Lauder credit for introducing a perfume that does not smell like anything typically from its line. Not that I don't like EL; I do. Some of its fragrances are among my favorites--such as my all-time woody, honeyed rose, Knowing, plus the long-lived spicy Youth Dew and green, floral, ambered Private Collection. Sensuous is a radical departure from these, as well as from the bright, soapy notes of White Linen or the clean florals of Pleasures. Sensuous is decidedly modern and spare. With fanciful notes like "molten woods" I am unable to analyze the aroma within the parameters of the traditional pyramid. Instead, I will say that it is a juxtaposition of woody, unsweet black pepper on top of a sweet, rich, fruity caramel. Together, they create an enjoyable accord but, personally, I am tired of black pepper in perfume. It seems to pop up everywhere, tempering overly sweet notes. I'll give this a neutral until further notice.

Salty, fruity, dusty, honeyed amber. There is a light, fruity note which is mildly peachy. The florals are quite spicy. And underneath it all is a woody, incensey note that gives it a dry powdey feeling. The overall effect is sweet and salty, quite Eastern. (I have some Madini Sahara that smells similar, whose listed notes are bergamot, amber, and myrrh. The Dior fragrance is more feminine and subtle.) Dune is unusual, unique, and fun.

How could I not love this fragrance? First of all, I'm a patchouli lover. (I probably will lose all credibility on my reviews for succumbing to the charms of this note every time I encounter it.)Secondly, it has just enough sweetness to take the edge off of that dark, earthy note and soften it. It's still strongly woody with a hint of peach, but more interesting and likeable than plain patchouli. Maybe I need to make a ranking system: Baseline hard, woody - Etro Patchouli. Midrange - L'Artisan Patchouli Patch. Sweet but earthy - Montale Patchouli Leaves. Sweet and fruity - Jalaine Patchouli. Sweet and a miracle of mellow creaminess - Chanel Coromandel. Jump right in and choose one; I love them all.

The mere mention of castoreum and hay in a fragrance usually portends a wild ride. Imagine my surprise after applying Osmanthus and experiencing a light, fizzy peach accord that remained true throughout its development. Very pleasant; nothing uncivilized about it. Delicious and refreshing peach fragrance, neither strongly fruity nor strongly rosey. A nice skin fragrance.

Anne Pliska looks a bit jarring at first sight; the vivid purple liquid caused me to expect strong roses, but this was not the case. In fact, this smooth, sweet, orangey-creamy scent is tempered with a mix of dusty hebs (of the oregano type) or some other "salty" note and reminds me of a more feminine Serge Lutens Ambre Sultan--yet it predates that fragrance by six years! Surprise, surprise. Anne Pliska did the sweet, dusty, salty amber first. It even has a little of that addictive Play-Doh note. No wonder this little niche beauty has maintained its cult following for decades. It is an excellent amber fragrance.

The first time I tried this, I completely missed the patchouli note--and I'm a great lover of patchouli. I had made this same mistake with Estee Lauder Knowing, a longtime personal favorite, but for a different reason. With Knowing, the patchouli was covered in honeyed roses. But with George Sand, I just didn't apply enough perfume. I revisited this fragrance and put lots on, and found a dark, harsh heart of pathouli, and there is no excuse for a hard heart in my opinion. It's still an interesting perfume, but I must downgrade my first impression.

This was my original review: Gezhundheit! A blast of black pepper which magically disappears, is replaced by a cup of Masala tea with cardamom and clove, and a gingerbread cookie shaped like a Dutch windmill, spicy but only mildly sweet. As the skin warms, a most beautiful sandalwood emerges, long-lasting but close to the skin. Delicious. Expect minimal sillage. Snuggle up and enjoy.
My new advice is to avoid perfumes with black pepper notes. They seem to "bloom" over time and overtake the other notes in the fragrance. So, unless you really like pepper, or you buy your perfume fresh and use it fast, you can't trust that note to behave.

I had to edit this review becaue I am having bad experiences with the black pepper note in perfume. It seems to me that this particular ingredient "blooms" over time, and often overtakes other notes. When I first bought my Parfum Sacre, the lemon, mace, and vanilla were dominant. It was spicy-sweet, lemony, and delicious with vanilla. Several years later, hot, woody black pepper permeates this perfume into its heart, preventing me from enjoying it until the drydown, when it finally becomes sweeter. I had a similar experience with Bulgari Omnia: my first bottle was from Sephora and was beautiful, but my second bottle was an old one from a small store, and it was unwearable. I will avoid this note in the future, as it has ruined two of my favorite perfumes. I still want to give this one a positive rating based on how it used to smell, but I can't anymore.

I'm picky about anything with a dominant lemon note, so this endorsement is a highly favorable vote. Hierbas de Ibeza is as glorious as a sunny day, as clean as morning. This citrus accord is made fresh by thyme, lavendar, sage, and verbena. It is gently sweetened by jasmine, orange blossom, and a smooth vanilla base. I'm writing these notes down from the website, but I only actually smell a single, perfectly blended lemon accord. Carry this one around as the one bottle you need to pack for your summer vacation.

I'm disappointed. This fragrance is too bitter for me, and then it recedes into nothing. And it's not because I'm afraid of galbanum. I actually own a vial of galbanum essentil oil, and it is unbelievably strong. I love galbanum. But this perfume provides one bong-hit of galbanum and, sorry, the ride's over. It moves on to a blast of bitter, salty herbs with some weak citrus in the background. The strength is gone, a washed-out green herbal accord remains. Honestly, I get more pleasure out of smelling straight galbanum.

I puzzled over this one. It doesn't seem to focus on me. It starts with an old-fashioned light, floral accord, like a bouquet, then it adds a sharp, almost salty tang like Caron Alpona, and then it mellows out into a skin scent that is interesting but neither earthy nor animalic, like others have reported. It is underwhelming. I do better with a more distinctly defined fragrance.

A very nice lemon-herbal fragrance. Nothing too exciting in my book, as I prefer to go either creamier with Guerlain Jicky or sour-juicier with Annick Goutal Eau d'Hadrien.

Riot of sweet flowers made lifelike by an interesting, persistent lime-linden accord, and maybe a touch of pepper. Very floral, but a little different somehow.

Greens, lime, and some perhaps some type of white floral. French Lime Blossom is fresh, linden-like, and simple. There really is no base accord to it. Unpretentious. Like it or not.

Tuberose is a very interesting note. For a long time, I thought it was a piercingly sweet floral, and perhaps the flower is extraordinarily sweet in real life. Not so real tuberose absolute. Rather, it carries a heavy aroma like rotten flowers and rubber. Perfume being what it is (a recreation of natural smells) the method for putting the sweetness into the tuberose absolute is to add it back via chemicals--or the few sweet natural substances that are strong enough to compete with it. That is why perfume that uses tuberose absolute is always sweet. Without these additives, it would be ghastly. No one would wear it. No more deviating from the point, on to the review of Serge Lutens Tuberose Criminalle. My favorite aspect about this house is that the perfumers often avoid side-stepping the natural smell of the main accord. Instead, they ramp it up with supporting notes. This perfume is no exception. Dispite all other notes, it still smells like natural tuberose absolute. Another beautiful example is Iris Silver Mist, which smells very nearly exactly like orris butter. So, if you like tuberose, you must try this one before you can claim any familiarity with the note. Either that, or buy a sample vial of the absolute--but you'll never wear it.

Very sweet, leathery, and spicy. A little smoky. Lots of amber. This is the best way I can describe it. My gold standard for leather scents is a vintage bottle of Chanel Cuir de Russie (which smells little like the modern version) and is pure saddles, horses, barnyard, and a cowboy with a can of Skoal in his back pocket. Now, moving on to the newer leather creations, we have Serge Lutens with the apricot suade of Daim Blonde and the spicy, fruity, leather of Cuir Mauresque. They are enjoyable, but nothing like the old, animalic genre. I'm not a big leather fragrance fan, so I give it a neutral.

What a knockout of a fragrance. Having never known about this fragrance before, I tried it for the first time 20 years after its inception. Amazingly, I mistook Boucheron for a floral when I first applied it. Rapidly, a spiciness overtook the flowers, and then a citrusy floral over a creamy-sweet base, until it morphed into its true form--a big, woody, powdery, sweet Oriental with sillage to die for. This was made in the 80s, no doubt. Bold, memorable, and utterly pleasant for me.

As close to a plain oud fragrance as they come in this line. I found this to be a very pleasant, light, woody scent, close to the smell of the genuine substance. (I do have a sample, and it is stronger, dirtier, and smells more like a bag of aged hardwood mulch. The Montale perfume is more wearable.) I think that this perfume also has a bit of a vetiver-like aroma. Original Oud is only slightly sweet, no florals. Nice job. Doesn't last as long as Montale's other ouds, though. If you're looking for a unique woody fragrance with few supporting notes, this one is great.

Loved this one. Rich, deep, spicy, creamy, sweet. I adore fragrances of this genre. Mandarin and jasmine, patchouli, and spices, all laid on a base that simply glows and ends up smelling like vanilla creme soda or sassaparilla. Luscious.

Sweet, smokey. The birch tar smells dry and rubbery. More of an environmental scent, but people shouldn't smell like this, the outdoors should.

Sweet, carroty, very delicate peppery top note. This is a highly realistic but somewhat thin orris. It smells lovely, like genuine orris butter.

A floral that quickly turns into more of a spicy perfume. Features bergamot, mandarin, jasmine (all good partners) plus cinnamon and cardamom (another nice pairing.) Delightful.

Green, milky freesia and hyacinth. Envy is a classic scent, yet not my type. Smells like the ubiquitous department store of the 1990s. Ritzy, cool, and emotionally removed. Young women ready to go clubbing.

This is a timid chypre in the new-school style, which is to say, tone down the oakmoss, patchouli, and labdanum. (Lord, this is such a boring genre for me. I'm an old-school fan. Chypres use to have so much more character.) Juicy Couture wants to be a fruity chypre, but it cannot decide which fruit to be. And it wants to be popular, which means that it cannot go too far in any direction. So it ends smelling meek, like a carton of juice that somebody forgot in the refrigerator for too long and it is starting to turn to wine. How daring. I'll skip it. Pass the real stuff.

Maybe I'm having an off day, but I wasn't unduly impressed by this one. The only other Del Rae I have smelled is Amoreuse, which was like living plants, like a blast of cool air from a flower shop, and I loved it. I was surprised by Bois de Paradis. I missed the notes completely. It was lush, sweet, almost chocolatey, with mint, berries, and patchouli. Then it turned into pure honey on me. Intensely sweet, toothachingly sweet, and I thought of Angel. Except I get honey, not cotton candy. Just not for me.

I'll be honest; I don't like this. It just isn't my genre. I didn't try it on my skin; it might do something magic there, but it would have to pull a rabbit out of a hat to make me want to wear it. I'm not getting any of the listed notes. Without looking, I thought it was ozonic. It was so airy, so intense, so persistent. I thought maybe it had a bit of lavendar or herbs. After I read the notes, I might agree with violet leaves, which are rather sharp and vegetal, but more salty in my opinion. This fragrance is so big and airy it's almost windy, or even watery. It's definitely masculine. I didn't enjoy it.

I smelled a few Creed fragrances at the same time, and I liked this one the best. The others were decidedly floral, but this one was different. Royal Water is clean, woody, herbal, almost dry. Imagine my surprise to not find vetiver listed among the notes. It started out lemony, and I swore there was incense in there as well. As the citrus withdrew, it maintained its crisp, cool, airy character. Are you sure there isn't any vetiver? Only herbs and spices? Oh well. Overall, it smelled more masculine than feminine to me. I enjoyed this one on paper, but I didn't get to try it on my skin yet.

The main component of this perfume is a particularly dark labdanum (also known as amber, or the resin of the rock rose plant.) It is a big, raw fragrance. It knocks on the door. You answer. Standing there is Youth Dew's foreign cousin. She is covered in a burka, and she smells like an Arbian bazaar. Ambargris is deeply spicy, resinously woody, syrupy sweet, and smoky, too. The scent is far more exotic than her American counsin's cinnamon and patchouli. You want to see her face, which is concealed by black fabric. She comes in, carrying big leather carpet bags and sits on a cushion on the floor. Finally, she unveils, and you can see a resemblance to her half-sisters, Serge Lutens Amber Sultan and Arabie. She unpacks a box of spices and dried fruit. She lights chunks of incense on top of charcoal in a brazier. That is the impression that this perfume gives, sweet, syrupy, fruity, smoky amber.

A very un-Chanel-like fragrance, it lacks the usual transparency, right from the start. With a heavy vanilla combined with a piquent incense, it creates an unsettled accord that veers between creamy-sweet and campherous-resinous. Don't worry, it all works out when an earthy patchouli steps forward and steers it down a definite woody-sweet path. It might take some getting-used-to, not being what you would expect from Chanel (more like Montale Patchouli Leaves) but its intriguing and a move in a new direction, toward the style of niche houses. Initially I preferred the beautiful 31 Rue Cambon, which goes on drier and gradually develops a sweet peachy note. However, Coromondel won my affection with its more overt, fascinating candied fruit note and pronounced patchouli. It's less subtle, but then, so am I.

I was excited to try Sycomore because it is by Jacques Polge who created Bois des Iles, but there is no reference to that former fragrance. Sycomore strikes me as a completely new genre, one of the "environmental" fragrances that transport the wearer to imaginary surroundings. It is ambiance in a bottle, but it reminds me of something I once read on a forum, "People shouldn't smell like this, room should." In fact, not rooms, but the outdoors. I smelled nothing of the florals described by previous reviewers. Sycomore is a vetiver fragrance--and a smokey one at that. It is challenging. It is dry and salty--and peppery. It is decidedly masculine. Do I like it? Not really. I think it is an artistic achievement, but I would not wear it as a perfume. Please pass the gingerbread, instead.

Exhuberant, sweet, candy floral with a dominant violet note that slowly turns into a bright raspberry. If this is your type of fragrance, go for it. You'll love it. Not for me, though.

Big bouquet of sweet, orange-scented flowers, jasmine and a spring bouquet. Very pretty, but too sweet for me.

An Oriental in the line of Shalimar, with its lemon and vanilla, plus a particularly bitter wood or leather note. Not terribly original, but it has a nice, strong, bold presence. Still, I would just as soon get Shalimar in the pure parfum concentration.

Green chypres--how I love their mossy redolence and outdoorsiness. They don't make many new ones in this venerated genre. That's why it's important to know which ones still exist. Anyone who likes Paloma Picasso or the old Norell should try Scherrer. (There are two entries in this directory by the names of Jean Louis Scherrer and plain Scherrer, both 1979, so I'm assuming they are a double entry.) This perfume is gloriously green with spicy florals ona a mossy base. It is less sweet than Paloma Picasso, but both manage to acheive a forestlike aroma trhough the use of galbanum, patchouli, and oakmoss. The spices are anyone's guess, buty they differ from the typical Oriental mix, leaning toward fresh and evergreen rather than sweet and gourmand. I hope that some day this unusual and highly satisfying genre makes a comeback and accrues more entries in the market.

Green chypres--how I love their mossy redolence and outdoorsiness. They don't make many new ones in this venerated genre. That's why it's important to know which ones still exist. Anyone who likes Paloma Picasso or the old Norell should try Scherrer. (There are two entries in this directory by the names of Jean Louis Scherrer and plain Scherrer, both 1979, so I'm assuming they are a double entry.) This perfume is gloriously green with spicy florals ona a mossy base. It is less sweet than Paloma Picasso, but both manage to acheive a forestlike aroma trhough the use of galbanum, patchouli, and oakmoss. The spices are anyone's guess, buty they differ from the typical Oriental mix, leaning toward fresh and evergreen rather than sweet and gourmand. I hope that some day this unusual and highly satisfying genre makes a comeback and accrues more entries in the market.

Sandalwood--deep, oily, and ethereal. I used to think this was close to a pure sandalwood fragrance, but I have done alot of experimentation with resins, and I am able to identify their presence now. Although there are a minimum of supporting notes, this also qualifies, in my mind, as an incense fragrance. There is a good deal of myrrh as well as amber in here. Sandalwood is the star of the show, but the myrrh is apparent all the way through the drydown. The combination of notes is good--it mimics physical warmth. Sandalo has been described as "dry" but I find also find it sweet. It smells like HEAT. This fragrance is dynamic. Although it is linear, the sandalwood is three-dimensional, moving off the skin like waves of rising air.

I had the wonderful opportunity of trying vintage Cuir de Russie parfum from the 1950s. It was the most animalic yet softest perfume I have ever smelled. The leather was incredibly realistic, like walking into the tack room of a stable, smelling the leather saddles and harnesses, and also the horses, sweet and fecal, and the cowboy, himself, with his can of chewing tobacco. The jasmine was exceedingly rich. I do not know what the modern version smells like, but the vintage was totally fascinating. It amazes me that women of that era wore such a bold fragrance. We should follow their lead.
Edited: I have now tried the new Cuir de Russie, and it is also beautiful, but not the same scent as the original. The new EDT is nowhere near as leathery or animalic. It no longer smells like a saddlery. If I had to guess, I would say that the missing component is castoreum.

I love this breath of green air, very Chanel-like, herbal and light, soft and diffusive, leavy and ozonic, with a base that is not overly sweet. If I had to guess, I would say there is iris, hyacinth, perhaps a delicate pine, some fresh kitchen herbs, all overlaid on a nice sandalwood. Who knows? It succeeds in avoiding the problems that plague herbal fragrances, such as a lingering bitterness (if not sweetened enough) or a crude soapiness (if sweetened too much). My sole complaint is that it doesn't project for long. I would have to apply it liberally. This is truly beautiful--fresh and cool.

Add this one to my short list of new Chypres that I love, falling into the category of "pink chypres" but avoiding the pitfall of the sour, fermented note that ruins most of them. In contrast, it starts out spicy-floral and ends fruity-sweet. 31 Rue Cambon begins, like all great Chypres, with a strong bergamot top note. It moves into what I would describe as a floral phase, with an impressive type of mellow, warm, carnation, or maybe a floral bouquet garnished with clove and other spices. After that, a sweet, soft, base becomes apparent, carrying a note that I can only describe as a teriffic kind of peach-apricot accord, which creeps in, increases, and remains until the end. Throughout its development, this perfume maintains a spicy characteristic that teeters on the edge of Oriental territory, indeed reminding me of the great Coco.

Iris, iris, and more iris. And a great version of it, too, devoid of powdery sweetness, smelling rooty like the real thing, not covered up by florals, and yet delicately sweetened, probably by an airy sandalwood base. I smell something delicately green and woody, maybe clary sage, or some other ehtereal note. And possibly a bit of pepper, which goes well with iris, like it did in Lancome Oxygene. This is in no way as earthy as Serge Lutens Iris Silver MIst. Its duration is regrettably short, as it comes off the skin in a heady, breezy rush. Enjoyable while it lasts.

I fell in love with this fragrance when I stopped looking for the rose and accepted it for what it is--an herbal perfume with exceptional depth and sweet darkness. Yes, the rose is still there, dried red petals locked in a pirates' chest, in the hold of an old wooden ship, in the dark, lit by the fire of guttering torches--but now it's explainable. The florals support the herbs, not the other way around. That big, musty, anisy, patchouli note? It's the star of the show, not an interloper that overtakes the poor, captive rose. This was Goth before Goth became a fashion statement.
Edit: I now have the cream. Although it is not a listed note, I smell quite a bit of something similar to civit accord.

Yes, those 80s scents were loud, and the Chypres were no exception, being both loud and weird, but they had so much more character than many of today's offerings, especially the new "pink chypres." This has great notes of galbanum, carnation, hyacinth, and other spicy florals laid on a nice bed of heavy amber in the old-school way. Georgio amuses me.

I smell mostly incense, or something that approximates it, which is a bit harsh and somewhat orangey, like olibanum. And it grows faint pretty soon. I liked CK One so much better.

This perfumes says, "I'm sorry, I want to wear perfume, but I don't want to offend anyone, so can I wear a little, faint, apologetic fragrance like this?" It went on soft and a little powdery, then it thinned out and shrank into the background, like a faint, clean musk and weak white floral contraption, all the while trying to be non-threatening.

Very floral in an almost bathroom spray way. Lily, gardenia, lilac, all stereotyped, exaggerated versions of flowers. It holds nothing back, is naively straightforward, unsophisticated. Not bad, but not for me.

Paris was underwhelming for me. I feel bad saying this because I wonder about my sanity when so many other people like this perfume. It came out of the bottle smelling interesting, like minty violets on a bed of rose petals. Then it developed no further nuances on my skin. It merely remained a nice floral and no more. (For comparison, I put Coco on my other hand, and that one had much more character and smelled much better throughout its development.)
I thought hard about another time that this happened: it was with Bulgari Pour Femme. Same thing--violets and roses, okay but nothing special. Then I noticed that both were by Sophia Grojsman, so I guess that is the commonality. Her rose and violet theme doesn't wear well on me.

