Fragrance Reviews by calchic

Rolling around in a bed of the loveliest flowers couldn;t possibly smell better than this fragrance. Seriously, I have walked by huge, incredibly lush floral arrangements while wearing this, and have attributed the sublime scent in the air to the flowers themselves only to relaize, once past, that it was my La Chasse Aux Papillons that smelled so very wonderful. Nice, rich tuberose is tempered with the honey-like stunner linden blossom, and orange blossom lends its slightly spicy cleanness to a sweet night-blooming jasmine. And that's it; from just these four notes, a floral symphony of unparalleled beauty. Given its nature, it does not linger on the skin as long as I'd like, but that's fine. I love it nonetheless. (BTW, L'Artisan now makes an intense version with a heavier tuberose note.)

Oh so sexy, oh so smooth. This surrounds me like a swath of satin and makes me feel like the most alluring thing in the room. It is creamy without being rich - it's not buttery or heady, just creamy, heavy cream on fresh figs creamy. The sandalwood, lime and coconut offset the fig notes to perfection, imparting a little spicy wood, a nuttiness, a fleeting twist of zest. This is the first L'Artisan I bought for myself and something I'll always consider the line's "number one" although they do so many other great ones as well. Great year-round, not too light or heavy; the fig makes it work for fall or winter, the coconut and lime for spring or summer. Absolute and unadulterated perfection in fragrance.

Once you fall in love with this scent, prepare to love if for life. I was not so wild about it at first; the iris in it is heady, powdery and yet a tiny bit sharp and also very gently earthy, like the ground as it smells when thawing out in spring. But I soon learned this was part of its charm, particularly in the way it interacts with the light drizzle of honey and softly sweet vanilla and jasmine. This smells a bit retro, as if it's stepped into the 21st century from another time. Perhaps the 1940s - sometimes it reminds me of a lady's face powder from that time, something tinted very lightly pink. If you try this, be patient with it; many people are turned off of it at first and dismiss it because it's such an unusual composition, but treat it gently and let it grow into itself before you decide.

So fine in so many ways, so impressively different and beautifully sultry yet of the earth and real. Voleur de Rose strikes me as one of those medieval scents, something drawn from an herbalist's special potion and made from the deepest red rose petals gathered beneath a full moon, spiced with a mythical beast's breath of patchouli and sweetened so delicately with exquitely ripe pulp of black plums (assuming they had plums back then - ?!) Every note in this fragrance lives up to its reputation; the patch isn't stinky, the rose not florid or musty, the plum not sour or sticky. Voleur de Rose is a special, special fragrance and worth every single penny it costs. I'm slightly in awe of its incredibly sensuous aura.

Eau Fantasque is fantastic, truly, such a clean and pure-smelling scent that I can't imagine going through a warm weather season now without it. Truth be told, I didn't love it at first, as the freesia note plays a larger role than I ordinarily would like. But it's not really such a big deal once you get accustomed to it, and the rest of the notes are just so incredibly clear that they seem to have emerged from a crystalline spring somewhere. Even the black currant, so often a round and warmish note, is effervescent here. The grapefruit in particular is very crisp and refreshing and gives the scent a rather green character; it's not so much an identifiably fruit or floral scent, more just green and clean as a fresh-snapped flower stem. Lovely!

This is a very interesting scent that's built on the same sort of mossy, leathery, smoky foundation as Robert Piguet Bandit and Caron Tabac Blonde. Unfortunately, for me Cabochard is too chypre, too leathery, too smoky and not well suited to my personality or skin. I feel as though I just smell like a big old leather saddle that's had a few ashtrays dumped on it. This is not a desired effect for me when I wear fragrance! But it's worth trying at least once if you get the chance - it can be devastatingly sexy on those who wear it well. And it comes in a big, heavy column of a bottle that just feels powerful and entirely self-assured, as does the fragrance. Notes include aldehydes, spices, jasmine, rose, ylang, orris, gernaium, leather, tobacco, amber, patchouli, musk, moss, vetiver and castoreum.