I am not a scent snob. I will blind test anything. Although the notion of celebrity fragrances makes me shiver, and I particularly loathe fanciful, synthetic notes, I admit that I liked Mariah Carey M. Tiare flower, gardenia, patchouli, and incense make it a warm, somewhat woody floriental. (I wish I had not read that the sweetness was marshmallow.) I might not consider it FBW, but it was good. After I tried it on skin, I liked it less than on paper.

How disappointing. I pick up this edgy, fabulous, tattoo-painted bottle with skulls and words like "kills" and expect to smell something dark--weird. What do I get? Strawberries and cream.
Jarring. Ironic. (Is that the joke?) I used to like creamy strawberry perfume--when I was 13 years old. Maybe I still do, but I was so confused that I didn't give this one a chance. For toothaching sweetness, Angel or Mariah Carey M are better, I think. That bottle, though, is a total success. Looks like a Mexican prayer candle. I love those, too.

It's about time that I reviewed this. I bought a bottle of Eternity when it first came out. It smelled so good in those magazine inserts. I only used about one inch of the fragrance out of the bottle before I had to give it away. I'm afraid it smelled alot better on paper than it did on me. I got alot of freesia, orange, and rose, in a big, open, airy, spicy bouquet. It was both warm and cool at the same time, but it became obnoxious on my skin, overwhelming in fact. I cannot rate it negatively, however, because it was amazing at the time, and I still sneak spritzes of it now and then at the store. I just could not own a bottle of it.

Goes on medicinal and repugnant. Then a transformation takes place--sweetness and roses wafting in on a cool breeze. Mellows into a dark, spicy rose. Devastatingly beautiful. Gothic.
After wearing this for a long time, I finally got my hands on a sample of real oud extract, and I have to say I'm unsure if any commercial perfumes actually contain real oud. The real substance is sweetly dirty, has an almost "repulsive" quality, and smells alot like rotten wood. It also smells like oak wood that has been sawed too quickly in a mill, and has a "destroyed" smell. All of the oud perfumes I have tested, including Montales, have more bitterness and an acetone edginess that real oud doesn't have. I think Madini's Agarwood has come the closest to the real thing.

Oud has a preternatural way of taking rose and ramping it up to glowing neon intensity. Gorgeous, pungent, spicy, dark rose. Bitter, leather-like presence. Creatively rosey, like the distinct rose fragrance of the old-fashioned cream in the white glass jar. Sexy on men and women. This whole line of fragrances is bewitching. Black Aoud is also great.
After wearing this for a long time, I finally got my hands on a sample of real oud extract, and I have to say I'm unsure if any commercial perfumes actually contain real oud. The real substance is sweetly dirty, has an almost "repulsive" quality, and smells alot like rotten wood. It also smells like oak wood that has been sawed too quickly in a mill, and has a "destroyed" smell. All of the oud perfumes I have tested, including Montales, have more bitterness and an acetone edginess that real oud doesn't have. I think Madini's Agarwood has come the closest to the real thing.

This is is classified as a floral but registers as an Oriental, too. And it smells convincingly like a vintage perfume. It is so richly colored, so concentrated, so old-fashioned and heady, it hardly seems that it could have been launched in 1995. Many of my favorite notes are here--orange blossom, gardenia (tiare flower), sambac jasmine, amber, oakmoss, sandalwood, ambergris--but the sum is greater than its parts. 24, Faubourg produces a rich, deep, orangey fragrance that is neither citrusy nor candylike but elegantly floral, even woody. Smells like the "big" fragrances of the old days, unabashed and sensual. I tried it along with many other samples, and it stood above them, in a league of its own. Highly memorable, nostalgic, and evocative of wealth and taste. My only complaint is that the opening salvo of sillage is too great. I believe it was engineered to behave this way, but I wish it would moderate itself and let its scent waft gently from the wearer over the course of hours, not blast off so conspicuoulsy all at once.

I have had to review this perfume several times as I learn to identify notes. It is highly representatiave of the incense note--not as sweet and wearable as Black Cashmere, not as airy as Passage d'Enfer, not as herbal as Citti di Kyoto--but very realistic instead. This is the aroma that permeates Catholic and Eastern Orthodox churches.
The notes in this fragrance are extremely difficult to pinpoint. My favorite part is the opening, which is intense, almost fizzy lemon and orange, but bittersweet, like pineapple and tonic water. The heart is full of frankincense and myrrh, which are dried tree resins, very woody and rich. Many reviewers report a "mildew" note. Perhaps this occurs from the dustiness of the cinnamon and frankincense combined with the mustiness of the patchouli. It is quite pleasant to me. My only complaint is this: the base is difficult for me to wear. Inside is a smoky, bitter note that builds up with time. It smells herbal, like sage, and pungent, like burned green wood. The drydown becomes ashen if the fragrance is overapplied. I have been thwarted in my enjoyment of this fragrance many times because of this single note. Without it, Messe de Minuit would be less artistic but much more functional as a perfume. As pure artristy, I give it a high thumbs-up, but I have to drop my rating to neutral as a perfume because of my frustration with the drydown.

Wonderful violet and orange-scented perfume with oakmoss and miles of suade. Jolie Madame is charming. Don't you want to invite her in for tea, compliment her on her cute boots, her sassy haircut, and her retro dress? You do! Re-discover this perfume, and pray for no more reformulations.
One of my friend's husband smelled this on my wrist, and his positive reaction was so strong that he blushed and laughed in embarrassment. Isn't that fun?

This is the be-all-end-all of realistic grapefruit perfumes. I just bought Marc Jacobs Grapefruit for my daughter and, although she likes it, it was too simple and light for me. This one, though, is better for me. AA Pampleune is deep, fruity, bittersweet and weighty, with the help of the patchouli and vanilla base (neither of which is apparent in and of itself.) This is as good as a grapefruit perfume gets.

(This is for the vintage, not the new fragrance. I mistakenly put it in the new.)A classic herbal chypre in the old-school style. The richness and depth of the ingredients are apparent immediately and, like so many others of the 1970s, are no longer available to the perfumer's palatte. This is an odd perfume by today's standards. It is a combination of dry, bitter, green, herbal, cypressy notes expertly overlayed on a golden, sweet labdanum base. Probably the closest one could come to it nowadays is Estee Lauder Azuree, which is soapier and less herbal.

A classic herbal chypre in the old-school style. The richness and depth of the ingredients are apparent immediately and, like so many others of the 1970s, are no longer available to the perfumer's palatte. This is an odd perfume by today's standards. It is a combination of dry, bitter, green, herbal, cypressy notes expertly overlayed on a golden, sweet labdanum base. Probably the closest one could come to it nowadays is Estee Lauder Azuree, which is soapier and less herbal.

Artistically arresting, a bit difficult to wear. Dry, papery, peppery, bitter herbal, pungent. It has a soapy opening and is supposedly a "leather" scent, but it never segues into the animalic, indolic territory of Chanel Cuir de Russie, my benchmarch leather scent--especially the vintage juice. Rather, Azuree has in common with its two Estee Lauder classic "sisters" a certain sneezy dustiness. Whereas Aliage translates this note into overt greenness, Private Collectionlets it fade into a backdrop of florals and sweet amber. Azuree does neither. The same note hangs suspended in mid-air like a ray of sunshine made visible in dusty air for as long as the fragrance persists. Evocatively nostalgic, poignant, powerful, but not easy.

I love linden blossoms. They are joyous, green and sweet, yet wild and grassy. This is a reilable imitation of linden blossom, a feat accomplished with a balance of green, mildy fruity, tangy and sweet notes, foremost of which I smell the rind of watermelon and some grassy florals. Really, it is hard to describe. I am impressed that this perfume originated in 1955, is still available, and yet so few Americans have been exposed to linden soliflore. I tried the EDT, but I would recommend a stronger concentration. For those who have trouble finding this brand, Diptyque also has a Tilleul which is similar.

I usually avoid anything with a celebrity name, but I do acknowledge when I come across one that I like. This is one of the better "new chypres." (My favorite is Narciso Rodriguez for Her.) Lovely artfully balances the sweet and sour notes. (Nevertheless, I miss the heavy labdanum base of the "old-school chypres.") I can appreciate this new genre as long as I don't hold the two up for comparison. This one serves up a dollop of earthiness and woodiness with the florals--a standout lavendar along with an abstract bouquet-- but the patchouli is so mild that it won't scare away most women, and the vetiver and cedar never overtake the base. Why, it's almost--lovely. Yet, I sigh. Give me back my old Miss Dior.

I tried Musc Ravageur along with Muscs Koublai Khan. This one is clearly better for women. (We're used to sweet, vanillic scents. Some men think it is too sweet, so they should head straight for the MKK.) I prefer this one. It starts out with a sweet, candy, cardamom note that is absolutely delicious. The fragrance becomes quite powdery and soft, very warm and significantly ambery. Ever since my old Coty Wild Musc was made thin and weak, I've been looking for a good replacement. This is not the same, it is spicier while the other was vanillic, but it is a good candidate and a nice musk for women.

This is for men, not for women. It smells masculine, not in the sense that it uses notes for men, such as leather and tobacco, but that it smells like a man. First there is a burst of powder, and then a sweet cumin note of perspiration, and then a warm enveloping musk--the aroma of a man's clean groin. On a man, it's perfectly nice, but on a woman? It's too butch for me. The musk is perfectly naturalistic, neither too strong nor too dirty. (Ava Luxe Rasa Extreme was dirtier.) To me, the fecal notes are balanced and "aired-out" by the musk. Overall, I would choose something sweeter, more vanillic, and without the cumin. So, I'm giving it a neutral from my own viewpoint, as to whether I would wear it, personally. I have never smelled this on a man, but I would rate it positive in that situation.

I passed by this perfume without noticing it for years because I never look for fragrance at the Prescriptives counter. Rather, I am obsessesed with their excellent line of liquid foundation almost guaranteed to match any skin color. There sat Calyx. I finally sprayed it on, and it was wonderful. It rushed through some grassy, green notes and settled into a big white peach and apricot aroma that was delicious. Ordinarily I'm not a fruit scent wearer, but I fell in love with this. Big, round, sweet-tart aromatic fruits in a sparkling, green, mossy base. Excellent.

I love the smell of dried black tea leaves, but no perfume has successfully imitated that aroma yet. Some have done well with green tea, but the mild, sweet, woody aroma of black tea seems to be difficult to replicate. This perfume is more herbal and fruity. Tommy Girl has a strange dry, papery note that I could not readily identify. Is it harsh? Not really. Smoky? No. Astringent? Yes, a bit. All day, I tried. Finally, I realized that it was almost salty--like celery leaves. This note keeps me at arm's length.

It would take an army to steer me away from my favorite Dior fragrance, Miss Dior. (No, I take that back--if they reformulate it any more, I will refuse to buy it again.) Apparently my tastes do not agree with the masses. J'Adore is popular. Indeed, it is pleasant, and I can see why so many people like it. This genre of light, fruity florals is not my favorite. There are too many silly, simple ones. I wonder if most people wear them because they missed the chance to try anything better. For a fruity floral, I think Geir Ness Laila is more interesting. This is a Norweigan perfume of "mountain wildflowers" and a watermelon note, made with no synthetics--pretty amazing. I'll leave J'adore to the masses.

Dispite all the listed notes, Quadrille smells to me like plum wine with an herbal infusion. This is an enticing aroma, but not one that I wear easily. The notes are highly integrated and well-chosen. No herbs are listed, so I assume it is violet or leather (which other reviewers have mentioned) that exudes the bitterness which I describe as herbal. The overall effect is sheer but powerful. It is sure to please the discerning tastes of people looking for an unusual and unique fragrance.

I got a sample from an older bottle. This Alpona is amazing. It predates O de Lancome by three decades, and now I see how the later fragrance owes a debt of gratitude to its predecessor. Both are remarkable members of an old-school Chypre genre featuring citrus and herbs.
Both start with a tangy citrus, closely accompanied by a sweet heart note, before dropping gradually into a drier herbal finish. In Alpona, the landing is cusioned by the signature Caron powdery soft base, while O de Lancome has a clear base. Thyme is the featured herb in Alpona, while rosemary is predominant in O de Lancome.
My favorite aspect of Alpona is the candied-lemon-and-grapefruit-peel scent coupled with the powdery background, which creates an aroma like sifted flour during the making of holiday cake. The herbal ending is too dry for my liking. If it had a long-lasting sweet base, it would approach Holy Grail territory.

Enchanting, fresh, green floral. The flowers are cool and aquatic, as if floating serenely in an emerald pool, surrounded by the scent of growing plants. The Boronia is exquisite. It has a clean, spicy presence. Ayala Moriel's other green fragrance, Grin, has boronia and is a favorite of mine. This ingredient in combination with green pepper imparts a spicy "live plant" fragrance. Seaweed in the base gives the whole fragrance a unique and compelling wild and "freshly-watered" aroma. Add lotus flowers, and you can imagine this lively but peaceful fragrance.

Here I go with my gourmand challenge again. How do I wear something edible smelling without getting hungry? I can't do it. This one smells like maple syrup to me. I am a fanatic about maple syrup, refusing to buy any corn-syrup based, artificially flavored imitation, but insisting upon consuming only the pure, expensive boiled-down sap from sugar maple trees. This perfume compels me to make waffles. (Sigh.)

Violet is a note that fascinates me. It is cooler than the notes I usually gravitate toward wearing. I seek it when I need something different. This fits the bill--it opens with a breath of greenness and then takes on the odd, aromatic, candylike scent that is charactistic of violets. I cannot reisist violet candies, either. They taste like a strange combination of fortified grape wine and anise to me. Both violet perfume and candies were more popular in days gone by, which is why I feel nostalgic about them. Perhaps it is not my favorite floral, but I do like to indulge in violets occasionally. This perfume captures that old-fashioned essence--sweet, floral, powdery, and unusual. Vanilla and tonka add a modern touch, making it smoother than its predecessors.

Tamya is a complex perfume--a fruity floral, but not in the classic sense. It is warm and quiet in its beauty. No particular note asserts itself, but all of them are singing in unison, as if in a chord. And an unexpected combination it is, with notes that are not often found in together (see pyramid). This woody, fruity, and floral blend results in a scent that I can only describe roughly as tutti-fruiti, polished wood, and wildflowers. Unique? Right. One would anticipate that such an unusual perfume would smell loud. Wrong! The result is a skin scent, understated and versatile.

Sutul is relentlessly cheeful. Don't wear this if you intend to wallow in your bad mood. Goths beware; avoid it entirely. Lemony grapefruit notes (almost apricot) blend joyfully with jasmine, light and sunny, and radiate from a tiny spot of perfume dabbed on my wrist. They glow like shades of yellow and orange. The scent is light but strong, fresh and realistically fruity--and the citrus is long lasting, which is especially admirable for an all natural product. I used to avoid fruity florals until I found natural perfumes. Synthetic fruits can smell too much like candy. The notes in this perfume burst forth like grapefruit oil from the peel. Sutul is a great fragrance, refreshing and clear, bright and happy. I love this.

Laugh all you want. I tried half a dozen of Ayala Moriel's zodiac fragrances, and this one chose me. By that, I mean Capricorn smelled the best on me, in particular. And I don't need to tell you what sign I was born under... It is listed simply as a floral, but I beg to differ. On me, the woody undertones become accentuated. Capricorn transcends its listed notes. Neroli, magnolia, and rose make up the florals. Myrrh, patchouli, and vetiver constitute the balance of the fragrance. These notes are few but, WOW, do they work together beautifully! An utterly gorgeous, earthy, delicious, refreshing, sweet fragrance emerges and intensifies, quickly becoming a soft, natural skin scent. I love this. Totally me. I'm o glad that I tried the entire zodiac line before it was discontinued because Ayala Moriel will always make a batch of any zodiac fragrance upon special request, which is the benefit of knowing a perfumer who operates on a personal level with her customers.

I've been wearing this perfume for years, in all seasons. When I wear in the countryside, it meshes beautifully with the summer foliage. Ah, Ayalitta. This was the first all-natural fragrance that I ever bought, the first galbanum fragrance I owned, and one of my first chypre perfumes. It still ranks right at the top in all three categories. The opening salvo of galbanum is completely addictive to me--breathtaking and beautiful. Then jasmine moves to the forefront along with a patchouli-scented amber background. The galbanum and sage never lose their influence, having touched this fragrance in its entirety. No worry, oakmoss will always be in this formulation, regardless of the IFRA. This is one little gem of a perfume for green chypre lovers everywhere.

Scorpio smells like an old, dry, coniferous forest with brittle twigs snapping underfoot, where the trees have grown so tall that they block out the light and the rain, and a person walks around on the dusty forest floor, in the semi-darkness, surrounded by the aroma of wood and resin. The opening is black pepper, but it leaves an evergreen impression. There is no pine, spruce, or fir in here, no fresh needles, but solid wood. I attribute this woodiness to the opoponax. The perfume oil is a rich orange-gold color. Lotus makes up the enitre heart note, but I smell no florals per se. What happens next is the development of sweet leather notes. There is musk in here too, and the animalic notes work well in commbinatin ith the forest-like aroma. Scorpio is a cruelty-free, all-natural, animalic fragrance. What is it like? Strange. Unique. Totally unisex. Men should love this outdoorsy aroma. It turns into a subtle wood and leather skin scent on me. As soon as I tried it, I knew I had to buy it. It will soon be discontinued (because the whole zodiac line never got enough customer attention) but Ayala will make up a batch for you on special order anytime.

A big surprise. This is excellent--magical. I love it. I once tried a store tester on papar and hated it--I thought the terragon was revolting. On the skin, it is a totally different story. Samsara is a wonderful fragrance. It has won me over. Fascinating, cool vanilla and sandalwood with florals and spice. Overall, the fragrance affects me in the same manner as heliotrope, smooth and cool like vanilla ice cream. On my skin it becomes a shifting melange of flowers (feminine but not cliched) with a creamy/spicy base. Smooth, slick, sleek. Blends totally with my skin. Sinks in, takes hold, and spreads its fluid layer of seductiveness. Warning, buy the EDP. Unlike most Guerlains, the pure parfum is actually inferior, with a strange plasticy, coconut note. The EDP was truer to the intent, with the emphasis on the vanilla and jasmine notes.

L'Invisible is an oilibanum resin fragrance with candied orange peel and a bit of winey rose. It is quite exotic and good. It is a dense, sweet/sour combination of natural ylang-ylang, orange, lemon, rose, and hibiscus essences on a base of thick, dark resin. There is oak-moss, but it does not stand out distinctly like a chypre. The aroma is not what one would expect from conventional perfumes. These are distilled using water from natural plant materials without the aid of solvents. The technique causes the notes to have a somewhat fermented aroma, as if they have been stewing in the bottle for decades, like a vintage perfume. If you seek a fresh, clean, airy fragrance, steer clear of all Strange Invisible Perfumes. However, if you want to smell something unique and full-bodied, I bet there is something in this line that will intrigue you. This was one of my favorites.

Two horses of a different color, the EDT and the EDP, both of which smell like fine vintage perfumes, one striking and the other soothing. How could this be the same fragrance? Question answered: the formula was changed several times, and the EDP that I smelled was from a brief period when Adrian Arpel reformulated it into a sweet, green chypre, very beautiful, but not in keeping with the original character. The following reviews reflect this difference. Indeed, they are for two different perfumes:
First, the EDT which is close to the intent of the original formula, which was to excite and shock. It opens with a sharp galbanum and leather blast before developing into a sweet-and-sour combination, in which I smell gardena and vetiver. If this combination of notes does not seem to jive, that is precisely the point. Sharp green + sweet floral + sour vetiver = olfactory mayhem. Some people smell leather and ashes, and I certainly can agree to that. It is acrid, green, sour, and sweet. I smell marijuana smoke on my clothes the morning after the rock concert. I smell a vase full of flowers invaded by catnip. This is naughty, it truly is. What a joy. And at a reasonable price, too. This scent will turn heads. I can't see how a person could do without a small bottle of Bandit. It's a whole lot of fun.
Now for the Adrian Arpel version of the EDP, now obsolete. This shares alot of notes with Miss Dior, one of my all-time favorites. Bergamot, gardenia, galbanum, neroli, jasmine, rose, patchouli, sandalwood. Compared to the other, it has much less moss and labdanum and more sandalwood enveloping the flowers. Gorgeous fragrance. This one will turn heads, too. But it will be in approval, not in shock.

Intriguing composition of live-smelling roses anbd unexpected spices such as coriander and saffron. I am notoriously unsuccessful at wearing florals; they become piercingly sweet on me and then disappear completely. This perfume was different. Initially, I rejoiced at the scent of the roses, but overall, the scent was sour and peppery on me, live roses dried out. Since first trying this fragrance, I have become better acquainted with the vetiver note, which forms the basis of the dry character of this fragrance, and will probably upgrade my review to positive the next time I smell this.

I like tea. I like rose. This is supposed to have both notes, but all I smell is a sharp, green rose that is too piercing to enjoy. Not my cup of tea, I'm afraid.

Very plain jasmine. Sometimes jasmine takes on an "off" note for me which I can only describe as "volatile" like acetone. This one has it. C'est la vie.

Plain, clear, bright and sparkling rose soliflore. Simple and floral with no woody, musky, or amber base. I don't wear straight florals usually, but if you do, perhaps this will be your most rosey one yet.

Madini's version of vetiver is very masculine and fresh. Vetyvert is green and extremely woody, and this is a dry wood like cedar. Not very womanly, but nice for the guys.

Nardo is a tubersoe soliflore as well-behaved as they come. No extravagance is exhibited as in Fracas or Poison, this one is smooth and calm. I'm not a straight floral wearer, but if you are, you should smell this version of tuberose.

Madini has access to some of the best amber available, sweet, vanillic, and woody. Here it is, unadorned, and simply named Ambre. If it weren't so woody, it would smell like cookies baking.
Madini uses this base in many of its fragrances: Alma di Alma, Sahara, Olive Flowers. Try them all. One is bound to please you.

Billed as a narcissus soliflore, Narciso is a cheerful springlike floral. Although I am not a straight floral lover, I found it charming.

InCarnation is a clove-centered rendition of this flower, which is a nice departure from the cool, almost sneezy version most often constructed by perfumeurs. I have never found carnation to blend easily with my skin. Even the venerable Caron Bellodgia tends to make itself known on me rather than melting seamlessly into my own scent. Probably Etro Dianthus has smelled the best on me because of its warm, sunny, orange undertones.
I love clove. It is one of my favorite spices. Yet clove and carnation seem most successful on me when blended into a warm Oriental fragrance rather than a floral. If you wear it well, you should give this one a try. The clove is delectable.

Popy Moreni starts out too sweet for me. It smells almost Oriental or gourmand instead of floral, and it has a clashing coffee note that I do not like. After awhile, it settles down and the patchouli and amber base make it much more attractive. However, it is not unique enough in this respect for me to wear it and wait for the opening to die down.

I am one of those few people for whom L'Air du Temps fails to work its magic. I have tried it repeatedly through the years. On me, the carnation stands out, and it is a cool, spicy note which does not blend smoothly with my skin. (Even the venerable Caron Bellodgia is difficult for me to wear sometimes. Etro Dianthus has probably been the best carnation on me because of its warm, sunny, orange undertones.) L'Air du Temps has a breezy, light floral quality that doesn't project on me. I can completely understand its charm, though. For myself, I need more strength, warmth, and woodiness.

Blind testing Rococo, I picked up a note that I could only describe as a mild, peppermint candy, sweet and a bit cool. I looked up the notes, and it is probably due to the pineapple and spice combination. While I think this is a pleasant, mild aroma that is not exactly run-of-the-mill, I cannot claim that it is terribly distinctive, either. I would wear it, but it would not draw me irresistably.

A very beautiful skin scent and an excellent amber fragrance. Warm, sweet, vanillic, woody and resinous, it clings for hours. On par with one of my other favorites L'Artisan Parfumeur Ambre Extreme. Blue Amber reminds me of the best part of Chanel No. 5, the lovely drydown. It is uncomplicated but deep, soft but strong, and entirely comforting. If at first it does not appeal to you straight out of the bottle, do not dispair but wear it on your skin. Check back later and enjoy the melding of the golden fragrance to your body warmth. Exceptional lasting power, longer than Ambre Extreme. I give Blue Amber high marks.

It's good, but pedestrian. I enjoy it, but I would have trouble distinguishing it from a number of fragrances. I have to give it a qualified neutral rating because it lacks true distinction. Otherwise, I wouldn't hesitate to recommend it, as I think it would offend no one and would please most people.

Moss and patchouli on an ambery base, as simple as that. You'd think it would be a perfect match for me, but the total effect is so musty that all I can visualize is a damp old house. This mustiness has a haunting quality that is made palatable by a sweet patchouli base. Overall, it is weird yet likeable. However, the patchouli doesn't go deep enough for me. My gold standard for sweet, vanillic-amber-patchouli fragrances remains Montale Patchouli Leaves.

For anyone who is looking for a classic, straightforward, sweet and powdery iris--who could ask for more than this? Iris Poudre is an iris fragrance that almost anyone could feel comfortable wearing; it offers the best of that rooty, cool elegance but wraps it in a delicate, sweet powder (devoid of any metallic bite) and the result is a sophisticated and ladylike fragrance with a great nostalgic feeling.

This iris scent makes use of fruity rose and earthy patchouli notes as counterpoints to the powdery, rooty, coolness of the iris. These notes cause Iris Noir to resemble another fragrances in this series--YL Rose Absolu, one of my favorites. However, Iris Noir veers away from the spicy sweetness of Rose Absolue and moves toward the powdery coolness of iris. It pleasant, wearable, and a nice compromise for those who find the iris note a bit challenging.

This "trap for the heart" is a sweet, sticky kiss from the lips of a candy-eating child. It is warmer and sweeter than many Guerlain fragrances, blanket-like and eveloping, almost confectionary. It reminds me of Aimez Moi, only the licorice has been replaced with a pronounced vanilla and a smooth peach. At the base is a perfecty balanced civit note that gives it an animalic edge. I don't think it resembles Mitsouko much; that woody, classic beauty is reserved, austere, and aloof, while this one is sweet and cozy. It does share the glorious powdery peach of Nahema, the best feature of that fragrance. But Attrape-Coer never focuses on the rose. Rather, it offers a great deal of greenness that is apparent in the violet and iris notes. Guerlain does such amazing things with peach. Although it does not replace Mitsouko or Nahema, it is well worth one's time to experience its warmth and complexity.

I sing praise of Musk Gazelle. It smells like innumerable sticks of multi-aroma, Indian incense, especially the lovely "masala" blends of flowers, woods, and spices--like walking into a head shop, like the clinging sweet scent that lingers on articles of clothing purchased there. Soft, myserious, sexy and gratifying. I cannot stop sniffing my wrist, as it sinks luxuriously into my skin. I thank the Lord for my sense of smell, and for perfumers such as Madini for making this glorious fragrance.

Diorella - Dior
At last, I got to try this beauty for the first time, and I see why people love it so much. Bright, fresh, fruity, airy, live flowers, especially honeysuckle and cyclamen. This gorgeous vivid, green and growing, fruity floral is delicious without being edible. I agree with reviewers Vibert, calchic, and ubuandibeme that it shares similarities with Parfum de Therese and Cristalle. The peach and vetiver shine through, causing the obvious comparison; however, the focus on honeysuckle makes it different. I also agree with other reviewers that this is how a fruity floral should smell--floral, not candylike. Very classy, totally pleasing. A winner.

Booze, leather, civit. I am the Whore of Babylon! This is great fun. Discontinued in 1971, almost 40 years after its creation, Scandal marked an era when mainstream fragrance companies had courage. This perfume is sweet, animalic, and dirty, like vintage Cuir de Russie, only milder, overall. I would imagine that it shares the spirit of the original Cabochard. Put it on and one immediately takes on the aroma of half-empty tumblers of booze, slept-in bedsheets, wet tobacco, and S&M gear. Starts out naughty, ends up nice: soft, sweet, leathery, powdery--more in the spirit of Tabac Blonde. I want to say to the mainstream houses, "Come on, loosen up, make more fragrances like this!" My young son pilfered the remainder of my sample and refuses to give it back. He says, "It smells like rum."

I was introduced to this as part of a blind test on Basenotes. It was part of the Green category. I did not like it. I could not smell an actual green note, but rather, an annoying, synthetic apple note. Also, there seemed to be something peppery and herbal. It was clean, wet, and spare. In the end, the apple note went away, leaving the peppery green note. It did not smell natural to me, nor did it smell much like tea.

I was introduced to this fine fragrance during a blind test here on Basenotes. It was presented as part of the Green family, but it is fresh with green notes, rather than heavy. The leafy topnotes of wet grass and ivy are mild but insistent and remind me of linden. Overall, it is woody, floral, rich, and sweet. This perfume is gorgeous. I pick up distinct spiciness and woodiness, but I cannot explain why. Nor will I ever obtain an explanation, as it appears to have been discontinued--no longer listed on Annick Goutal's website, which makes me upset and angry.

I love the aroma of dried black tea leaves. This perfume with its rooibos tea note smells more like black tea leaves to me than perfumes with green tea notes. Usually, those fragrances end up reminding me of more of jasmine (a note usually paired with green tea.) Even L'Artisan Tea for Two was more about honey and smoke than tea leaves for me. Bulgari Thé Rouge is somewhat fruity, but it captures the sweet, fermented aspect of black tea leaves pretty well. I did not try it on the skin, but on a blotter, which was to my regret. I shall have to resample, but I still will venture to give it a positive rating.

Too much pomogranite. I love to eat pomogranites, but this one smells too, um, bright. Yes, that is the word. Too sharp and fruity. I liked Crystal Noir, but not this one.

I like Gwen Stefani, the performer. Her perfume is unusual, I'll say that much. The green violet leaf opening moves into a fruity blend that I mistook for a "new chypre" because of the strange mix of notes. However, there is no patchouli or vetiver listed, so I will chalk it up to these new, weird synthetic accords, which baffle me. On the whole it is rather chemical smelling. So I give it a neutral for trying to be different, but I just don't like it the way I like her singing.

Cotton candy, plain and simple. Way too sweet. This is perfume for children.

One of Chanel's best fragrances ever. Deserves much more publicity than the (non-existent) promotion it currently receives. Every bit as fascinating as the No. 5 that clogs the Chanel counters in all department stores worldwide. More subtle, more flavorful, deeper, more attractive--and more flattering to wear, too.
I smelled the gingerbread right away. Sure, Bois des Iles is about woods and florals, but the effect, in its entirety is warm, spicy-sweet, like a faint breeze carring the scent gingerbread from the oven on a cold day. This is better than the sandalwood-gingerbread of Bulgari Omnia because it does without with the annoying black pepper topnote. Bois des Iles is superb sandalwood, a love-at-first-sniff experience for me. I cannot speak more highly about it.

Described in the ad as, "a rich, soulful chypre fragrance charmed by exotic notes and warm florals," notes from Gucci include: guava, pear, tiare, musk, honey. Retailers mention: chamomile, lily of the valley, orange blossom, patchouli, and musk. Sounds good? No. Yucky. Smells vinegary, like fermented fruit, like Sour Patch children's candy that makes the mouth pucker. Ouch. How dare they call this a chypre? I'm afraid they are going to repulse a whole new generation from this genre because it is so far from the beauty of the real chypre aroma, represented by the obsolete Chypre de Coty, the green Miss Dior, the fruity Rochas Femme and Guerlain Mitsouko, the floral Jean Patou 1000, and the rosy Chanel No. 19 and Les Parfums de Rosine Une Folie de Rose. There are so many better choices in this genre. I'm sad.

Very interesting. I am not a fruity floral wearer, but the melon note paired with this wildflower bouquet was a success. I give it a thumbs up even though I do not wear this genre (I am a chypre and Oriental wearer) because, the next day, I was smelling it on my clothes and kept wondering what smelled so good. You guessed it. It was the Laila. Long-lasting but not in the least overpowering.

I get pure head shop from this one--in a glorious manner. Czech & Speak 88 is all about rose--and Indian incense. I'm not sure which incense stick I am positively identifying, but it is probably Chandan or Laxmi, maybe even a bit of Nag Champa. It is of the "masala" type, or mixture of woods and spices, very beautiful. This perfume had me singing, "When the moon is in its seventh house, and Jupiter aligns with Mars..." It shall be mine someday.

Toot, toot. The Passage d'Enfer train has taken a detour and ended up passying by an Arabian bazaar instead of going to Hell (Enfer). I think of this as a related scent, less pungent, but still woody and fragrent. The main notes that I register are cardamom, a papery aroma (which is probably the papyrus), and the vetiver. It is gently sweet, light, airy, and doesn't last long on me, but I enjoyed it. The vetiver base was particularly pleasant. I have to be in the mood to wear it; I don't see it as an everyday type of scent for me.

Leo is spicy and incensy, with chamomile, cinnamon, and frankincense dominating, sweetened by vanilla. It is an excellent cold-weather scent, dispite its location on the zodiac chart as a summer constellation. I find it very festive in character, zesty, with excellent sillage for an all-natural fragrance.

Pisces is a top-notch creation. It is one of my favorites from the discontinued zodiac line (all of which I have tried) but it can still be special ordered anytime.
The sage note in this fragrance is beautiful--trust me. The grapefruit topnote is gorgeous. And the floral heart is absolutely winning.
Pisces, on the whole, transcends its list of notes and is better than anyone could imagine. Sadly, few have tried it. I hightly recommend it, if you are looking for a soft, attractive, flattering, warm, skin scent. I will add it to my collection.

Teriffic lemon/lemongrass scent, with the freshness of lavendar and a both masculine (dry oakmoss) and feminine (sweet musk notes) in the base. This one gets better and better with wearing.

I like this one. The spearmint and anise predominate, and the seaweed in the base is captivating. On the whole it is unique and creative, and it will please people who are looking for something different that stands out from the crowd.

I almost didn't understand this one. It is not sweet, but rather, fresh like an evergreen. In fact, I guessed juniper was a dominant note--and I was wrong. I have to be in the mood to wear it, which is why I give it a neutral rating. However, it is pleasing and outdoorsy when you feel like something fresh.

Initially, I was not sure if I liked this one, but it grew on me with its tangy, green simple top and middle notes, gradually sweetening into a really class sandalwood base. Subtle, nice.

Oh, ho! Play-Doh! I love it. This is a comforting fragrance. When I was a child, I used to make clown noses out of Play-Doh so that I could wear them and smell that wonderful aroma. Luctor et Emergo captures that elusive scent, which I had been seeking ever since. Sweet and salty, like bread dough and plastic at the same time. This substance has tempted every child to taste it. It would always be disappointing flavorwise, but the sniffing would continue on and on.
This perfume carries that essence, re-created by substances I can only guess: almond, cinnamon, vanilla, white florals. It is soft and needs body heat to activate. I am grateful that I no longer have to walk around with a blob of red or blue Play-Doh clampted to my nose to smell this hypnotic scent.

Something different, refreshing, unique. Interesting development, like heads and tails of the same coin. First, a fresh, peppery, dry combination of iris, lotus, and cedar. The aroma reminds me of shiso, a Japanese herb. Then comes a brief awkward phase before Citta di Kyoto flips over--becoming a sweet, delicate peach, with some of the same clean, herbal touches. As an incense fragrance, it is less smoky than Passage d'Enfer, and has none of the ashes. Must wear it on the skin to experience this remarkable fragrance development.

I am impressed. Bold, unique, and unusual, Yatagan holds a place that is occupied by few fragrances. I put it on par with Djedi in its ability to stand alone--no imitators come close. And I say the same thing: I cannot call it beautiful in the classic sense, but it is arresting and amazing. Pine, wild and untrammeled. This reminds me of the long-lost, big, green bottle of foaming pine bath soap that we used to purchase from the department store when we were children. That bathwater used to fill the entire room with the aroma of the mountainside. There is wormwood making it bitter, but also basil giving it freshness, oakmoss adding to the greenness, and a great musk and leather at the end. If this doesn't take you outdoors, nothing will. Don your hiking boots, grab a backpack, splash on some Yatagan and be there.

I cannot find Black Cashmere at the department store with the rest of the Donna Karan fragrances. Only the Cashmere Mist surfaces, and it is not as good. Black Cashmere is full-on Arabian spices and incense without the annoying ashes of some incense perfumes. It is a creation in the same the vein as Serge Lutens Ambre Sultan and Arabie, but the spices are brigher, more pronounced. I adore this genre. Why isn't it given any space at the fragrance counter? It was launched only five years ago. This is gorgeous. It is full and spicy with clove and masala, saffron, pimento, and a phantom note that I can only describe as "dried fruit." It is well-balanced, sweet and salty, fruity and smoky, but never overdone in any single aspect. Warm and strong, it is an exceptionally good Oriental.

L'Homme Sage--the name translates into "the wise man," and the fragrance has nothing to do with sage. It has much to do with cardamom and saffron and the unusual fruity note of lychee. My first experience with this fruit was long ago, at a Chinese restaurant which sold dried lychee fruit in a big, glass jar. The peel shocked me by cracking and crumbling into pieces, hollow inside except for a tiny dried fruit on a pit. It was sweet like prune or fig, and I will always associate that taste with mysterious Chinese spices. This is the same context in which lychee is presented in this fragrance. L'Homme Sage is a spicy Oriental with nicely done fruit overtones and a sweet but woody base with enough incense to keep it lively and leaning toward the masculine side, although it is lovely on women, too.

I was prepared to be disappointed by Echt Kölnisch Wasser due to people's underwhelmed response to this old formula from 1792. Happy I was, when I tried it for the first time. Sure, it doesn't hold onto its citrus very long compared to the new aromachemicals, but it smells unique. First, a splash of lemon and neroli with a breath of rosemary, as much woody as citrusy. Ultra-clean, clear, and refreshing. What follows can only be described as an experience: a fluffy, white, terry-cloth towel steamed with citrus and herbs, wrapped on your face as you sit in a barber's chair. You smell the shaving cream. You smell the actual towel. is the precursor to an entire masculine fragrance genre. The progeny of Echt Kölnisch Wasser became stronger and more complex as they evolved, ending in such beauties as Etro Shaal Nur, and a host other lemon, lavender, and herbal beauties. Here is the papa of them all.

The joke is on me. I completely expected powder. After all, Guerlinade is the term for the Guerlain base, right? This lovely perfume is clear as a bell and vigorously floral. Here my most surprising discovery: Guerlinade is the best lilac perfume I have ever smelled. To me, it is almost a soliflore (yes) of lilac. Whatever ingredients were used to re-create this difficult-to-imitate flower, Guerlinade has succeeded. Wasn't that the intent? Don't tease me, Guerlain! I have been burying my face in the big, fluffy, purple masses of intoxicating lilac blossoms since I was a child. This perfume is a lilac bush in full bloom, coming straight from a tiny bottle. I could tell you that I smell notes of honeysuckle, spicy rose, or tonka. I could tell you that I smell elements of Chant d'Aromes or Vol de Nuit in here, but primarily, I smell a wonderful, amazing, lilac perfume.

This isn't so much of a jasmine fragrance as it is a Creed fragrance. There is that wonderful Creed base--a deep vanilla that is sweet and warm, organic and skin-loving--coupled here with gorgeous jasmine and woods. The effect is akin to effervescent creme soda or smooth sassafras. Besides the listed jasmine, rose, vanilla, and sandalwood, I suspect there is a bit of patchouli in here. I'm going to risk guessing some tuberose, heliotrope, or orange blossom. Jasmin Imperatrice Eugenie is beautiful. I give it top marks.

Extremely sweet, extremely smooth and unified. Smells like one single note without development, but with depth. How can I love such a sweet, dense, persistent aroma? I believe I adore the base of cedar and vanilla, which create a warm, shifting sensation. I enjoy the luxury of this scent the same way I enjoyed the glorious scent of the old, orange Bain de Soleil tanning oil in the squeeze-out metal tube. Tocade has floral and tropical aromas with the same orangey/peachy characteristics as 24, Faubourg (and is by the same parfumer.) I'm surprised I like this as much as I do, but I really am fascinated.

Gorgeous. Woody, spicy, sweet, and yet delicate. Cinnamon, cardamom, and vanilla on a cedar base. The ceder is incredible--please take my word for it. It is breathtaking. Bois Oriental is tasty but neither edible nor candylike. Very pretty, blends well with the skin--a warm and versatile fragrance. Has a lovely, multi-faceted depth, like all of Serge Lutens fragrances. It shares some notes with the others, as if his palate uses the same ingredients in different ways, but this technique is a plus, because he has a line on some excellent ingredients. If Ambre Sultan is too strong for you, this one is sure to please.

Unusual, sophisticated, and enigmatic. There are days when nothing but Rochas Femme will do. Having smelled both the vintage and the new, I must say that I like the vintage formula better. Rochas Femme is a challenging but well-balanced old-school chypre. The old formulation avoids unnecessary sweetness.
Even in its new formulation, it is one of the last of its type still available in this venerable, old genre. The new formula has more of a syrupy, fruity, amber plus an up-front cumin, which throws the composition a little off-balance, yet it beats any one of the members of the army of chemical-smelling clones perfumes that make up the bulk of today's commercial market.