Rive Gauche is more chypre than anything else to me, though its' typically considered a floral aldehyde. It is not sweet, not especially smoky and not green either; all the flower (including magnolia, gardenia, geranium, rose, ylang and lily of the valley) and green notes smell a bit smoked, as if they've been dipped in incense. A powdery, sharp rope of iris and tonka, dusted up even further by aldehydes, run through all. It's got some character in common with Cabochard and Chanel 19, though I like Rive Gauche better. Still, it wasn't a major favorite of mine until I layered it over a Bourbon vanilla lotion one day - and then it truly came alive. The Bourbon vanilla is smoky, too, like the fragrance, but adds that jot of sweetness - not too much, just enough - that this scent seems to call out for. I have never worn it any way but then since then and highly recommend trying it this way. I am, by the way, referring to the "old" verison of Rive Gauche; I have not yet tried the reformulated one that's supposed to be a lighter take on this fragrance. The old heavy one's just fine by me!

I always found Paris too florally and close until I started wearing some of the lighter spinoff limited edition versions like Paris Premieres Roses. The roses and other florals in the Paris family are unique in character - I find them almost candy-like, but as in very good and expensive French candy, pastilles and so on, rather than jelly beans or common hard candies. They are also warm and glowing, effusive without necessarily being overly heavy or ripe. Lovely in their own ways - just took a little getting used to for me. Paris is a scent that accomplishes being delicate without going wimpy or wishy-washy, a lesson that plenty of other water-logged aquatic fruity-florals could stand to learn! Notes include rose petals, orange blossom, mimosa, cassia, hyacinth, violet, ylang, lily, linden, iris, heliotrope, amber, musk, moss.

This fragrance is about the first rose buds in spring, delicate and a little tentative, perfumed but not heady. Sometimes "young rose" scents can err on the side of being too green and so a little musty, but not this one; the infusion of a good deal of violet with its powdery qualities keeps this scent just airy and floaty enough to carry you right into printemps at the Tuileries. The base is pretty much inconsequential, not noticeable against the profusion of flowers and not really missed. Interesting, I find this fragrance to be plenty strong enough for an EDT; it applies with quite a bit of scent and certainly doesn't fade away quickly. But the sillage is minimal; it honestly stays as close to the skin as any scent I've ever tried. I have gone through almost all of the huge four-ounce bottle and have enjoyed this fragrance more and more, to the point where I may strongly consider repurchasing it - if I can find any more of it - when I run out of my current supply.

There is something of the ancient in this fragrance, something that seems to go back to cultures from long ago, and that makes it fascinating to me. It's very herbal - even verging on the medicinal during the opening phase but in a way that really works. With a blend of bergamot, lemon, cypress, basil, cumin and juniper, the character of this tends toward aromatic spices and herbs, the kinds of things people in ancient Rome or India may have scented themselves with or burned in urns as incense (which is also a note here - beautiful, not at all woodsmoky.) Of course, too much of a good thing is too much, so there are vanilla, amber and white musk to sweeten, smooth, balance out the other half of the composition. This is not a feminine fragrance in the way we think of them nowadays, but that could have been worn by an elegant woman - or man - of centuries ago. Splendid work from the house of Annick Goutal.

Kind of a cute idea for a fragrance - evergreen trees, sugar cookies, smoky fireplaces - but it's a little too novel for me, along the same lines as those appliqued sweaters that people only wear for Christmas. The pairing of heavy pines with gourmand ingredients is a little jarring and contrived to me, something of a disconnect; each category of notes has its place but together they seem strange. That's what I pretty much think of the scent - it's just a little strange. I like the briskness of the evergreen notes and here they manage to avoid feeling oily and disinfectant-like; they actually have a nice sparkling quality. And I like the base section, which is about sugar and spice - including ginger - and that smokiness from the incense. I think the base notes alone could have carried this sense, actually. It would have worked out fine. I wear it maybe once a year - guess when?! Hint: I put it on before I set out the cookies and milk for you-know-who.

For me, this is just another case of nice but not as nice as...fragrances. Aqua Allegoria Herba Fresca runs a very second to the ultimate grass-lemon-mint-herbal fragrance in my lexicon, L'Artisan L'Eau de L'Artisan. And for subtle reasons too - though ones that end up making all the difference in the world. Big thing: the type of grass note most prominent in each. L'Artisan's is fresh-cut timothy hay grass in the field, the truest grass scent there is to me, a little piquant, very fragrant, barely sweet. Herba Fresca's is just too sweet for me, more clover than grass. (Admittedly, I'm a bit of a freak about these things - I grew up with horses so I have very specific ideas about what grass, hay, etc scents I prefer.) Why this is an issue has to do with the way this note carries through the composition and plays with the other notes involved; the purely grassy grass in the L'Artisan just works better with the mint, lemon and basil notes - all of which are also in the Herba. The Herba Fresca's cloverish grass just comes off as too sweet for me in this context. Honestly, though, most more normal and less obssessive individuals would not be bothered by this. So please don't let my weird review stop you from trying this fragrance! Also to note - The Body Shop has a scent called Minteva that is close to being a carbon copy of Herba Fresca.