Wonderful, fruity, sweet, vanillic patchouli that both patchouli lovers and haters will agree upon. No matter how you feel about patchouli, you can enjoy this one. I suspect it has some peach or plum notes similar to Mauboussin, even though only patchouli, vanilla, and musk are listed. And it is a long-lasting oil, with no alcohol. Bravo.

I felt compelled to review this fragrance because it is credited for pioneering a genre of scents aimed at re-creating the aroma of water. It is frustrating that this house names all of its fragrances L'Eau D'Issey. I attempted to obtain a sample of the original, with lotus, freesia, and ambrox. There is a distinct cucumber overtone. I cannot say that I like this, because it is too chemical smelling. I do agree that it is clean and watery. If that is what you seek, you will find it here.

Tangy-sweet grapefruit and mango on an airy base, with a breath of dry frankincense, which I almost mistook for carnation. This is more sophisticated but less sweet than the playful Dolce & Gabana Light Blue and Moschino I Love Love, both of which are among my favorites in the fruity genre. Un Jardin Sur Le Nil is enjoyable and appropriate for either gender.

A "whoosh" of clean, aldehydic florals, featuring lily and a lovely apricot aroma on a light sandalwood and amber base. Created in 1927, L'Aimant must have been designed to let a woman's own scent shine through. Delicate, and retro. L'Aimant is a nice departure from the earthy and vegetal scents of the new era. Definitely worth a spritz; it might win your heart. I thought I would not like it, but I did.

Very sweet, vanilla, almond, almost milk chocolate. Too sweet for me, too much like candy. I won't say it smells bad, I just would not enjoy wearing it for long.

Mandragore - Annick Goutal
This a similar tart-sweet/dry-woody effect as Eau d'Hadrien. However, instead of lemon and cypres, it uses pepper, spearmint, and anise. I enjoy Mandragore, but not as much as the mouth-watering lemon of Eau d'Hadrien. The pepper or ginger is a bit overdone for my taste. This genre does offer a nice alternative to mainstream sweetness.

I have to be the dissenting vote here. I don't like this one, which is surprising because I like anise. However, I enjoy anise with an airy cedar base, not thick, sweet vanilla/amber. At this point, it becomes licorice syrup, which swallows up the violet. I much prefer Guerlain Apres L'Ondee, which is clean, rain-washed violet and anise. I also prefer L'Heure Bleu, which is a melancholy campherous anise, heliotrope, and carnation. Ayala Moriel also makes a great natural anise fragrance called Indigo.

Rose d'Ete is a summery apple and rose scent, nice but not the kind of perfume that I wear. I prefer Un Zeste de Rose, which smells like rose with iced tea and lemon as my summer rose scent. This is too fruity for me.

La Rose de Rosine is a straightforward violet and rose scent that is well-crafted, simple yet deep. I give it a neutral because I am not much of a plain rose--the fruitiness of it bothers me. I prefer the dried fruit and spice Poussiere de Rose and the patchouli of Une Folie de Rose.

Lily & Spice is one of my favorite lily fragrance so far. It smells live and realistic. The flower is sweet and spicy. Green leaves abound. A bit of patchouli gives it weight. The musk base makes it animalic and warm. Lily & Spice is enticing and natural, not soapy at all. It is a well-constructed, enjoyale perfume, sexy and becoming.

Cabotine is to the ginger lily what Fracas is to tuberose. Although it lists many fruits and florals among its notes, the perfume is soliflore in character. According to this several sources, the fragrance is based upon the ginger lily. Its scent was re-created using many ingredients, reportedly among them ginger, tangerine, tuberose, hyacinth, ylang-ylang, patchouli, and black currant. It is hard to determine which notes are in the perfume, because Cabotine comes on like a solid wall of single aroma, rather than a separate notes. I was surprised that I liked this as much as I did, just as I was surprised at how much I liked Fracas. It is unsubtle, but skillfully done.

Like putting on vanilla extract used for baking, with a bit of almond extract, too. It also smells a little like a cup of vanilla coffee with cream. Yum. I did find it edible, which makes it hard for me to wear, because I started obsessing about raw sugar cookie dough, which I will eat until I am sick. I wish I wasn't like this; it prevents me from wearing gourmand scents like other people.

Pretty violets and some rose. The opening violet notes were the most dramatic part of the development. Pretty, but simple, not deep and complex the way I like them. I expected more from Bulgari.

Tuberose, gardenia, and tonka. You bet, it's sweet. You bet, it's floral. It's not the type of perfume that I normally wear, but the dry-down is so exquisite, so smooth and warm that it impressed me. It keeps giving, hours later, growing softer and avoiding the harsh pitfalls of tuberose. For reference, another tuberose scents that I enjoy is Jil Sander4 with its vanilla base and Robert Piguet Fracas for bolder moments. Panthere is more wearable and enjoyable than Poison, which got all the publicity--no fair.

The notes say green apple, but the fruit comes across as grapefruit to me, with notes of bubblegum. No matter--these are man-made aromas, so any guess is as credible as the next. This is a great fruity scent, sweet and vanillic, tart and juicy at the same time. I find it soft and pretty, mellow and full, yet lively. For reference, my favorite citrus fragrances are Moschino I Love Love, which has a zesty, definite grapefruit note, and Montale Soleil de Capri, which has a natural-smelling citrus. Light Blue is another that I like, with its playful, mouth-watering, wad-of-bubblegum note.

I never wore this when it first came out; I didn't care for it then, but I thought I would try it again. White Linen smells like an old-fashioned aldyhydic floral minus the florals--soapy, cean, bright, and high-pitched. If I had to name any notes, I would say there is some nose-tickling carnation and dry cedar, but none of it smells natural to me. It smells like a chemical designed to nullify the scent of anything it touches. I concede that it does have the aroma of freshly laundered sheets, which is a good thing, but I prefer that aroma on fabric instead of skin.

It's not often that a fragrance stumps me, but this one does. I would have guessed that the formula was much older than 1972; it smells Old World. I think I smell the vetiver, plus a strange peach note, and lots of carnation. Also, there is a hint of the "green twigs" note similar to Dzonka, but indistinct. Is it too sophisicated for my nose? I can't say that I would choose this one for myself, but I do think it is interesting.

Fleurs de Rocaille is a retro aldehydic floral with a blend of flowers including magnolia and lily of the valley. Fascinating and unusual aroma. To me, it has a phantom note that smells like fruit punch, but is almost spicy. Clean, a bit soapy, with an up-lifting feeling. Not the least bit heavy. If you like Caleche, you should like this as it is much more interesting.

At first this seemed like a good rose fragrance--something any rose lover would love, but nothing special. How wrong I was. The base makes all the difference. As it dries down, the musk steps out of hinding, and it is dirty, not as dirty as Ava Luxe Rasa Extreme, but definitely animalic. A teriffic rose scent, long-lasting, with good sillage, warm and organic.

Quelque Fleurs translates literally into "some flowers" but figuratively into "whatever flowers" with the implication that this is a casual assortment, not a formal arrangement. As the story goes, there are supposed to be 313 flowers in this fragrance. Indeed there are many; and this is a perfume for floral lovers. The ones that stand out most to me are lily, orange blossom, carnation, and tuberose, but none of them drown out the others. Each accepts its space graciously, and allows infringment by the others, resulting in a big but surprisingly light and elegant bouquet. I like this, but I don't love it, as I wear mostly woody scents. If you love multi-florals, though, this is a good one.

Lost, lost forever--the fragrance that started a whole olfactive family, the chypres. Created in 1917 and reportedly discontinued permanently in the 1980s, people can now only wonder how a chypre is supposed to smell. Actually, it is quite different and in many ways better than the new genre. This vintage sample I am wearing is difficult to deciper because, after so many years in the bottle, the notes are stewed together. The overall impression starts out green and spicy, sage coupled with bergamot. Then a big, round, floral heart emerges, with rose and jasmine, followed by a base with a huge dollop of oakmoss (now restricted in perfumery). The whole is well-sweetened with labdanum. Any perfumer who thinks he or she can make a chypre by putting together clashing notes has missed the point and should smell this mellow beauty. There are no sharp edges. The whole is warm, earthy, sweet, musty, smooth, and powerful. To me, it has a distinctly golden aroma, like dried fruit in the sun. Devastatingly beautiful.

Starts with a refreshing breath of spearmint that is (thankfully) grassy and woody rather than chewing-gum sweet. Coupled with a gentle blend of grapefruit, jasmine, and green tea, it offers a perfect fragrance for hot weather--but that's not all. The base is what makes it special. Ambrette seed and osmanthus give it the aroma of warm skin. I even pick up a haylike note that is beautiful. This is not a simple fragrance, even thought it is straightforward. I would also consider it unisex.

White Potion is a full, rich floral with well-incorporated fruity notes. Has the fascinating vintage characteristic of all notes moving together in unison to create an aroma that is different from any note in particular. I can pick out the grapefruit, gardenia, and coconut because they are listed (all favorite notes of mine) but the tuberose and ylang-ylang are also bewitching. Nothing stands out and calls attention to itself. This well-crafted perfume should have great popular appeal. Soft, pretty, far superior to the floral blends that sell so well in the commercial market. Deserves more recognition.

I tried this because I was curious about shiso. It smells herbal, live and green, spicy and delectable. It pairs nicely with evergreen notes; therefore, it is presented with cedar and juniper. Tangerine leads the way into this fragrance and gives is a citrus edge, along with lemony verbena. Woody vetiver is apparent in the base. Overall, the fragrance is a bit too light for me. It is the scent of the needles and the wood of the tree, but not much below the trunk. I wonder if more earthy patchouli would allow this little tree to grow. But then, it would no longer be a miniature bonsai.

Lovender is as true as true can be to the actual flower. Breathtaking, clean, not soapy (the downfall of many lavendar fragrances). Neither harsh nor bitter, but "zoom!" aromatic like pinching blossoms off the plant and crushing them between your fingers and breathing the rush of herbal freshness. This is real lavender, a real natural ingredient, so it isn't long before it succumbs to the vanilla and sandalwood base, but the drydown is exquisite. Sweet, herbal, diffusive, vanillic. Absolutely delicious. FBW and I will buy some. Relaxing, meditative, mesmerizing, soporific as the ultraviolet flower itself. Hallelujah, I found a lavender perfume.

Yasmin - This is NOT a good jasmine. It is a GREAT jasmine. I can't think of enough complimentary words to say about it. Highest marks for a jasmine soliflore. I used to hate jasmine because of a horrible experience involving a cheap bottle of head shop essential oil, which I accidentally spilled. It is only because of my recent exposure to high-quality jasmine that I have forgiven this note. Incase you wonder where my tastes lie, I like Montale Jasmin Full, too. The Montale is paired with orange blossom, but Yasmin has a better partner. Gardenia is the accompanying note. Gorgeous, rich, full gardenia and jasmine--like putting your nose straight into the soft, cool flower petals and inhaling until you pass out from bliss. Ecstatic jasmine. I'm going to buy some of this. Enough said.

Move over, Jicky. I'm going to get into trouble for saying this, but I prefer L'Herbe Rouge to Jicky. Admittedly, I am not comparing them side-by-side, nor am I claiming that they smell alike. Jicky has more animalic, leathery notes.
However, both are lemon-lavender-hay-amber fougeres. Whereas one has undergone centuries of adjustments in its manufacturing process, the other is a new, all-natural, handmade fragrance. L'Herbe Rouge smells zingier, more spirited, more alive. It is full of grasses, hay absolute, lemongrass, lavendar, even vetiver, plus red carnation. This results in a three-dimensional aroma that is the hallmark of quality ingredients. It isn't creamy or leathery like Jicky, but it sure takes you outdoors.
At first, it smells of lemon, but it changed slowly and surely until I wondered if I had accidentally applied it over something else--something deeper, sweeter, woodier.
The grasses are rustling in the dry wind. A haystack dries to sweetness in the sun. The herbs are crushed underfoot. A meadowlark sings on a fencepost. It is late summer, and I am outside. The different notes move around, unlike a "wall of fragrance" that signifies cheap perfume.
This is listed as a men's fragrance but, like Jicky, that should not deter women from wearing it.

Opens with an anise note and spicy mace. Then Sagittarius moves toward a fruitiness that I cannot explain. It is deep, spicy, woody, tart, and fruity. Somehow I cannot get a clear read on the listed notes. This doesn't usually happen to me. Champaca, hyacinth, and carnation provide the floral heart. Perhaps the fruitness comes from here, and from the black tea in the base. Fir and spikenard are basenotes, possibly giving it woodiness and sweetness, respectively. This is a highly unusual fragrance that must be worn to be appreciated. It is probably not the best on me, but I could imagine it working in a big way on the right person.

Tonka-lovers alert! A whiff of galbanum segues into orange (clementine, actually) and then sweetens into a tonka and rose combination that is citrusy, pretty and smooooooooth as only tonka can be. The best thing about it is that you know you are smelling real tonka and rose, not some chemist's idea of how they should smell. So, if you crave a fruity floral with a tonka base, you owe it to yourself to try this one. The zodiac fragrance line is being discontinued. Too bad. It is a great selection of fragrances with a wide of variety of olfactive families. Still availalbe by special order, however.

This is unusual, captivating, and addictive. It is airy, dry, citrusy, and extremely woody. It grows sweeter and deeper with wearing. I see this as a great unisex fragrance. The closest impression to something that you may already have smelled is Annick Goutal Eau D'Hadrien, with its wonderful lemon + cypress notes. (Note to Americans: this is a challenge to put away your "Lemon Pledge" associations.) Virgo focuses on the woodiness instead of the citrus, and it eventually incorporates sweetness, whereas Eau D'Hadrien is a mouth-watering, drinkable, tart lemon. The beauty lies in the all-natural ingredients. What you smell are the uplifting scents of complex, natural substances that have pleased mankind for millenia. I own this. I highly recommend it. Word of caution: the entire line of zodiac fragrances has been discontinued, but they are still available anytime upon request by special order.

Just say "rose + patchouli" and I'm there. It's a marriage made in heaven, if you ask me. Add some mellow tangerine and vanilla, and Taurus becomes a sweet, delightful version of this dynamic duo. More edible than Voleur de Rose, Taurus has a yummy orange and a chocolatey patchouli. Probably the most easily acceptable rose + patchouli fragrance that I have tried so far. So, if you like the combination but have a problem with overwhelming rose or patchouli notes (and it is easy to overdo those two notes) here is the perfect presentation. This perfume is part of a discontinued line of zodiac fragrances, but Ayala Moriel maintains all of her formulas and ingredients and can make a batch for you on special order.

My daughter has this big, bluish juice in a large, square, glass splash bottle. I love that bottle, and I love that color. The fragrance is nice on her (she is a teenager) but I dislike it on myself.
Rain starts off cool and smooth, almost slick, like the sheets of water that pour off surfaces when the downpour begins. There is a cucumber-like note that makes me think of water. Quickly it becomes too fruity, with lots of strawberry and a blend of tropical fruits. This where I stop interpreting this scent as aquatic at all.
Overall, in the perfume industry, I have a problem with hyped-up, imaginary notes such as "wet cut grass," "tropical rain accord," and "sunshine flower." It makes me suspect that the entire fragrance is made of chemicals, with nothing real like hay, orange blossom, or lotus. The sad thing is, real rain is real water.

Perfect example of why I don't wear gourmands. I become Pavlov's Dog and drool on my own arm. Vanilla, licorice, beeswax, almond, and an unlisted coconut note--all favorite flavors of mine--plus the deep sweetness of a Serge Lutens fragrance. Stop, you're killing me. I have to go raid the candy jar now.

I was stricken with great nostalgia upon first smelling this fragrance. Perhaps I was exposed to some exceptional ylang-ylang based perfumes in my youth, but, sadly, I never knew their names. I was taken back by the heavy, sweet, creamy, fruity, boozy fullness of Coralle. This is delicious, heady, and intoxicating. It touches a chord of satisfaction in me. Coralle smells like a mysterious liquid that I would drink, which would cause me to become drunk and euphoric, like a brandy snifter full of sweet, fragrant, golden-red liquid. It is a spoonful of magic elixer from an old-fashined brown glass bottle.

The linden flower deserves much more appreciation in perfumery. Here it finally gets its due reward. Tirzah is a lightly citrus, relatively non-sweet, gently green floral. It smells genuinely outdoorsy. One hallmark of Ayala's perfumes is how CLEAN they smell--no harsh topnotes, no chemical afterburn. It is easy to forget one is wearing this, because it smells so natural. This fragrance captures the unusual and beautiful fragance of this particular tree in bloom. In my area of the world, however, the linden trees smell much sweeter and stronger (almost overpowering). My expectations caused me to look for more honeyed sweetness in the base. Nevertheless, it is a wonderful interpretation--unique, refreshing, and unisex, too.

Ummm. Jasmine. Where would perfumery be without it? And yet, it subjugates itself to the tinkerings of creative perfumers, often forming the backbone of the fragrance, covered by various topnotes and undermined by assorted basenotes. This is why I was unsure how a good jasmine smelled, even after smelling hundreds of perfumes. I do not usually wear soliflores, but I am changing my ways, and this perfume is one of the reasons.
My first jasmine experience occurred in the form of cheap head shop essential oil, which unfortunately spilled and ruined me on the note for decades. As harsh and unyielding as a brick wall, that cheap oil also ruined me on anise (which it resembled in large doses.)
Finally, I worked up enough nerve to try Jasmin Full, which was recommended by the esteemed Maisonstinky, who claimed that it smelled like the jasmine trees in bloom in his childhood memories. I believe him. Montale has paired this floral with orange blossom, creating a delicious, three-dimnensional jasmine that wafts on a breeze, strong but soft, penetrating but gentle. It takes you right out to the trees. The best endorsement I can offer? I had a headache when my sample came in the mail. I put it on, and my headache disappeared.

Named not merely Omniscient, but zero-point-nine-six. How pretentious. Much ado about not much. I smell pepper and cedar, followed by mint, and then this fragrance sweetens into murkiness. I try to imagine flavored pipe tobacco, but I'd rather bury my nose in a real bag of fresh pipe tobacco. Sorry, but it doesn't live up to its hype.

This is one of the most realistic gardenia fragrance I have ever smelled. First comes the galbanum top note (and I love galbanum) which is then overtaken by pepper. (Who would have thought to use that in gardenia?) The heart consists of a sumptuous but admirably delicate blend of florals (jasmine and tuberose are listed.) And the whole is tucked in by root-scented angelica and green, dusty chrysanthemum. It smells like a live gardenia with green leaves and dirt still hanging off the roots. I am impressed. Having said that, I wonder if I would appreciate it more as art or as perfume. I ask myself, would I tire of the rooty, dusty notes? In the long run, would a completely floral gardenia be more wearable? If you have this, please clue me in after a year or so.

Dispite the many notes in this fragrance, I mainly pick up the terragon. That is fine with me because I like terragon (and anise for that matter.) Here it presents itself as woody and semi-sweet, which is extremely nice. It is rounded off by a smooth, subtle vanilla-like note. This is beautiful, but not terribly long-lasting on me.

There is a wealth of notes in Genevieve, but I mainly pick up a fruity floral, with raspberry and rose, sweetened by a nice musk base that is just animalic enough to make this more interesting than most fruity florals. It is good for a fruity floral, and it gets better with wearing.

Don’t like this one. Clove, carnation (fine so far) and something campherous or medicinal. It smells the way the anesthetic tastes that the dentist swabs on your gums before using the novocaine injection. Sorry, but I can’t shake this bad association.

This one is smooth vanilla and coconut, sweet, sunny tropical fragrance, and a happy vacation on the beach. It goes as far as possible in the opposite direction from Midnight Violet, which is dark, earthy, serious, and sensuous. Pleasing, pretty, but not a bold statement-maker.

(This review is for Rasa Extreme.) Smells like s--- and honey. Smells like, “Who s--- in the rose garden? “ Smells like the sweet scent of one’s own s---. I don’t know why I would buy this when I can just... Never mind. It becomes a nice-smelling, warm, dirty rose after two hours. Before that, I’m not brave enough to wear this in public. After that, it is really good. I wonder if I would like plain Rasa better--or If I would complain that it isn't dirty enough?

Sweet flowers and lime, a combination that creates a likeable fruity floral that is better than many mainstream scents for young women. Fun, pleasant, but conventional--especially for a Madini.

A great little apricot fragrance with some fresh greenness. I know it is supposed to be mango, but I think it is a perfectly delicious apricot. Simple, straightforward, and cheerful. I don't usually wear "fruit soliflores" so I give it a neutral, but it is tasty.

Lavendar, citrus, and herbs combine to create a sun-drenched Mediterranean hillside. Nice, mild, and it manages to avoid the common pitfalls of lavendar scents that end up smelling like bars of soap. More subtle than most Madinis. I know they can make them stronger. This one deserves more oomph.

Smooth floral and fruit blend. These smell the way my favorite Tropical Fruit Lifesavers taste—the flavors that I save for myself—mango/payaya, banana, and coconut. There must be a little earth in this Water. I think the fruit is grounded by a hint of patchouli. This is a fairly quiet fragrance compared to most Madinis. Nice, but could use more projection.

Listed as "citrus with a fruity and playful bouquet." One can only guess at the notes. I smell the same great, woody orange blossom note featured in Azahar, only here it is softer and a bit candylike. Try them both. I love Azahar, but if it is “too-too” for you, Tajali should win you over.

A big, sweet, deep bouquet of lillies. An exceedingly pleasant and subtly complex blend of flowers galore. (I also smell a fascinating orange note.) Dispite their abundance, the lillies do not smell realistic but rather, like those of a dreamworld. Quite enjoyable fragrance.

Light, woody rose. Airy and unisex. Billed as a simple rose and sandalwood fragrance, there is perhaps some cedar, or musk, too. This little beauty avoids all of the usual pitfalls of rose scents that make them end up smelling like bathroom deodorant spray--it is not too heavy, nor too fruity, and it never turns dusty or sneezy. The tradeoff is that its development is not as flamboyant as many of the Madinis, but the scent persists for a long time. Very nice from start to finish.

I like Shadow alot. It is a cross between a fresh fougere and a leathery chypre. It beats many of the deparment store men's fragrances. Fresh, clean, soapy like a shaving kit, yet earthy and sweet all at once, it is described by Madini as "smoky, leathery notes over a green fougere base." I smell lavender, citrus, herbs, and patchouli. It reminds me of the powerful men's scents of a bygone era, like Aramis and Safari. My favorite part is the cleverly integrated patchouli in the base, completely intertwined with the deadly sweetness of the fougere. (Oh, how I love a well-done patchouli note.) This fragrance is a lovely chartreuse color in the bottle. I imagine it as a phosphorescent, green, glowing swamp flower

I have a hard time finding a good sandalwood fragrance. Sandalwood is in danger of being overharvested, so most fragrances by that name contain only a hint of this rare ingredient, which is then shored up by supporting notes. Some would call this adulteration, but it is necessary--or the real thing would cost a fortune. If the sandalwood actually smells strong and diffusive, it is most likely a chemical substitute. My favorites so far are Etro Sandalo, for a straightforward santal, myrrh, amber fragrance; Lorenzo Villoresi for a complicated, herbal, woody, rose, vetiver composition; and the streamlined Tam Dao aroma of cut lumber and rosewood. Also enjoyable are Maitre Parfumeur et Gantier Santal Noble for the syrupy amber and santal combo; and (for educational purposes of how unadorned sandal wood should smell) Madini's simple, smoky Santal Blanc.
On a paper strip, TBS Woody Sandalwood is too spicy, dominated by clove and cinnamon. I rejected it outright but decided to put some on my arm for good measure. After I took a shower, it was infinitely more acceptable--even beautiful--when the hot water washed off the spices and brought out the warm wood. I bought a bottle but ultimately ended up disappointed with the candy-like tones of the spice and the rather flat sandalwood. On one hand, I loved the woodiness; but on the other hand, I detected a hint of root-beer. I think that the woodiness I found so attractive was actually a sweetened patchouli note (which sometimes reminds me of sassafras.) It was the patchouli that won me over. This is a fine, inexpensive, easily available fragrance, but there are better sandalwoods to be found.

Jil Sander #4 is like a softer-edged version of Estee Lauder Knowing. It has the same woodiness, the same tuberose, moss, patchouli, and musk. But it starts with a fabulous green opening note, and then introductrs a beautiful peach or plum fruit, while Knowing is more orangey.
The vanilla in the drydown is the main difference between the two. Knowing is clearer, with emphasis on the patchouli, while #4 is creamy and much more vanillic. Both of them have a nice, soft finish, with Knowing being more powdery and long-lasting.
I have loved Knowing for a long time. It is strong, though. If I overapply, I get a bit of a pushy, overdone, chemical smell. #4 smells similar, but without the danger of overdose. Very nice.

A rose by any other name—would not be Guerlain. Nahema took me by surprise. It was described as a “big” rose, so I automatically expected a big, sweet, wet rose, dripping with honey and fruitiness, but it wasn't.
Nahema is powdery. But sweet? Not immediately. To be sure, there are vanilla and tonka lurking in the base, waiting to sweeten the fragrance as time goes by, but these are usually clear notes, and the overall effect of Nahema is of a “gauzy” rose, out of focus, covered under a veil of semi-transperancy.
For quite some time, Nahema is surprisingly woody. Imagine that! A woody, powdery peach; a dusty rose. The rose never presents itself apart form the peach, it is a constantly peachy rose. My daughter commented that it reminds her of peach incense. This is the dry aspect of Nahema. (It it is not the least bit smoky.)
And it is persistent. Here is where Nahema earns its “big” rose reputation. Once the powdery, peachy rose establishes itself, there is no turning back. No other notes overtake this accord. It remains strong and true to itself until the last petals fall away.
It has the "green" sweetness provided by Guerlain's hyacinth note, which I love. (I smelled this next to a live hyacinth in bloom, and it captures that wild, springlike freshness in both Chamade and Nahema.)
Nahema is like an old-fashioned box of ladies’ face powder—the loose, peach/flesh colored powder with the aroma of cosmetics. Imagine a well-dressed woman standing at a department store cosmetics counter, surrounded by mirrors. She opens a box and applies her powder, using a fluffy powder puff. A little haze of dust arises around her face. Then she shuts the box too quickly and, “poof!” A small cloud of powder explodes and settles slowly. That is Nahema to me.
When the powder is gone, there remains the most tender, peach gummy bear candy—or a soft little piece of rose flavored loukoum. Oh! Guerlain peach. Oh!

The door opens on a dusky, blue-violet car. Anise is in control of the steering wheel. Violet is sitting quietly on the passenger's side. Tonka and Vanilla are overflowing from the back seat.
Anise drives very fast. Wowee! Florals are flying past the windows in a glorious blur of color.
We stop and pick up one of my favorites, Heliotrope, with its elusive PlayDoh note.
He has been on the road for awhile and hasn't bathed. His aroma is filling the car. Violet doesn't approve of picking up hitchhikers, especially big, strong ones.
"I am starting to feel faint, she says."
It is getting dark, and soon nobody can see anything, but the smells are still whizzing by, blowing in the windows as we drive full-strength, full-speed ahead.
L'Heure Bleue is one of the world's most exciting scents. Enigmatic and thought-provoking, it dares you to formulate a strong opinion of it. Can anyone say, "Oh, it's O.K. but it's kind of blah," or "I don't
remember if I tried that one?”
Meanwhile, back at the car, Anise sees Carnation hitchiking. He pulls over.
"No," says Violet. "Don't pick him up. There isn't any more room."
"Aw, come on," argues Anise. "Let's do it."
Vanilla, Tonka, and Heliotrope agree. They form a unified opinion. Violet is the odd vote, and the odd note.
"I'm leaving," she declares. "Let me out."
Carnation piles in. They roar down the road at full throttle, into the dusk, trailing their mingled aroma behind them.
It is dark; it is too late to walk home. Violet cries by the side of the road.

The door opens on a greyish- purple car. Its interior emits a rush of violet and wood aromas, sweet and fresh like rain. The anise is exceedingly fine and mellow--nothing syrupy or icorice-like.) The violet is realistic and fruity, natural and cool.
These two notes dominate Après L'Ondée throughout its development--one on either side--pulling right and left on the steering wheel.
The car begins its drive. We pass through tangy, sunny Bergamotville.
We gaze out the windows as we drive through Flower County toward the city of Vanilla, through its outlying towns of Carnation and Iris. We catch a glimpse of the hidden villages of Neroli and Jasmine.
Violet and Anise drive slowly along the wet streets through showers of rain interspersed with sunshine and floral breezes.
Too soon, the trip has ended, and we pull into Vanilla. It is a drive that I would gladly take every morning.

Jicky offers a creamy lemon, the sweet notes swirling around the dry notes like marbled lemon sorbet and vanilla ice cream. Its leather makes itself known early, and (together with the civit, which is mellow and agreeable) envelops the wearer like a suade blanket. This seems to be a hallmark of a number of classic fragrances (like Jolie Madame, Cuir de Russie, and Miss Dior) which made them so much more fun to wear than most of today's polite, mass-marketed offerings.
Jicky's delicious lemon is supported by mandarin, grounded by patchouli, and enlivened by a bit of jasmine and rose, but the florals which come close to matching the power of the citrus. Vetiver provides some dryness, but vanilla wins overall, creating a fragrance that gradually fades and sinks into smooth sweetness.

Starts out crisp, with a distinctly juicy, tangy lemon, on the whole rather natural, supported by verbena and neroli. It is light but strong, with a lifting feeling, very open. The additional flora of lemonly geranium, spicy carnation, green myrtle and coriander are subtle and never overshadow the citrus. Animalic properties creep in gently as time goes by, in the form of musk. Together with the petitgrain, patcouli and myrtle, they create a woodsy, earthy, accord that is quite wild and attractive. The whole is gently sweetend with a little amber, never too sweet, as the fragrance gradually dries and rises into air.

Mauboussin is a rich, sweet Oriental based on creamy peach, bolstered by deep vanilla and patchouli. Imagine a bowl holding an overripe peach--soft, dark orange, bursting at the skin and falling off the pit. Pour on top of it rich cream, add a lot of pure vanilla, and a good deal of sugar. But wait, before it becomes edible, imagine the addition of a well-balanced dose of patchouli, as if the bowl, itself, were wooden. That is Maouboussin. It is like Coco, but less clear and golden, more opaque and creamy. Instead of clove, the sweetness comes from vanilla. Instead of a tree-ripened peach, the fruit is windfall on the ground, ready for winemaking. And when the peach finally fades away, a beautiful, sweet, patchouli-scented vanilla carries on for many hours. I'm a sucker for peach, and this one is just right for me.

Soir de Lune is, in my opinion, one of the New Chypres, and one with good development and an interesting juxtapostition of seemingling contradictory notes. The opening is the attractive note of pimento, sharp and somewhat salty, but it is paired with rose, creating the Chypre effect of dried roses. Soon, a dusty, sweet powder--with hints of honey and peach--emerges, and this is my favorite part. It rests against a moss and citrus combination that returns the fragrance to its tangy, dry orientation. the development is neither linear nor dramatically changing. Rather, it is circular, causing the wearer to pick up notes over and over, sometimes the sweet ones poking out, then being overtaken by the dry ones or the tangy ones. This is a perfume that doesn't beg to be loved, instead it confidently calls the wearer to return.

The name "Asja" announces the presence of an Oriental like a banner waving. Fortunately, it lives up to the big expectations of its name. Here is a spicy Oriental that manages to smell expensive and restrained, different from so many others, even while sharing notes with them. Cinnamon (along with vanilla) give it immediate likeability. There must be more spices than this, perhaps clove (one of my favorites) but far less heavy-handed than the dose in Coco (which I love.)
The fruit is divine: raspberry, apricot, peach, and bergamot. What a successful combination of aromas. All of it is accomplished without ending up smelling like a fruit salad. Asja is classy, like a glass of wine cordial, or a fruit liquor, with an "aged," blended, "fermented" characteristic that makes it simultaneously strong and mellow.
This fruity, spicy Oriental shows great restraint in terms of sweetness. Maybe that is what makes it unique. The bottle is gorgeous, a work of art, like black and gold laquored rice bowls.

I love roses. These are sweet and wonderful. And I especially love them whenever they include any wood notes, because it increases their lasting power and gives them some earthiness and warmth.
Rose + patchouli is one of my favorite combinations of all time, so I'm always looking for variations on the theme, and this one is scrumptious.
Nowhere near the heavy dollop of patchouli as in Voleur de Rose, and not even close to that of the sweeter, more feminine Une Folie de Rose, this little beauty is almost ediby sweet.
Rose Absolu opens with a delicious cinnamon note and quickly reveals its base of vanilla-like tonka. Within this deliciousness rests a huge, fabulous blend of Turkish, Bulgarian, and Moroccan rose absolutes. This perfume is much more opulent than the other rose + patchouli fragrances mentioned. It is sweet, deep, rich, smooth, and dessert-like. Honeyed roses hold a hint of patchouli that never overcomes either the roses or the sweetness. It is only later that the patchouli issues forth, creeping delicately through the tonka, and making its presence known mainly because of its contribution to the lasting power of this fragrance, which is excellent.
So, if the beauty of rose + patchouli attracts you, but you have had little luck due to the strength, mustiness, or harshness of the patchouli, I say, "Look! I found one for you."

This fragrance is a major discovery, like an archeological dig unearthing a Pharoah's tomb. I can see why bottles of Djedi are selling for $500 and $1,000 on ebay. There is nothing else like it. I'm not going to tell you that it is beautiful. It is arresting. It is stunning. It is majestic. But it is not pretty. If you find "challenging" fragrances unpleasant, don't go near this one with a ten-foot pole. If you yearn for a true fragrance experience, you will be amply rewarded. Djedi leaves all the the others behind in the dust as far as the Goth factor goes.
In comparison, Voleur de Rose seems natural, like garden soil and dead-headed roses. Messe de Minuit seems familiar, like a poor, old church. Vol de Nuit seems dry and austere but pretty. L'Heure Bleu is a bit melancholy like a lonely old schoolteacher. And Mitsouko is downright tasty, all things relative.
So, what does Djedi smell like? Why is it so compelling and sought-after? I must return to my archeological dig metaphor.
Phase One: The top note smells like dirt. It is probably vetiver and/or orris root, but it is very earthy, like shovelfulls of dense clay, full of minerals. One can imagine the door to the Pharoah's tomb opening and surrounded by air that is thousands of years old, so--extremely--dry, not one hint of sweetness or life, only stillness, silence, and an oppressive feeling.
Phase Two: Now comes my favorite part. It is brief, so look for it quickly. Oakmoss, some spices, a few faint florals and--powder. There it is! The Guerlain signature scent. Yes, this is a perfume--proud, dignified, and astounding. Ancient, dry, austere, and forbidding, Djedi is still meant to be worn.
Phase Three: Then it lapses into its final, lengthy phase, as captivating as the first two but long-lasting. A growing mustiness overtakes all other notes. It is heavy, sad, and decidedly animalic. It is bitter, strangely herbal, old leathery, and full of civit at it very strongest. I know people who discern civit best in the opening notes of a fragrance, not as it has been listed as a base note. I can understand why. Although civit is persistent (we all have our cat stories to prove it) it can quickly be blended into heavy florals and spices. In Djedi, there is no such coverup occurring. At this point, it smells like a big, old, haunted house, an underground tomb, some dark, dank place of great tragedy.
How to they make this perfume? Incredible.

I liked this one because it is different. I'm always up for a green fragrance that is not citrusy, soapy, or sweet. However, to make such a scent pleasant and wearable is a difficult task to accomplish.
This is positively vegetal. I smell violet leaf, plus a lot of unmentioned notes such as celery, green pepper, maybe tomato leaf, and perhaps even vetiver.
It is uncompromisingly green, which I find odd for a fragrance named for winter. I am fascinated by it. It does accomplish the goal of being pleasant. I would have to try it for an extensive amount of time before I decide how much I would like to smell vegetal.

Too strong. Very clovy, almost licorice-like. And I like clove and licorice. Perhaps it is too manly for me. Anyway, guys, give it a try. Ladies, I doubt this would appeal to you, but go ahead and prove me wrong.

This came across as fairly masculine to me, the clove was dominant, and perhaps joined by some black pepper. I do like clove, but I prefer its sweet, fruity presentation in Coco, because that one is more feminine. I would recommend this one as a spicy scent for men, but it is too butch for me. For awhile, I considered crossing over into men's fragrances, but many of them are too different from what I am accustomed to wearing. I believe they are compositionally at odds with womens' fragrances, and it is unfair to judge them according to the same standards. This would be akin to asking a man to give high ratings to a vanilla-based women's fragrance that he would never wear, when he prefers lavendar and lemon. Therefore, I give it a neutral rating.

I usually give Lorenzo Villoresi high marks for development--as evidenced by the orchestration of notes in Sandalo (from herbal lavendar, through tangy vetiver, through rose and sandalwood, to sweet amber) and Yerbamate (from citrus to rosewood to a plethora of greens and a bit of smoke, to delicate powder) so I expected the same from Piper Nigrum. It did not behave similarly; it started with a ton of black pepper which trailed off somewhat but still remained the dominant note from start to finish. I like black pepper, but this one had too much of a presence for me.

I am going to steal a phrase from my friend, Kumquat, who owns this fragrance and let me try it. She says "It smells like walking into a flower shop." Indeed it does. I am not getting any of the listed notes in particular, except maybe moss and flowers. I compared it to a vial of very beautiful linden blossom essential oil and could see some similarities.
The entire impression is very green, mildly woody, and white floral. It is strong, but soft. It has great lasting power. And it is has distinction--it is different from other perfumes on the market. Excellent composition.

Autumn is described as a blend of Arabian spices. It starts with a bit of lemon peel then sweet, ground spices. It is calmer, lighter, and less intensely sweet than Serge Lutens Arabie. I find it fruity, almost candylike, and very youthful.

This is one of Madini's unusual dry, spicy, citrusy scents. Soulimane is a complex mix of sunny, dry, lemony, fresh ingredients that impress me as clean, soapy, and spicy, like the esteemed Etro Shaal Nur, which recalls the freshness of a man's shaving kit. The list of ingredients is long, including artemesia, coriander, citron, cinnamon, jasmine, clove, carnation, amber, and vanilla.

Salma is described as an ancient Saudi blend of spices and amber. It is spicy, fruity, airy, and clean. The best part is a truly fascinating spicy peach or melon in the base--even though it is not listed as a note. One of favorite Madini oils.

Do not look for any sweetness in this fragrance, which is a highly unusual offering from Madini's line of traditional Arabian perfumes. Hanane smells like nothing you have ever smelled before. The dark, reddish liquid is strong, pungent, deep, salty, mossy, complex, bittersweet, redolent of dried leaves, and very woody. It is described as a Balsamic composition with a long list of ingredients including, galbanum, tuberose, red rose, jasmine, clove, sandalwood, patchouli, amber, and musk, but it smells like none of these. The development is clever, and it becomes more attractive as you wear it, ending up smelling very outdoorsy, natural, and compelling.

Santal Blanc was the most unexpected fragrance among a group of Madini samples that I tried. Billed as sandalwood "nothing more, nothing less" it is light, dry, pungent, non-sweet, and earthy. If this is what real sandalwood smells like, I have received an education. It is too plain for me to conceive of as a fragrance in and of itself, but it does have its own simple elegance.

An unusual, dry scent in the Arabian tradition, offering little or no sweetness but strangely beautiful. Maderas de Orient is a great cedar fragrance, bittersweet, deep, well-blended, soft (but strong), and woody with a dusty finish. The notes feature Atlas cedar, Oriental woods, and Moroccan blossoms with hardly a touch of sweetness and very rewarding development on the skin.

One of Montale's unusual array of Eastern fragrances, Mokhalate Malaki is listed as an oud-chypre-rose-saffron fragrance, but it defies this description. There is a bitter, herbal, woody opening from the oud, followed by a green, fresh rush of "rain", a tangy rose, watery lotus, and perhaps a pungent flower like lilac. Must be tried on the skin to appreciate its unique beauty.

A great amber fragrance, sweet, vanillic, delicious, with clean musk and a little citrus. This is another of my favorites in Madini's line. It is similar to Olive Flowers, but forgoes the woody resin note. It is also like Sahara, my favorite, but a little less complex. This is gorgeous, smooth amber.

One of the unusual, exotic, un-sweet fragrances in the Madini line. This one comes out of the bottle dark green-black in color. It is sharp, tangy, clean, dry, warm, very earthy, and somewhat green. To me, it smells nothing like its description as a woody, musky, floral; rather more like green twigs and spruce needles and benefits from time to develop on the skin.

This is one of my favorite fragrances in the Madini line. Olive Flowers features a gorgeous, vanillic amber, citrus, and resin (frankincense and opoponax) and is billed as "Mr. Madini's answer to Shalimar." My first impression is of dried fruits, such as candied citrus peel, dark spices, and the woody, leathery, vanilla and lemon powder of Shalimar, so warm, and mysterious. If you want to try an all-natural, reasonably priced pure parfum with a wonderful amber base, give it a try.

Don't be mislead by the name of Henna. It is the henna flower that is featured, not the powdered leaves used for dye. This is a highly likeable, fruity (apple/mango), sweet, honeyed flower similar in some ways to Nag Champa. It is a thoroughly enjoyable fragrance.