Diorella is perfectly nice but I just can't help finding it wanting in comparison it to my revered, adored, beloved Cristalle - which is not even a very fair comparison since I find Cristalle to be most perfect in its EDP form, very different from its EDT form as well as from Diorella, which only comes in the EDT. Diorella is actually closer to being a cool, mossy chypre than the warm, tangy, eensy-bit leathery Cristalle I wear. The Dior's got fruity-crisp topnotes and not a lot of florals, and I find as such that it doesn't hold up well on my skin. Staying power can be neglible with Diorella, though your mileage may vary. I can't say I dislike this fragrance or that it's bad in any way; it's just a chipper lemony chypre that I could easily live without, one I'll always relegate to permanent bridesmaid status because I'm just so ridiculously partial to Cristalle EDP.

Eau de Charlotte is just love in a bottle. In fact, it's a bit like a very sophisticated take on my adolescent fave, Love's Baby Soft, as it's got a somewhat similar powdery, baby-blanket embrace to it. Much more interesting, though, and much more feminine to me. Wearing it always makes me wish I had a few Victorian-pretty, lace-embellished off-white things to pair with it, as it just calls for that mode. At the very least, it requires a cream-colored sweater in some plushy, fuzzy yarn; it's just not appropriate to me to wear Eau de Charlotte with an all-black ensemble or anything too severe. Don't get me wrong; I can't (afford to) and don't "dress to suit" the vast majority of my fragrances! But Eau de Charlotte is so very dusky-sweet and delicate that I do honestly save it for those days when I'm doing the fluffy sweater thing. Fortunately, I do a lot of knitting and can make my own "Eau de Charlotte wear." (Yes, I am a weirdo!)

This is another Lutens creation that I'm finding myself warming up to and liking more over time. The primary notes are honey, wood, beeswax, iris and hawthorn. Nothing offensive, right? But it's important to note some of the more specific qualities of some of the notes, as I think some do find them less than inviting. For one thing, the wood here can best be described in one phrase: lumber store. None of your spicy cedars, mellow balsams or rich mahoganies reside here. Not even knotty pine. Instead you get your sawdust, your freshly cut two-by-fours, even a splinter or two (okay, that's going a bit too far.) I suspect this is one of Serge's wink-wink moments - like the "hey, let's put a tuberose in a tire store" thing in Tuberose Criminelle. But here, it somehow works, at least for me. It's uniquely refreshing and also comforting (though I confess a soft spot for lumber yards - it's a childhood thing.) Okay, the other thing is the honey. If you're a honey connoisseur, then you know that there are many different kinds of honeys that occur naturally - depending, I assume, on where the bees get their pollen. Some honeys are very floral, some fruity, some even have a hint of evergreen. Well, this honey's none of those; it's more like a raw, royal jelly type, fragrant but in a distinctly musky way. An animalic honey, if you will. Some, I think, hate it; and paired with the sawdust and two-by-fours, I admit it's a little bit challenging. Yet not awful. The beeswax and iris serve as intelligent counterpoints. This one makes me think and I appreciate that.

Meh - this vanilla freak is underwhelmed. Serge Lutens' legions would probably draw me, quarter me and roast my remains at the stake for this, but if you think you might want to try this particualr vanilla type on for size, save yourself a jillion dollars and start with a $5 bottle of Body Fantasies Vanilla Sugar Fantasy, available at drugstores everywhere. No, of course it's not as good as the Lutens - but profile-wise, it's not all that hugely different a scent. Both are cool, woody vanillas dashed with coconut and sandalwood; the only major compositional difference is Lutens' addition of a black licorice note, which makes his vanilla a little darker than the Body Fantasies. And if you just can't stomach the idea of comparing caviar to tuna, then at least look into Calypso Vanille - which again, brings together low-warmth vanilla with coconut and a bit of wood, though the orange blossom and greens throw a slightly more tropical feeling to the Calypso. And if you still can't deal with anything other than high-end, at least check out Annick Goutal's Vanille Exquise first and possibly save yourself a few dollars - though the Goutal is thinner and more plasticky and in fact thoroughly unpleasant in many ways. Or else just go ahead and take the plunge on Bois Vanille, but don't go into it expecting anything very rich, warm, fragrant or gourmand. This is as much wood as it is vanilla and it's just not all that enticing.