Azahar is an orange blossom fragrance, but it incorporates an unusual herbal aroma to create an almost dry, soapy, clean presentation. The best part is a musty, resinous base note that elevates this fragrance beyond the typical sweetness that dominates most orange-blossom scents. This note is commonplace in Eastern fragrance/cuisine, yet it will impress us as bold and unique. It is one of my favorites in the whole line. All natural ingredients, skillfully blended, in the Arabic tradition.

Enchanting fragrance. Gorgeous on the skin. A mixture of myrrh, amber, and citron. The resin is smooth and woody, the amber is sweet, and the citron is mellow. This is an all-natural "vanilla" type Oriental, pure parfum in an oil base without any alcohol. It is every bit as enjoyable as Shalimar and Samsara--both of which I love. I would be tempted to list benzoin as an ingredient, also because of the sweet, diffusive nature of the base. I even suspect a hint of florals, some interesting, non-sweet flower. (The lists of ingredients on the Madini website for these fragrances appear suspicously truncated--as if the makers purposely wish to keep the formulas secret. Therefore, I want people to know, the fragrances smell more complex than they look.)

This is listed as a masculine fragrance on the Madini website, but it is also perfect for women. If you enjoy Serge Lutens Ambre Sultan, you will enjoy this and have a much easier time wearing it, because it is less spicy and showy. I am completely impressed by Sahara and will order a large bottle.

Good golly, this is one gorgeous grapefruit--bursting fresh from the peel (even though we know it is synthetic.) It lasts for hours, it stays perfectly true. Underneath is spice, listed as cinnamon leaves, but it comes across as something green and lovely like basil. This gets my hightest marks for a citrus scent. Truly fabulous.

The more I smell of vetiver, the more I learn abou this faascinating note. Just when I think Iknow what it smells like, I sample a different version and marvel at the contrast. This one threw me the most, because it was the simplest. For example, how much citrus aroma is due to the vetiver, and how much is added as supporting notes by the perfumer? How much harshness, smokiness, or spiciness for that matter? LIke all good L'Artisan fragrances, this one is clear, stripped of unnecessary flourishes. And the vetiver is clear, only mildly lemony, and without a trace of harshness. It is clean but not at all soapy. It is grassy but not even woody. This simple frangrance has taught me alot about what vetiver is, and even more about what it is not. Chances are, if you think you don't like vetiver, you just might be reacting to the supporting notes. Try this one--it could change your mind.

The more I smell of vetiver, the more I learn abou this faascinating note. Just when I think Iknow what it smells like, I sample a different version and marvel at the contrast. This one threw me the most, because it was the simplest. For example, how much citrus aroma is due to the vetiver, and how much is added as supporting notes by the perfumer? How much harshness, smokiness, or spiciness for that matter? LIke all good L'Artisan fragrances, this one is clear, stripped of unnecessary flourishes. And the vetiver is clear, only mildly lemony, and without a trace of harshness. It is clean but not at all soapy. It is grassy but not even woody. This simple frangrance has taught me alot about what vetiver is, and even more about what it is not. Chances are, if you think you don't like vetiver, you just might be reacting to the supporting notes. Try this one--it could change your mind.

This is a gorgeous amber fragrance, vanilla and spices (cinnamin and nutmeg) soft and pliable, fusing with the skin in one great sigh of comfort. I bury my nose in it and breathe deeply. The vanilla deliciousness of Shalimar, only lighter and without the lemon. An amber caress, sharing this particular characteristic of Chanel No. 5. Delicious, natural, and approachable. A teriffic scent. I take issue with the "extreme" in the title. Usually this term is associated with excess, but there is nothing overdone about this fragrance. It is mellow, agreeable, and appropriate for all ages and attitudes. In fact, I would prefer it stronger and more longer-lasting. Would that make it Amber Unattainable?

Now here is an original floral--tulip and narcissus, very clear and transparent, almost watery. STrong and heady like lilac, these flowers are see-through and ephemeral. I am seeing red, purple, and green--the flowers overlaid on leaves of galbanum. It is cool, there is still snow on the ground, but their strong, waxy petals poke into the spring air on hardy stalks. This is a must-smell for floral-lovers, quite stunning

Fresh, tangy pineapple, some sweet lemonade or orangeade, and a lovely touch of cedar. The top notes are delicious, fruity, and (yes) fizzy. Not very long-lasting, but fun and enjoyable.

A fresh, light, but strong fig leaf fragrance. Green and woody, with plenty of the realistic, pungent "sap." This smells like summer, like walking through an overgrown garden, snapping twigs and stems on the way, releasing the almost sneezy aroma of weeds and new plant growth. I cannot call it classicly "pretty" because it smells real and raw. I will say that it is beautiful because it smells wild and natural. Only at the end do I finally receive a more traditional perfume-like note of light, sweet powder. This fig-leaf note is revolutionary to the green family of fragrances.

This strikes me as a masculine fragrance. It is dry and smoky, with only a touch of sweetness. Cedar is the first note that I recognize. It is quite woody and outdoorsy. There is a smoky incense note that is soft yet persistent. A light sweetness occurs in the form of cardamom or peony, a bit green and sugary at the same time. The development is interesting, ending up like a warm, glowing ember on my skin, smoldering like green twigs in a campfire. This is an unusual, stand-out fragrance that has one of the best presentations of the smoke note.

Sawdust and feces at eh circus, like the description says. Sweet benzoin throughout, like a whiff of cotton candy. The castoreum is right out front, unadorned. Fecal notes do not deter me in a perfume; I find that animalic notes add to the attractiveness of a fragrance. However, these are the centerpiece of the fragrance. I wait for the development of something pretty, but all I get is sweet fecal notes. Later, some leather or latex creeps in. Overall Dzing smells like horses on me.

How refreshing--a spearmint perfume. I love spearmint, and it remains the dominant note throughout this fragrance. I also smell green tea and jasmine, one of my favorite teas. And the surprise finish which had me cheering? Powder. It dries to a nice powder. High marks for creativity--not for creating a "work of art" that is difficult to wear, but for creating the clearest, simplest presentation of mint in perfume imaginable. Brave--not bold. Unusual--not strange. Food for thought--olfactory, that is.

Lovely apricot fragrance, coupled with perfect gardenia, and a bit of freesia. All are favored notes of mine. This fragrance starts with a sweet-sour combination, moving toward sweetness and presented over an amber and sandalwood base. It is delicate and pleasing. Nothing sophisticated here, nothing complex to decipher, only an extremely wearable, likeable fragrance. Sometimes that is all one needs.

Mahora is the best tuberose fragrance I have ever smelled. It does not sit on my skin like most tuberose scents, screaming with treble notes. It goes on with all the sweetness of tuberose--plus more--neroli and jasmine and ylang-ylang. These are big, very sweet florals, but well-blended. Just when I think, "It's too smuch. It won't work, it is like all the others," something amazing happens. Instantly it drops down a notch, goes wide and smooth. A deep vanilla note sounds like a brass gong, pulling the treble down to bass. A hush falls over me. A tuberose that works, and works gloriously. Discontinued, sadly, tragically.

I have the honor, the divine pleasure, of trying vintage Chamade. I assure you, there is nothing like it on the market today. From the start, it exhibits a strength that is incredibly soft, or a softness that is incredibly strong. This is as integrated as a perfume can be; all the notes are joined in unity to create an entity whose sum is greater than its parts. If I had to name one note, it must be hyacinth. If this is hyacinth, than I am a hyacinth fan forever. Also ylang-ylang, and an underlying smooth sweetness, like vanilla and spice. Chamade smells like spring in perfume form. It is like a lilac bush in full bloom, poignant and insistent. The masses of heady, ethereal blossoms are so powerful but so natural that they can be inhaled fully without becoming overwhelming. I don't want to think about the reformulations, but if I ever get a chance to find the current parfum, and it smells anything like the vintage, it shall be mine.

The parfum is out-of-this-world. I never used to understand why people liked this fragrance--the EDT was lost on me soon after application. That was before the pure parfum graced me with its presence. Deep, deep vanilla. Smooth, extravagent vanilla. At the onset is a well-balanced citrus note. The sweet vanilla it is tempered by a woody, resinous note that brings it out of cookie land and clearly into the Oriental realm. The warmth is palpable. Yet that cold, bitter note stands like a stone in counterpoint to the rich sweetness. The drydown is pure, rich, creamy, and sweet, sinking deep into the skin. Opulent yet comfortable. This fragrance deserves its popularity.

Does a Purplebird love a Purple Fantasy? There must be some truth to color analysis because the answer is, yes!
This sends me to the rafters. An exemplary apricot and sandalwood fragrance. I am sniffing every molecule off my hand. Opens with a fragrant note of green tea with jasmine, coupled with osmanthus and apricot (I describe both notes because they both occur support eachother.) There must be an exotic coconut note working some magic in this formula. The whole is buoyed by a perfect, elegant sandalwood base. I can hardly describe how adddictive this is. It just grows and blossoms as one wears it. The quality is evident. This is deep and three-dimensional. Wouldn't you know, this is hard to find? Why do I have to fall for a perfume that I cannot buy? It was was created in limited edition in 2001 by Jean Paul Guerlain, and reissued in 2005 in Paris. I can only locate a tiny one-ounce bottle of EDT concentration. Purple Fantasy is a dream come true. But, like most dreams, I wake up, and it eluded my grasp.

An Oriental type of fragrance, made with natural essences distilled without solvents. It has an unusual, dense aroma featuring strange resins, like all of the fragrances in this line. The vanilla steps forward with its comforting identifiable presence along with some sweet cardamom. Lilac and ylang-ylang are supposed to be in here, and they add a certain pungence but not actually a floral influence. This is strangely delicious, and one of my favoritest in the line.

This is my favorite of the Strange Invisible Perfumes. Fair Verona is a resin fragrance with lemony jasmine. It features citruses, mimosa, sandalwood, and jasmines. There is a particularly attractive resin in this, and it is well-matched to the citrus. These are natural essences distilled without solvents, so their aroma is different than one would expect. The citrus is not sharp or sour, but rather like candied lemon peel. The jasmine is heavy and creamy. A lovely, highly unusual fragrance.

Almonds and honey, not much rose, but mercifully not too sweet, either. Less distinctly almond than the Serge Lutens Rahät Loukoum. Gourmand without being cloying. I don't wear gourmands, not because I don't like them, but because they make me hungry. This is a good one.

Opens with a big breath of ultra-clean, "oxygen" type musk. Salty, sweet, clean musk and fresh, lemony rose. A deceptively light fragrance. I put it on, forgot about it after the initial rush, and it kept returning its fragrance to me, over and over. A beguiling, clean, skin scent. Friendly, happy.

Oceanic. Smells as "open" as a fragrance can get. Starts out breezy, airy, and spacious. A nice marine note (in the opinion of a person who is picky about marine notes.) Smart pairing of juniper berries and oakmoss create a dry, woody accord that is the best part of this fragrance. As the sandalwood warms, it provides a pleasant sweetness which never overwhelms the salty underpinnings. Juniper berries are rarely found in a women's fragrance, neither are marine fragrances without florals or fruits. That, in particular, is a good reason to try this. I think it is unisex.

I recommend this patchouli to anyone seeking a sweet, smooth, but "true" version of this note. This is like a creamy, dreamy, stripped-down Oriental base. It is sweet patchouli, as simple and as enjoyable as it gets. Good longevity, and the patchouli remains warm and sweet throughout. Has the soft edges and chocolatey, musty aroma of nice, aged patchouli.

This is one of my favorite citrus scents. It is a wonderful grapefruit fragrance. Natural-smelling citrus, perfect and juicy. I can imagine the oil bursting into the air from the peelings of the opened fruit. Don't expect hours of strong projection, just enjoy it with all your heart while it lasts. I don't smell the floral and spice notes--but they do a teriffic job supporting the citrus. Beautiful.

Wonderful rendition of vetiver. Lemony and grassy right out front. Refined, non-smoky, un-harsh. Salty and spicy underneath. Clean without soapiness. Lightly sweet and very fresh. As it dries, it acquies a haylike note. Long-lasting, and the vetiver stays true to the end. I love this.

Raw, pungent, smoky. Leather for the S & M set. Cigarettes and latex. When the smoke dispels, the leather remains, still bold, but with a more natural aroma. There is a surprising, creative mint interval that I cannot explain. If I had any guts, I would wear this downtown to the Cinema XXX and see who follows me.

Sweet, subtle, rosy. Mellow roses accompanied by a light, sweet base. No oud bitterness. Notes are well-integrated. The olibdanum (which is incense resin) and gurgum (which I believe is safflower) do not present themselves distinctly, but merely scent the mix. Tamest oud offereing in Montale's line.

Sweet, spicy, rosy. Smooth oud. Rich, elegant sandalwood provides great sweetness. The sandalwood alone is reason enough to try this fragrance. A medium rose presents itself along with fragrant spices (of the "salty" variety, like saffron or curry.) If the rose in Aoud Queen Rose is too much for you, this is the way to go. Rich, deep, intoxicating.

Ooh. Hesperides. Ohh. Lemon. My friend, who gave me a sample, said this smells like sitting in a lemon grove. She was right. The best thing is, there is no sweetness in the base--no amber, no vanilla, nor any sweet spices--only cypress. As with any natural citrus, the lemon top note doesn't last as long as I want. The intelligent pairing with cypress, however, stretches that lemon aroma out as long as possible. It finally faded two hours later, which is pretty good for a true, sour lemon scent. This is lemon juice, not lemonade. It made me thirsty. I actually had to squeeze some lemons into ice water after this.

Funky musk. This is dirty, sweaty musk with flowers, real hippie musk. I tried the EDT, not the oil. I disagree with people who say this is "clean" or smells like Jovan. Nix. This is brave stuff. It is sexy, probably more masculine than feminine, and definitely strong. This will transport you to the 60s--the era of unwashed bare feet, dirty jeans, and free love. So, let it all hang out. Do you swing?

I am pleasantly surprised at the new Cabochard. I had avoided it, having heard that the reformulated version bears little resemblance to the bold original. However, it is still a good fragrance, and for a reasonable price. This is a great presentation of galbanum. I love this particular green note, and it conveys itself wonderfully in the opening notes, cool and stylish. Also, the spices are well-chosen--clove and/or bay-- which synch perfectly with the green notes. At the core of the fragrance is tobacco or leather and a bit of earthy patchouli. Overall, it is fresh, even minty, and more wearable than the harsher Bandit EDT/EDP. (I might note that Bandit pure parfum is a totally different story, incredibly soft and pretty.) As it dries, it takes on a powdery aspect that is both sweet and a little smoky. Very fun. Attention-getting.

An unusual rose scent, both fruity and woody, classified as an Oriental, but I see it more in line as a new type of fuity Chypre. Dominant notes are blackcurrent, rose, myrrh, and cedar. It is dense without being heavy, it is amazingly complex, with about 20 notes listed in the ingredients. The entire aroma smells like it has been stewing in a bottle for decades, melded together like one of the old, classic fruity chypres, Rochas Femme or Mitsouko. Although the notes are different from these two old beauties, there is still the floral/wood/fruit combination that is so fascinating about that genre.

An unusual fragrance, unlike almost any other perfume on the market. If I could make any reference, it would be to the highly unusual Santa Maria Novella Muschio, which uses sambac (a vegetal musk) and has an unusual bittersweet aroma, like butterscotch and bourbon.
Nuit Noire starts out with a brief citrusy,lemony orange, but it quickly develops into something much more unconventional. Cardamom and olibdanum resin appear, followed by amber and a bitter leather note. This fragrance possesses a "fleshy" characteristic all its own, animalic and insistent. The effect is dusty and sweet, like sweaty skin with powder on it. The aroma is deep and mysterious, like spices and ancient wood. Dispite its name and the darkness conveyed by its depth, this fragrance invokes a sweet-smelling haystack drying in the sun. The fermentation of the grass provides the sweetness; it is a balance that can tip too far into decomposition at any moment.
This high-quality blend unfolds, allowing the notes to escape individually. It is not flat-smelling like cheaper perfumes. Provokes waves of nostalgia. Smells like the powdered resins that women of the 1900s used as sachets to scent their closets and purses. This is beautiful. It is strong, however. For some, it will be an acquired taste due to that strange, dusty, bitter undercurrent. Highly addictive. Very impressive. I crave it.

What begins with "D" and has four syllables? Dioressence. What else? Disappointment. This cannot be the dynamic fragrance that influenced a generation. It is attractive, but not earthshaking. It is warm and vaguely animalic, but not overtly sexy. Because of its history, I wanted this fragrance to grab me by the neck and shake me like a tiger. If there is anything to a name, it should mean The Essence of Dior. By the same token, it is odd that the primly named Miss Dior carries a bigger whallop. Most of the time, when I like something on a paper strip, I love it on my skin. Even if I hate it on paper, I sometimes love it on my skin. I loved Dioressence on paper, right from the start, so I was prepared to go ape over it on my skin. The first whiff was animalic, fecal, which got my attention. But the opening note faded quickly, politely, and softly into the background, leaving the rest to develop into a sharp, then tangy cinnamon and sweet/sour floral combination, and then progress into an earthy geranium and patchouli aroma, still mildly dirty. I love chypres and patchouli and all of the notes contained in Dioressence. Altogether it strikes me as a good, but not glorious fragrance. Maybe the modern version has changed drastically from the vintage? Or am I only expecting too much from a legend?

This is not an easy fragrance to understand. On me, it is an enigmatic mix of ylang-ylang, neroli, spice and sweetness. But which spices? No cinnamon listed. Which sweet base? Vanilla or amber? I must say, I don't know. No. 5 is a soft, pliable fragrance that wraps itself around my wrist like a warm, plastic substance, soft and almost doughy. It is a scent that is man-made which feels utterly natural. A unique classic from Chanel. Parfum strength is the only concentration strong enough for me.

A must-try. The first time I smelled this was on paper, and I rejected it. The second time, I put it on my skin, and I adored it. Orange blossom and jasmine, heady, deep and fragrant. However, Ysatis contains a huge list of other components, complex and intermingled, with none of them standing out, all of them blending to create a wonderful perfume that is floral, Oriental, woody, chypre, and animalic at the same time. One of the strongest, prettiest fragrances currently and easily available in department stores. A real knock-out.

Nostalgia in a bottle. Soft, white flowers and powder. The florals are so delicate and well-blended, I can only guess what is in ther there: Lily-of-the-valley, neroli, ylang-ylang. A touch of incense. A clean, innocent, yet very womanly fragrance from a time when women could be clean and innocent and still voluptuous. This is a unique fragrance, which one must smell on the skin to appreciate. From the bottle, the aldehydes are slightly "oily" to me, like a mink coat. The overall impression is mild, even a little bland. Upon application, the scent comes alive, growing in intensity with whispering florals and a perfect, delicate powder. A must-try.

The sum is greater than its parts. Lists of notes vary on this classic fragrance. There are many components. My nose registers peach, spice, incense resin, vanilla, and unusual florals. The combination creates a deep, rich, unique aroma. Blends into the skin beautifully. It is mesmerizing and gorgeous.

I see Coco Mademoiselle and Chance as "sister" fragrances, so I will write the same review for both of them. Each is a citrus sweetened by florals and warmed by earthy patchouli. It is precisely this large dose of patchouli that makes them succeed. Coco Mlle. starts off with orange, while Chance uses citron. Both incorporate a rose/jasmine mixture and that lovely Chanel base. They are fruity, warm, and inviting, sweet, delicious, and enjoyable. The difference to me is that Coco focuses on the middle range of notes, with a sweeter citrus and a chocolatey patchouli. Chance reaches for more highs and lows. It would be like music, and Chance lets more treble bass through. In Chance, the citrus was sharper and the patchouli was deeper. Both were modern and delightful.

I see Chance and Coco Mademoiselle as "sister" fragrances, so I will write the same review for both of them. Each is a citrus sweetened by florals and warmed by earthy patchouli. It is precisely this large dose of patchouli that makes them succeed. Chance starts off with citron, while Coco Mlle. uses orange. Both incorporate a rose/jasmine mixuture and that lovely Chanel base. They are fruity, warm, and inviting, sweet, delicious, and enjoyable. The difference to me is that Chance reached for more highs and lows. It would be like music, and Chance had more treble and bass surrounding the citrus-floral-patchouli mid-range. The citrus was sharper and the patchouli was deeper. Coco Mlle went for the middle notes, with a sweeter citrus and a chocolatey patchouli. Chance smelled better on me, more powerful and significant. Both were modern and delightful.

Cool, smooth, and sweet. Like a vanilla ice-cream cone. This is a really nice heliotrope type of fragrance. Stays true to the end, merely wafting away gently. I can see why it is so popular. May I make a suggestion? For a deeper version of this note, and one with more interesting development, try Etro Heliotrope.

My surprise favorite of the 2006 Banana Republic fragrances. Gently sweet tobacco that starts off well-defined and lightly smoky for a brief time. (I fail to smell the promised cognac note.) The cedar never presents itself distinctly, merely hanging in the background and providing a dry counterpoint to the tobacco's sweetness. While it doesn't come close to Fumerie Turque or Tabac Blonde, it is a step in the right direction toward interesting for people who will never know the existence of Serge Lutens or Caron. My biggest wish? A fragrance that actually smells like black walnuts. Now, that would be unique.

The sage note is the best part of this fragrance, but it needs to be more well-defined and daring. There does seem to be some peppery fresh ginger root, and the combination is pleasant but not groundbreaking. The worst part is the fanciful note--glacier citrus water--which masks the spices far too long. Maybe that is why it is named it glacier--because it moves away too slowly. For a fresh, bracing fragrance, 'tis better to go with Creed Silver Mountain Water or Caron Pour Un Homme.

Fanciful notes make for big expectations: tropical grenade, musky cotton flower, kashmir wood. I don't know what these ingredients are, let alone how they should smell. This fruity, slighty woody fragrance is unremarkable. For a better "strange fruit," go with Guerlain Aqua Allegoria Grosellina. The red currents are delightfully offbeat.

Lotus was the star of the show here, eclipsing the listed rose note almost completely. It's a light, light-hearted fragrance. I could see some people liking this, but it's not right for me. The lotus is fresh and slightly fruity, almost mango-like, with the clean characteristics of freesia. The tartness masks the sweetness of the musk, which emerges slowly and softly. Lasting power was negligible on me. If you want to explore lotus further, Roger & Gallet Eau De Lotus Bleu has been recommended to me. Lotus also is featured beautifully in L'Ecume des Jours, an all-natural fragrance by Ayala Moriel.

Initially, this is the 2006 Banana Republic fragrance that attracted me
the most. Furthermore, the initial notes are the most attractive. The bergamot top note is lovely and (sadly) the only note remniscent of rosewood. After it makes its exit, the rest is all sweetness. The tea and amber merge to create an almost white chocolate blend. (Angel pioneered this sweet + earthy accord that you can smell in so many perfumes nowadays. Here it is again, minus the mint and patchouli.) As for the champagne note, I think I imagine somthing fizzy and sour near the end, but only because I'm impressionable. If you seek real rosewood, try Tam Dao.

I get an "evergreen" or herbal ghost note that I like alot. It's my favorite part, more so than the warm, sweet base. The distinct presence of amber and vanilla allows this to drift into unisex territory. I like this more than Obsession for Women, which smells like too-sweet, flavored coffee. Not sure about either, though. So, until further testing, I give it a hopeful neutral.

This is some kind of joke, right? Why on earth would anyone want to smell like an overpopulated men's restroom? Dead ringer for urinal cakes. I think the notes are fabricated, as none of them stand out, they do not waver back and forth as natural ingredients do, nor do they ever depart from their lockstep imitation of mustiness and deodorant. I can see the tiles gleaming in the fluorescent light. The bus is coming. Gotta run. Bye.

Always has been one of my favorites. Masculine and classic, yet I like it so much that I (a woman) wear it comfortably. Smells like a man's shaving kit, clean, and strong, a tad bit soapy. The herbs and lavendar on top are hard to find in women's perfume, so I seek them out here. The spices are cinnamon or clove, both of which I like. And there's so much wood--cedar, vetiver, sandalwood, oakmoss, patchouli. That's the best part. If people associate it with "old man" it is only because of demographics. If it doesn't smell original anymore, it is only because it has so many imitators. Sure is one well-balanced fragrance.

I am not going to apologize for liking Aramis. I have always liked it. This is a bold chypre. The fresh, green, herbal beginning is unapologetically strong. The bergamot and vetiver give it just the right amount of citrusy tang. There's a boatload of patchouli in here. And the sandalwood is sweet. Altogether, it offers a weird, wonderful clash of notes that scream for attention, "Hey Baby, what's your sign?" Turn on the disco light, bring out the massage oil. Let's party.

On paper, it smelled like nothing. Zip. Nada. On my skin, "fwoosh!" Out came a strong but delicate peach/apricot. Definately fruity, not heavy and realistic, but creative and aromatic, crazy, like bubblegum flavoring.
This is a happy fragrance. I expected something ominous, associating the "rush" connontation with drug use and remembering the sexualality of the advertising campaign.
I don't know how Luca Turin got hairspray + baby's head, except if the baby's hair were washed with apricot shampoo. (I've had three babies. Note to moms: this is not the milk + sugar scent of a nursing baby. You know what I mean.) I will concede that it may be cream, as in peaches and cream.
The best part of this fragrance is the teriffic, diffusing base. This type of carrier works exceedingly well with skin chemistry and body temperature to develop the scent and disperse it in a warm, sexy way. I don't know what it is (probably some unpronounceable chemical) and I doubt it is a discernable "note," but it exists, beneath the list of ingredients, doing its magic, providing the rush in Rush.

Complex juxtaposition of opposing notes. A bracing whiff of mint followed by a longer presence of citrus and rosewood, then green notes--all rather harmonious. Then Yerbamate shifts gears into sweet mate and tea, introduces light smoke, and begins to pick up powder. So, it starts citrusy and fresh, with light incense and powder, and it ends green, sweet, somewhat smoky, and still powdery. My favorite part is the fresh, tangy beginning. My least favorite is the sweet, smoky part in the middle, which is always a difficult combination for me. The most unusual aspect is the powder, which brings an "indoor" element to an otherwise "outdoor" scent. This complicated orchestration seems to be a hallmark of Lorenzo Villoresi's creations. One must keep sniffing in order to not miss the development, which is decidedly artistic. Yerbamate is pleasant but unsettled, like standing outdoors in a windy place where the aromas of the surroundings keep changing on the breeze. Quite interesting, and I would bet it works wonders on the right skin.

This is one teriffic citrus. The grapefruit stands out on me, and there are herbs--terragon and rosemary--and plenty of nutmeg. Cool, spicy, tangy, and wet. It works. I beg to differ with the male reviewers: I say it has masculine leaning. Here is my reason: Shaal Nur reminds me of my father's shaving cream--in a good way. I have memories of my sister and I lathering up our baby faces and dragging a bladeless handle across the foam. What a nice fragrance, too.
If men think it is a little feminine, and a woman thinks it is a little masculine, that puts it squarely in unisex territory, which is where Etro does its most excellent creation. Another fine Etro fragrace that crosses over the gender border.

Versace doesn't seem to support its perfumes very well. It's website doesn't even list fragrances anymore. Its discontinued list is long, and its current perfumes are relatively young.
That's why I hate to admit that I like Crystal Noir as much as I do. The website once listed its notes as gardenia and oxygen. Now that the website no longer lists fragraces, the notes are shown by retailers as gardenia, amber, orange blossom, peony, sandalwood, and musk.
I would be more likely to believe the original list. Although oxygen is an imaginary note, so is gardenia. (There is no "real" gardenia essential oil in perfumery.) This perfume is probably made entirely of chemicals, but they are nice-smelling chemicals, darn it.
And the diffusing characteristic of the base is top-notch. I doubt it's sandalwood, those are almost always synthetic. It's too light and transparent to be real amber. And musk? All musks are synthetic nowadays. So, O.K., let's say it's an "oxygen" note. No problem. It's some chemical with wonderful diffusing characteristics like the old nitro musks that are now banned. I like it. It is a light floral with some strange tropical notes overlaid on the most incredible, pseudo-musk-sandalwood-oxygen base that rises off your skin like air. I give it a thumbs-up, even though I would rather spend more money on a perfume with quality, natural ingredients. Versace Crystal Noir smells lovely.

Interesting, pleasant, and capable of popular appeal. Another of the deep sweet + earthy genre pioneered by the likes of Angel, yet more palatable. Transcends gender barriers, coming across as feminine but introducing people to the notes that create crossover: i.e. those which are palatable to both genders and not limited to either.
In Prada, the tonka, patchouli, sandalwood, and labdanum are major components in both the men's and the women's versions. Women's Prada has mimosa, rose, vanilla, and benzoin, but the flowers are hardly discernible, and the sweetness is derived mostly from the tonka, labdanum, and benzoin The more "feminine" scent of vanilla is buried. And benzoin, while sweet, is hardly gender specific. (Look at what Serge Lutens has done with benzoin his men's fragrances.) The Men's Prada has geranium, leather, myrrh and vetiver, which are some of my favoite notes, despite my gender.
I love the trend toward unisex fragrances, so I am tempted to give Prada a thumbs-up. However, I reserve my excitement for more daring fragrances and selective ingredients.
For example, Etro makes wonderful, magical unisex fragrances. For another example, while Prada boasts of its patchouli (and contains far more than many mainstream fragraces) it is still nothing impressive compared to Santa Maria Novella.
So, while I like it alot, I still give it a neutral and recommend anyone who likes Prada, go try some niche houses. You might be surprised by the world of fragrances out there.

This is the Dark Sister of Tabu. And I like them both for the same reason--they are comforting to me. Warm, deep, and sweet, and vaguely about something delicious cooking. Can't stop sniffing my arm. This is a chocolate scent that appeals even to a non-gourmand person like myself. I never jumped on the Angel bandwagon; I didn't like it at all. (Which is odd because I love chocolate, the darker the better. Those 85% cocoa Lindt bars are my favorites.) Film Noir is more to my liking because it smells like chocolate---and earth. Every spring I have a ritual, mulching my rose garden with cocoa shells, the by-product of the chocolate industry from big bags marked "Hershey's." Then I go inside my house and forget about it. Later, through the window, I smell something wonderful. "What's that? Oh yes..." That is how Film Noir is for me.

Multi-faceted fragrance with depth and complexity. Top notes of pepper appear unfold to reveal a sweet floral blend carefully cradled in the strong, earthy arms of myrrh, patchouli and oud. Real ambergris gives it a three-dimensional boost. Bold, dynamic. Must be tried on the skin to fully appreciate its development. Likeable and unconventional at the same time. This perfumeur does not use animal products, such as civit or castoreum, yet there is an animalic quality to this fragrance.

A woody rose, light and airy, accompanied by the aroma of cedar. Delicate but persistent, a captivating fragrance that blends perfectly into my skin. Dry, almost chyprey, but sweet. The justaposition of contrasts is masterful. I was amazed that I liked this one so much because I usually prefer heavier scents. In the end, I am left with a beautiful combination of a mild, rosey patchouli, sweet sandalwood, and fragrant musk that take my breath away.

Goes on sweetly, as if to say, "hello, I'm a Caron," and to portend that lovely base that finishes all Caron fragrances. Then, it takes an abrupt turn into the cool carnations and green violets before slowly warming its way back into sweetness. All the while, Bellodgia maintains a realistic rendition of carnation, sparkling and effervescent, delicately spiced of pepper and clove. An unusual fragrance, like many of the classics, and deserving of greater publicity.

A brief dash of pepper lasts only a few seconds. Then a sweet, orangey carnation, blooms--and keeps blooming. This marriage of orange and carnation is warm and wonderful. The freshness of geranium and spiciness of clove provide coolness, but it is the orange which lifts this fragrance into the warmth and sun. Vanilla sweetens the whole and lends creaminess. Delicate, happy, lively fragrance. Carnation lovers, take note of this new 2006 fragrance. Those of you who think you do not like carnations, this one may win you over.

Narciso Rodriguez (EDP in the pink bottle) is one of the new "pink chypres," which is formulated without the "classic chypre" combination of bergamot + real oakmoss/treemoss + patchouli + labdanum and other, various assorted green, fruit, floral, and wood notes. This new genre is not as wild and untrammeled, nor as pungent and unpredictable as the classic chypres could sometimes be. However it succeeds in creating the delectible sweet/sour, salty/bitter, wet/dry contrasts that make a chypre so great . Narciso Rodriguez EDP is concocted of creative synthetic notes, but I smell rose, peach, vetiver, and musk. As a man-made scent, it retains its characteristics and stays true from start to finish. I am a fanatic for chypres and own and wear many, both new and old, well-known and niche. (See my wardrobe.) My teenage daughter thinks most of them smell too "old" for her, but she fell in love with a little pink tester of Narciso Rodrigurez (not the black bottle, which is a honey/orange blossom/musk and lacks the rose/peach note.) I think this is a fine introduction to chypres for the young generation. Good job.

An initial blast of cumin and pepper left me confused. My experience with cumin has leaned toward negative, initiated by the unfortunate reformulatin of Rochas Femme. Cumin can be overpowering, and here it is coupled with a healthy dose of pepper, which is one of my favorite notes. The effect is unusual and, I must admit, similar to body odor--but in a good way. I find it attractive.
It was much later that Kingdom truly won me over. A marvelous development took place on my skin. Apparently, copahu wood is responsible for the "pepper" note, and that may explain the "evergreen" scent that came into focus. At the same time, a hint of rose started to subtly creep in. Most importantly, the magic of sandalwood began to take over. Sandalwood is nothing short of a miracle on my skin. Invariably, when a fragrance goes from good to great on me, it is a result of high-quality sandalwood. (The same applies to patchouli.) Kingdom took on a sweetness, a diffuse, airy character, and improved steadily for four solid hours until I had to take a shower. Amazingly, it lasted through the shower, heating up and revealing its final note, a woody, dry/sweet, chypre-type rose. Not the average definition of beautiful, but undeniably beautiful indeed. Unique, remarkable, a must-try on the skin. Plus, the bottle is gorgeous.

Unusual, fresh, green, dry, unsweet. Smells like citrusy lemongrass from the Thai grocery, with a little salty celery, and a bit of smoky, dusty cedar. Very refreshing. A good palate-cleanser from all other scents. Airy, not particularly long-lasting, but avoids harshness very well.

I love the smoke, I love the leather. I wish it were less sweet. If the honey were reduced by half, I would adore this. It smells like walking into a darkened smoking lounge, where men in business suits are sitting in overstuffed leather chairs and couches, reading newspapers beneath Tiffany lamps, smoking pipes and drinking rum. It conjures up dreamy, imaginative version of Men's Territory. It smells like snuggling into the suade vest of a man who has smoked a cigarette--how sensual. I wish the men weren't wearing so much sweet cologne, though. It detracts from the dryness of this scent.

I rarely find a fragrance that smells so familiar, yet none of the notes listed are responsible for what I am smelling. My guess? Beeswax, a big hunk on a wooden frame. Wild honey, unpredictable in its fragrance, sweet and sour, flavored by the random plants from which the bees have gathered nectar. The only reason I can offer for my guess is that it smells like church--the frankincense and the little beeswax candles that we light. Innocent, clean, meditative scent.

I used to consider anise and terragon "off limits" notes, this perfume has changed my mind. I try to test perfumes "blind," not knowing their ingredients, which is good because I would have imposed my prejudices here. Instead, I wondered, "What is that camphorous, slightly sweet, almost woody aroma?" It developed nicely on my skin, never becoming candylike, but expanding and unfolding in a serious, restrained manner. I was surprised when I read the list of notes. Cedar is a brilliant choice as a base note here. Surprising, lovely, airy, unique, impressive.

Orange and chocolate--what's not to love? This smells exactly like one of my favorite candies of all time: Sticks of jellied orange candy dipped in dark chocolate. This perfume is a perfect olfactory imitation of that confectionary. This is why I cannot wear gourmand fragrances. I want to eat my arm. I see that there are florals in here, mimosa, frangipani, jasmine, and rose, but I do not smell them. For safety reasons, I would advise self-restraint when wearing this one. It could very well cause you to blow your diet. If you are a gourmand lover, go for it.

Coffee, tastefully light-handed, with cinnamon and a touch of orange and clove, all of which smells just right in the cool weather. I am not the right person to review gourmand scents because I do not wear them. I have a terrible sweet tooth. They make me too hungry. I literally had to get up and fix myself a cup of hot, spiced coffee, this is so realistic.

After the initial slap of leather, the animalic notes recede and a spicy aroma combines with the leather. (I smell a bit of clove, which must actually be carnation.) This fragrance is gently enveloped by sweetness until it succumbs completely to that lovely Caron base. Naughty enough to turn heads, the tobacco and leather notes are nevertheless courteous and approachable, and yes, even feminine. Much more of a "real" leather scent than most that are marketed today. Totally enjoyable. Lovely, a must-try.

An old-fashioned floral perfume with a bit of a clean soapy presence. Hermes has a way of "owning" a fragrance, interjecting its signature and presenting it as unique and classy. With its lily and neroli notes, Caleche is cool, refined, and unusual by today's standards.

Almond and vanilla--is this marzipan? I feared that this would become too dessert-like. Then an interesting development began to take place on my skin. This fragrance began to melt into my skin and turn COOL and smooth. It took on a sweet, chilly fragrance that was neither floral nor gourmand, merely cool and pure and unbelievably smooth.

Very pleasant. Powdery, dusty. Is there orris here? Some spices, maybe cardamom or anise. Incense resin and vanilla. Resembles a mixture of hardwoods, dry like sawed lumber. Smells like a stroll through a furniture store. Needs to be much stronger.

This is like vegetation. Okra, the bitter, green vegetable that gives gumbo its unique flavor. I will guess some imaginative notes: tomato leaf, violet, crushed leaves, green tea. Unusual, a nice departure from most scents. As it is a woody green scent, I might grow to like it alot.

The faintest trace of white musk with some saltiness. Freshly-laundered clothes. But are these the Emperor's New Clothes? It hardly qualifies as a fragrance. I hate working this hard to smell something.

Pleasant, sweet but lively, smooth but spicy, versatile fragrance. Starts off citrusy, with lemonwood predominating. Spices come forward, one of which is cardamom, a personal favorite. An interesting pimento note is listed, giving it a tangy zing. Beneath it all, creamy vanilla undertones pull the various notes together in a mild, sweet base. Conventional enough to fit any occasion, and unconventional enough to interest me. Well-balanced, attractive, soft. I don't find this to be too strong at all.

I have grown to enjoy vetiver. My first experiences with it in other scents were challenging--it made the herbals notes too harsh it made the flower notes too dry or sour. Then I smelled a lovely bitterness, like rustling dried grass (in Lorenzo Villoresi Sandalo) and decided to try it as a "soliflore" fragrance. In Creed Original Vetiver, this herbal lovliness shines through, supported by notes such as bitter orange and cedar. Vetiver, like patchouli, depends upon its quality for its palatability. Cheap vetiver, like cheap patchouli, is harsh and leaves a lasting bad impression. Quality vetiver, like quality patchouli, is a note that can elevate fragrance from merely good to exceptionally fine. The only problem that I continue to have with it as a solo fragrance is this: People in our culture, in our climate, have no reference point for vetiver. We cannot say, "ah, it smells like newly-woven baskets" or "it smells like a freshly-thatched roof." Instead, the guy at the check-out counter at the convenience store looked at his co-worker with the spritz bottle and rag and said, "What's that smell? Vegetable cleaner?" I paid and walked out the door without explaining. I will be the first person to admit that my tastes in perfume are far from the norm, far from popular tastes. But when it reaches this point, I wonder if I should stay home and enjoy it myself.

Much praise has been heaped upon the tea genre, and I am a lover of tea. This is supposed to epitomize the genre. I was puzzled when this fragrance impressed me otherwise. I found large amounts of honey, a perfect amount of smoke, and a hint of tea. I, who used to run from the least amount of smoke, have begun to seek this note as a copunterpoint to sweetness. I would love this fragrance if it consisted of a large amount of tea, the same amount of smoke, and a hint of honey. The nature of honey is such that flowers and herbs readily impart their flavor and fragrance to it. I'm sure there is a plenty of tea in here, but I am unable to separate it from the honey. If that note works well for you, this fragrance will be very pleasing.

As did other people, I expected mostly cedar with a name like this, but found mostly tuberose. This is an attractive but difficult flower for some people to wear. I prefer it paired with a great deal of woodiness, which I did not get here. The clove, which is another note that I like, provided no further assistance in toning down the heat and sweetness of the tuberose. I envy those who can wear this, like I envied those who could wear Dior Poison. On me, it sits on top of the skin and never quite becomes me.

Soft but strong, easily wearable amber constructed in the minimalist style of Etro. A touch of bergamot and orange, a hint of geranium, all subtly done to accent the vanillic goodness of the amber, which is clear and sweet. My own tastes lean toward pungent fragrances, which explains the less-than-perfect score. I think it is a fine amber fragrance.