I'm not head over heels with Daim Blonde yet, but it's growing on me. As a rule, most leather scents don't really do it for me; I don't mind a minor flourish of leather in a fragrance if it's done in an interesting way, but when it comprises the main story - well, something about that is off-putting. Of course, Daim Blonde is about suede, which is not all that much like leather in scent; actual suede is not nearly as highly scented as leather, largely - I think - because it's not tanned and finished like leather is. In fact, I think suede actually is brushed, untanned leather; I'd look that up but I'm too lazy! Anyway, back to the fragrance - the somewhat elusive qualities of what suede, one of very fine grade, actually does smell like are illustrated here in a way that provokes thought, at the very least. I like the way iris kind of headlines the composition, as it is itself an elusive note, soft yet with a sharpness, powdery and nearly sweet but also earthy like dew-soaked dirt. It's this and that, just as suede is raw and animalic but also plush and purely luxurious. Subtle, very subtle. The entire compositon comes together seamlessly beyond the iris, such that I can hardly pick out precisely what I'm smelling. I consider this a "me" scent, something I wear purely because I know how fine it is even if it's so enitrely subtle that those who detect it on me don't give it a thought. In that regard, it's like an extremely, extremely expensive round of hair salon highlights, the kind that are so meticulously executed that they look natural and effortless, as if your hair color really does look that way on its own. You can't tell where the natural leaves off and the craftsmanship comes in; Daim Blonde is like that to me.

Some Serge Lutens fragrances I like, some I actively dislike. But a few remind me of Chevy Chase's character in "Caddyshack" when he says, "There's a subtle perfection in everything I do." Serge Lutens and Co., you've done just such a subtly perfect job with Ambre Sultan. Now, I love amber in all its incarnations; I've never met one I didn't like, in fact. But this one is special - endlessly resinous, palpably viscous, almost binding in its beauty. It's got to be one of the best quality ambers available anywhere; it just smells expensive. And unlike some of Lutens' other "weirdly clever" topnote juxtapositions - which can at times seem like they're just trying way too hard to be strange - I love the spicy-savory arrangement of herbals here, the oregano, bay leaf, coriander and myrtle. They evoke the souk with its overflowing, fragrant spice stalls and that just adds to the whole experience of wearing this fragrance. I daresay this probably is and will be one of my favorite, most prized ambers. C'est parfait.

Not a fan. This fragrance seems to be something of a cult favorite but I expressly do not like it. And it's not so much the unorthodox topnotes that make it a non-starter for me - though they're certianly nothing to get happy about, consisting as they do of one or more things, exact sources unknown, that conspire to create an air of camphor-mentholate/tire rubber essence. No, that's not the worst part. What really throws this one for me is the sickly tuberose it's got in there. It's so sweet - and thin! I almost feel sorry for the note, it's so anemic. I like my tuberose heavy, buttery, dry-steamy, distinctly unsweet, very bossy, totally take charge and way over the top. The poor tuberose here is none of those things, none at all. It smells like it's been mistreated; there's almost a little rottenness to it. I guess this fragrance is difficult to come by in the states - I bought a vial from someone a while ago and wore it twice before giving it away. No, I mean - trying to give it away. No one I asked would take it. I'm not even sure what happened to it and I don't care. I dislike this fragrance that much.

Woo-hoo - finally, a fruity floral that breaks form the banal pack and shows a little rebellious streak! I love this fragrance to death because it's got a zesty-earthy edge to it that breaks up its otherwise typical, though very nice, arrangement of fruits and florals. The blood orange top note itself has a little zip to it, and the coriander leaves and cardamom bring the spiciness for sure. But I have a feeling the "secret ingredient" is carrot seed, which imparts an almost patchouli-like zing to the composition, something that's dry, earthy, clean and spicy all at the same time. It's just great, and doesn't get all rotten-hot and B.O. like in its blending with the jasmine, violet and vanilla notes. There's nothing "pink" about this scent whatsoever - it's not girly, frilly, pretty or delicate in the least. Of course, there's a time and place for all of that, but not when you're wearing this fragrance. Very sportif, it makes me feel like grabbing a racquet and hitting the tennis courts - yet it's classy and elegant enough to wear for a post-game lunch or cocktails, too.