Realistic tea rose includes just the right amount of fruitiness and spiciness to keep it interesting and move it a step above simple floral imitation. A great alternative to any of the department store "girly" fragrances targeted at the epitome of the "feminine" perfume wearer. Sweet as the breath of spring or, I should say, a morning in June because that is when the roses bloom. This is too airy for me, an earthy fragrance lover, but I can recommend it to other lovers of rose perfume. As far as my tastes go, the Montale Aoud rose fragrances and Les Parfums de Rosine have more substance and weight.

Essence of bliss. The angelica is heavenly. Coupled with the vanilla, it presents a perfect amount of sweetness, long-lasting but expressed with a light hand. Creed lists tuberose as a note, but it is discreet--a difficult task to accomplish with this flower. There is a dusty frankincense hovering over all. Addictive, like the scent of Play-Doh. This is a smooth, sweet, skin smell that clings without being cloying. It becomes the wearer. Simple and appropriate in all situations, on all ages.

Ethereal, fine, lemony frankincense. Leaves plenty of room for personal chemistry to interect with the fragrance. Lovely, but a bit too light for me. My skin kills light scents.

It is by Serge Lutens, so I have come to expect it to be sweet, with a strong presence of benzion. Many spices, well-blended, and lots of dried and candied fruits. Figs, dates, nutmeg, cumin, and cardamom feature prominently. However, I get a strong association with rum-raisin cake. There is a buttery background that pushes this too fragrance too far into gourmand territory. I prefer Ambre Sultan, because its sweetness is anchored to the resin and tempered by the dryness bay and oregano.

So:::not:::me. This is pastel-colored white chocolate after-dinner mints. In no way does it resemble dark cocoa. It is sweet, girly, giggly. And fluffy. Did I mention sweet? Canned pineapple and shredded coconut ambrosia salad. Constructed of artificial candy flavors in the complete absence of natural fruit. A wall of scent assaults me, airy but heavy like the aroma of hot sugar at a carnival. There is no relief from the melting sugar, no earthy base to rescue me from the cloying sweetness. It goes on and on, mind-numblingly cheerful and swirling like lights on spinning rides, with pop music blaring from speakers, and laughing, screaming people riding around and around. Stop the ride. I want to get off. Please. Give me the gloom of incense, the mustiness of real patchouli, the snap of leather, the cool green of galbanum, the crisp rustle of vetiver. I am a grown-up. I know the world. There is no going back.
Angel? Little Angel? Daddy's Little Angel? Consider the connotations. No spirituality is to be found here. To what kind of angel are we referring?

Many find this wild, but I think it mild. Tabu is a comfort scent for me, deep and sweet, like something good to eat, but earthy. Everything about it is easy for me to like: Orange? Check. Rose? Check. Patchouli? Check. Plus amber, and possibly oakmoss--so many of my favorite notes. But everything is blended, so that nothing stands out, like a holiday cake full of candied fruit in the oven. In fact, I smell the lovely fragrance of sassafras root in there. And the price is unbelievably low. What's not to like? A really nice Oriental.

Breezes off the skin, cool and clean. Fruity, mainly melon. Floral, lots of violet. This perfume is "all heart" literally and metaphorically speaking. Long after the top notes are gone, the middle refuses to relinquish its grasp to the base. I may smell some grassiness from the vetiver, but a crisp leather provides the only heavy counterpoint. It is as if Edmond Roudnitska created this as one sweet, lingering kiss for his wife. Stunning. A bit too airy for an earth-lover like me.

Zingy, sharp, fresh opening that is innovative and original. This perfume strikes me as being pretty in the same way as Diptyque Philosykos, the fig leaf fragrance. There is a certain freshness, like walking into the coolness of the produce aisle. Tangy like mango and aromatic like white peach. On the other hand, green like celery or pepper. Attractive and cool. Smells like summertime.

Light, green, refreshingly under-sweet, like rain in the springtime. I love green fragrances, especially those that do not involve citrus, and this fits the description. However, greens perform better on me with a heavier, earthier base to make them last longer.

Tasty, light rose and powdery heart on a mild, sweet base. Enjoyable but quickly overpowered by my skin. I need a stronger concentration.

Delightful, versatile fragrance consisting of a balanced mixture of flowers, a touch of citrus, and well-chosen spices on an amber and sandalwood base. Appealing as both a floral and an Oriental perfume. Natural florals make it soft and wearable. Plus, the spices increase the projection and longevity. I especially enjoy the allspice, which carries a seasonal, wintery association. More jolly than Nuit de Noel.

A natural orange blossom perfume that wears well and never goes over-the-top. If Zohar were given the marketing campaign of Beyond Paradise, there is no reason why it shouldn't have such great popular appeal. This perfume deserves a bigger audience. The notes listed are deceptively simple and dominated by citrus, yet the cumulative effect transcends its own soliflore designation and is more interesting than a single floral note. This orange blossom fragrance does not broadcast "orange flavor" as distinctly as those by other (more well-known) houses, and for that reason, I like it better.

Tried this one while looking for a sandalwood scent, but it really is more of an Oriental. Warm, spicy, sweet, but I like the spices in Ambre Sultan better. I'm not getting any odd unlpeasant notes. It is lively, impressing me mainly with its pepper, cinnamon, and benzoin. The sandalwood manifests itself primarily as a warm presence showcasing the spices. I am seeking sandalwood in the leading role, and this is not the case here.

Interesting, spicy, green. Derives its greenness from kitchen herbs such basil, rosemary, and mint. Contrary to other reviewers, I find the nature of these herbs to be sweet, which contribues to a bit of soapiness. With the addition of some dry, non-edible herbs and an earthy base, it would be perfect.

I don't always agree with people, connoisseur or bourgeois alike. Lest you think all of my reviews are positive or neutral, here is an example my (probably) unpopular viewpoint.
Tresor is a peach, pineapple fruit salad. The florals exist only to play a supporting role for the fruit. Too sweet.
I don't care what brilliant perfumeur invented a perfume, or how many people like it, or how many stores sell it. This is one of my rare negative reviews. I save my (usually) positive reviews for perfumes that deserve them.

I don't want people to think I only write positive reviews. The truth is, I don't write reviews for perfumes that I don't like. I have no time for that.
Lest you think I save my rejection for the rare, terrible perfume, consider this--my review of a wildly popular perfume sold in every department store in America. Somebody must like this, but it's not me.
Beyond Paradise was bright jasmine and honeysuckle and a multitude of piercingly sweet florals. Not good.

Wonderful. I put this on the top of my list of light Orientals. It is a sandalwood fragrance, but rosewood and cedar share the leading role throughout its development. It is a woody fragrance rather than a pure sandalwood. This is fresh wood, like new lumber. I love the smell of freshly cut lumber. It sweetens as time goes by, but always maintains a faint, lemony, piney influence from the woods. Meditative and refreshing.

This was a pleasant, sweet, heavy, spicy sandalwood on me. I don't get any odd notes, coffee or otherwise. It was all mellow and good. Because of the vanilla and amber, it is sweeter than other sandalwoods I have tried. I consider this to be a likeable, unisex fragrance--a good choice for anyone, novice or avid fan of sandalwood.

Complex fragrance. Herbal and fresh at first, probably due to the lavender and vetiver. Sandalwood plays a part, but not in the starring role. At first, I wondered why people liked this so much. Then I discovered why. The drydown begins, the supporting notes blend, and the sandalwood begins to come forward. Slowly, the orchestration develops until the herbs morph into rose and then give way to the sweetness of the sandalwood completely, hours later. This juxtaposition of bitter and sweet is beautiful. Unique. Nothing like it.

Strong smoke at first. And I do not like smoke. Then, leather, at which point it is a bit masculine. Twenty minutes into its development, it turns into tobacco. Yummy tobacco. I love tobacco. But this needs to be 3 X stronger for me. Then it would be perfect. I would happily wait for the smoke to clear, and then be set to go.

The delicate beauty of this flower was too fleeting. Peach, apricot, a touch of greenness, and then it blended into my skin completely--still present, but difficult to detect except for some tartness. Needs more projection.

I'm getting more into green fragrances. They are hard to find, and even harder to get to settle on my skin. This one is unique. Mostly I encounter green-citrus-floral, which I dislike. Grin is green-WOODY-floral, a great combination. There is a note in here that is addicting to me. I keep sniffing my arm. It is extremely fresh, only a little sweet, a bit sour, and delicately woody. Fascinating scent, unlike any other I know. The listed notes do not begin to tell the story. The sum is greater than its parts.

Amazingly, a fruity floral that works on me. The natural components do not fly off my skin, and shout like synthetics. This is a lemon, grapefruit, possibly apricot rose that is neither sharp and astringent nor cloyingly sweet. It is smooth and calming, realistic and soft. As it says on me, it slowly sweetens. The sandalwood and vanilla base contribute to its staying-power and make it divinely comforting.

Harmonious with my skin. An Oriental that is almost a Chypre. Gentle sweetness of orange and neroli are lifted and cleansed by lavender. Compatible notes of jasmine and champaca add complexity. Cinnamon prevents the whole from entering the two-sweet realm. Patchouli grounds it with earthiness. Sandalwood lingers and floats throughout. Well-blended, spicy Oriental that is strong but quiet. I love this.

A jewel in the crown of the Estee Lauder collection. No promotions, no sales pitches for this old beauty. Lost in the plethora of fruity florals, it stands alone--and green. First there is the smell of dirt--and weeds. The sneeziness blows away to reveal a vegetal scent. Then the flowers emerge and grow in strength and sweetness, evoking springtime in the woods. Private Collection takes time to develop in the manner of a true classic. In the end, the green slowly fades and the amber comes forward until it is all sweet amber scented with green goodness. It smells to me like a very rare, expensive basil leaf spice.
The florals are well-blended, but if I were to choose notes, it would be a sweet-pungent combination like jasmine or hyacinth with chrysanthemum or pine. The combination is incongruous but attractive, plesing, almost floral-citrus, but more vegetal than hesperidic or astringent. In comparison, Alliage has a drier, more identifiably citrus, peachy greenness.
I wish I had discovered this sooner, before the reformulations set in, but it still smells wonderful. I hope it continues to exist for a long time before being diluted to an EDT ghost of its former self like so many other unique scents

Apricot, heliotrope, leather. What's that? Shampoo! Rubber! Oh, they're gone now. The strange notes receded, serving to put a realistic bitter edge on the leather. Most of the time Daim Blond is apricot leather. In the end, it is apricot alone. Pleasant, a bit masculine. My biggest complaint is that it doesn't smell strong enough long enough.

Deep, sweet, creamy, spices and amber, smooth and gourmand. (I smell dates.) Good from start to finish; no bad moments. Smoke notes usually make me run away, but they blend seamlessly here. Nothing is odd or out of place. The notes work together to create a fragrance that is bold yet pleasing, unusual yet acceptable. As a woman, I find it perfectly wearable. However, I can wear heavy, sweet, spicy scents. Gorgeous Oriental.

Realistic orange flower buoyed by an almost palpably warm tuberose. Delicious but still floral, not edible, just like the real flower. Exceedingly sweet, but appropriately so.

Santa Maria Muschio
Incredibly nostalgic. I remember my grandmother from Europe smelling like this. You rarely find these kinds of Old World scents anymore. Muschio is not as pleasing to the modern nose as it was to previous generations. Do not expect "musk" as we have come to know it. This is a vegetal substance, sumbul, a medicinal root. Muschio smells to me like almond + vanilla + bourbon. The combination is similar to butterscotch, but bittersweet. If you have any memories of relatives born circa 1900, this unusual scent may recall them to you.

Youth Dew Amber Nude
I didn't want to like this because I am a fan of original Youth Dew and feared that Amber Nude would be its replacement. However, I do like it. Its heart of cinnamon, patchouli, and amber remain faithful to the original. It lacks the comlexity of its predecessor, emphasizing a clear cinnamon/amber over a darker patchouli/balsam. It is as if the directive were to remove anything objectional, such as the infamous"rubber note" but leave the rest intact. The result is that Amber Nude is edible, whereas Youth Dew is earthy. Both are superb Orientals. I still prefer the original, more mysterious formula. Guess I just like 'em a little dirty.

Voleur de Rose
Lovely, sweet, earthy rose? Or lovely, sweet, plum, wine patchouli? You decide. Perfect marriage of rose and patchouli. This is the closest I can come to describing the unique aroma: I make wine. This smells like my celler when it is full of vats of bubbling, freshly-brewing, wild mulberry wine. If you seek a sweet patchouli, this is wonderful.

This is a rose perfume which has a fascinating dried fruit scent similar to that of Rochas Femme. The apricot-prune-cinnamon combination blends perfectly with the rose and lasts a long time on the skin. It may take on a wine-like scent when the skin warms up.

I loved this. The citrusy fragrance resembled the scent of my favorite rose: the orange-colored "Tropicana" rose, more closely than any other perfume I have ever smelled. Very natural smelling. Absolutely gorgeous. Highly recommended.

This is a chypre perfume, and a good one at that. I can understand that people are disappointed when they expect Les Parfums de Rosine to issue only floral perfumes. Yes, this is a departure, but it is wonderful.
As a chypre lover, I do not seek sweet, fruity florals. Une Folie is a superb, spicy rose. A citrusy bergamot opening evolves a into lovely jasmine and rose absolute. Tea rose keeps it lively. Spice and a slightly sweet base make it delicious.
This perfume shares a few similar notes with the venerable Chanel No. 19 and the expensive Jean Patou 1000, two of my favorites.
I'm glad this company took a chance. I hope more chypre-lovers take a look at this review and try a sample from Aedes.

Best patchouli on the market. HG of patchoulis. Woody without being harsh. Fragrant without being sweet. Lesser patchoulis smell flat, one-dimensional. Lesser patchoulis add other notes to make them smell more interesting. This is a pure patchouli scent, rich and gold.
Santa Maria Novella is so deep, so three-dimensional, that you can smell around it. I hope I can explain this adequately: the sweet notes, sour notes, herbal notes, woody notes, enter your nose at split-second intervals.
Buy a sample from Aedes, conduct a direct comparison to any other patchouli you can find. See what I mean? The only drawback is that it is expensive. You have to love patchouli. You can get cheaper, but you can't get better.

Deep, dark, gorgeous. I had to do some research before I could write this review, because this perfume defies categorization. It is a "rich floral," but where are the bright, fresh flowers?
The answer: this perfume uses some of the world's most expensive natural ingredients, such as Grasse jasmine, damascena and centifolia rose, Indonesian patchouli, and Mysore sandalwood. As such, it smells more woody than the synthetic florals to which we have become accustomed. As such, it smells vintage, even though it is new.
Imagine going back to the time when a perfumer was told, "Forget cost. Forget mass production. Just make it great." This is the spirit of Jean Patou (Mille) 1000.
Perfumery, like cuisine, is all about ingredients. Hence, the high price for this fragrance. Is it worth it? Yes, especially if you do not wear today's fruity florals, chocolate candies, and simple, clean scents. A good candidate would be someone who loves chypres and serious, complex, mysterious fragrances.
This perfume will draw you in. Most florals expand outward, diffusing sweetness. Hence, they risk becoming piercingly sweet and cloying. Mille seems to concentrate the scent of a thousand flowers in one, small space. That one place where it is applied acts like a gravitational force, a black hole, a dark star of fragrance.
Knowing nothing about this perfume, my first question was, "Is this a patchouli fragrance?"
"No," said the salesman, "It is osmanthus and other flowers."
Indeed it was. All of them were well-blended, smooth and strong, but dark and focused, with an edge, enveloped in aromatic vapor. Individual notes escaped in nanosecond bursts from this compressed richness. I have never smelled anything like this before.
The sun shone down on my skin, night fell, and a sexual, intimate human note appeared. It was naughty. I was transfixed.
This sophisticated perfume will not please everybody, but popular taste is not necessarily good taste.
It is best to try Jean Patou (Mille) 1000 at an authorized distributor, such as Nordstrom's or Neiman Marcus because their supply is fresh. They tell me that they often run out because production is limited. That is good, because natural products have a shelf life. A discount bottle from Internet might be good enough for a first try, but if you like it, buy the best you can afford.

Many changing notes. Not only does the perfume evolve over time, but different notes come forward with each wearing. The first time I smelled only edible sweets. Once, I thought I detected evergreen and sandalwood. The next time, licorice, vanilla, and talcum powder. Another time, dried fruit and wood. Sometimes orris.
Few perfumes slip from my grasp and elude my memory this way. Nuit de Noel is the exception. Like Christmas, it is whatever you want it to be. Regardless, the drydown is guaranteed to be soft and powdery, sweet and comforting, old-fashioned and unique.

Light bouquet including jasmine and gardenia, and featuring a wonderfully delicate honeysuckle. The EDT was weak and barely discernable on me, but I have notoriously scent-killing skin.

Ivoire gets my attention! The opening note is startling, almost painful, like biting on metal with a metal tooth filling. It passes quickly. Green notes creep out like tendrils. At first they appear to be sweet and floral, and this is my favorite part of the perfume. But is this sweetness an illusion, due to the contrast between the harsh opening? Little by little, the plants mature and take on more greenness. Their sweetness levels off at minty freshness. It is a welcome relief from the triteness that befalls many perfumes. However, I wish to go no further than the outer reaches of its notes, which border on the vegetable garden. I applaud Ivoire wholeheartedly for its fascinating development, which is nothing short of artistic. Uncommon. Unusual. You must try it for yourself.

One-of-a-kind perfume. Nothing compares to this unbelievable fragrance. Extremely resinous wood. Volatile vapors evaporate on contact. Citrus and perfectly selected florals begin to sing in the background. Upon warming to the skin, the clean wood offers an increasing amount of smooth, powdery iris, sweetened only by spices that are so well-matched to this dynamic, straightforward fragrance that it is impossible to identify any single one. Breathe it in. It lifts you up. Aptly named for flight, with an unerring sense of direction. A complete absence of anything cute or cloying comes from this bottle, only strength, light, and clarity. Thank goodness Guerlain still makes it. I wish very much that the parfum were readily available.

Years later, I review this perfume, and I still feel the same way.
Like walking into an incense shop. There is a whole wall of unlit incense sticks with various brightly-colored sticks in pink, red, green, yellow, and orange. Their scents mingle together like a jumble of jewels. At first it is too strong. Then you begin to pick up individual sticks and smell the separate notes, but always the great, ubiquitous incense scent fills the air around you. You buy a shirt or a handbag, and the scent lingers for months, taking you back to the crowded little hippie shop. Nirvana in a bottle.
Multi-colored, well-mixed floral supported by strong oakmoss on an orange honey base. Too strong at first, but dries down to the lovliest powder.

Otherworldly. Provokes intense nostalgia. Long ago, the face of a new plastic doll, which smelled sweet and addictive. You wished the elusive scent would never dissipate, but you knew it would, so you buried your nose in the plastic and breathed deeply. Only some toys had this scent. Most didn't, but you knew it when you found one because you couldn't stop sniffing it.
(Was it the type of plastic? Or did the toy manufacturers of that era scent their plastic with a Miss Dior knockoff?) You will never know.
Miss Dior is greater than the sum of its parts. Exotic florals, well-rounded oakmoss, delicious labdanum. But where is that fruitiness coming from? If it were a color and a taste, it would be pale, pastel yellow artificial banana candy. Drives me crazy.

My favorite Chanel. Roses with leaves. Open the refrigeratior, smell the cool petals and the greenery together. On the skin, orris emerges, powdery and rich, evoking the presence of a library of leather-bound books and a huge vase of old-fashioned roses.
No. 19 captures the scent of wild roses, those five-petaled, pink blossoms that grow in the countryside, unrecognized for their modest appearance, but known for their strong scent, which has not been bred out of them by human interference. They exude a strong, almost cinnamony fragrance. As the sun shines, the leaves exhale green.
Available in the U.S. only in Chanel boutiques in EDT, and well worth the effort to find. So exceptional that I will buy the parfum from Canada.

Pungent greens open into spicy, heady florals featuring coriander and clove, hyacinth and rose, then exude rich, honeyed tobacco and a strong animalic presence of castoreum or civit. Sexy, bold, yet earthy and comforting.
Like hiking through evergreens and stumbling upon a barn, with tobacco leaves hung from floor to ceiling, in which wild animals have taken up residence.
Not for the timid. Never to be smelled on a paper strip. Paloma Picasso develops on the skin. Hours later, you will know if she has chosen you.

In this era of clean, chemical scents, I am proud to wear the long-lasting, old-fashioned ingredients of cinnamon, clove, rose, amber, patchouli and balsam--fragrances used by women for thousands of years to make their skin smell sweet and warm.
When I wear it, I am the Queen of Sheeba, Cleopatra, and Helen of Troy. I cloak myself in the dark, luxurious concoction like royalty of ancient times bathed in perfumed oils.
Youth Dew is so far-removed from watery florals and insipid candies that the woman who wears it will be considered unique, and maybe even (ironically) trendsetting. May Estee Lauder never quit making the original.