Let's face it, apple is just not a really exciting note. Perhaps because it smells so familiar, it just doesn't have the same impact as other notes do. And so apple scents, at least to me, can seem boring after a while - not very challenging, not very provocative. All About Eve is one of those, particularly because this already pretty mellow note of apple is further rounded off with a very soft-focus cinnamon, a cozy vanilla, a light and airy jasmine and a velvety, just barely earthy vetiver. The whole composition just envelops you, soothes you, doesn't get sharp, doesn't change, certainly doesn't turn on you. And yes, that gets dull after a while. But then, in my case, I'll stop wearing it for a while and then, all of the sudden - start thinking about it again. It may be super-soft and none too challenging, but you know, some days you just need to go with that flow. Some people find this fragrance to be as blend as fruit-scented shampoo but sometimes that sort of blandness just really works for me!

Ambiguously fruity-floral is about the only way I can think to describe Sui Love. As with its predecessor, Sui Dreams, every element of this fragrance seems to have been cut with either some water or powder or both, because all of it just seems to be rather hazy. And for all I know, that's what Anna Sui had in mind; it's not a bad thing, just something unfocused and indefinite. I guess it either appeals to you or it doesn't. You certainly won't offend anyone with this fragrance either, it's that gauzy. I like it but never, ever find myself thinking, "Hey, Calchic, why don't you wear some Sui Love today? It's that kind of day." Maybe I'm just not the ideal wearer Anna Sui had in mind, either. Notes: bergamot, passion fruit, osmanthus, pink pepper, jasmine, marigold, rose, water lily, tuberose, orange flower, violet, vanilla, ambrette seed, musk.

Reminds me of what we used to call "orange drink" - a not-really-soda, not-really-fruit- punch thing that fast food restaurants sometimes served in place of orange soda. It was beyond artifical tasting and had a little sharpness to it. Sui Dreams recaptures this in a fragrance - the topnotes of tangerine and orange bitter really stand out and set the pace for this fragrance, which dries down into a softly vanillic, powdery, orangey scent that smells just like - yup, orange drink. Like the beverage, nothing in Sui Dreams smells quite real, as in natural; and in a way that's part of its charm, though the routine wears thin over time. Very much a lightweight scent, nothing incredibly moving or provocative about it. It's fun to throw on now and then but not the kind of fragrance I find myself suddenly dying to apply. It's just sort of - there. Notes are: top - bergamot, tangerine, orange bitter, peach, freesia, peony, rose, cedar, sandalwood, vanilla, skin musks.

A raspberry-apricot-rose extravaganza that is so very fruity and sweet - a little too sweet for some tastes, perhaps. The fragrance both opens and continues with these notes, initially enlivened with a little bergamot, and create a nearly raspberry jam-like aroma, eventually becoming just ever so slightly powdery thanks to the tonka that sits in the base (along with cedar and sandalwood.) Fans of Rochas Lumiere will instantly connect with this fragrance, though the Anna Sui is actually even more fruity and slightly less "perfumey" than the Rochas. Anyone who wears or likes Cassini by Oleg Cassini will also find Anna Sui to be cut from the same cloth - though somewhat less florally than the Cassini. As for me, I find this fragrance to be just over the border of a bit much; one very discreet spray is much more than enough. I like it, don't love it by any means. Once in a great while it's kind of nice.

A good, tropical vanilla-floral with a bad opening, one that can variously take on smoky-bitter, candle waxy, gluey and artificially buttery aspects. I can't begin to imagine where those offputting nuances have their sources, as the notes here - ylang ylang, iris, jasmine and vanilla - just don't usually have it in them to be so hostile. Then again, ylang can sometimes run bitter, iris can get all sorts of weird, jasmine has been known to throw a certain oily-fatty cast and vanilla certainly has a pipe-smoke edge to it in some incarnations, so maybe the semi-rude prelude to what one naturally expects to be a soft, sweet, gentle-flowing fragrance does have explainable origins after all. And once you get beyond all that, you do indeed get to something nice; not mind-blowingly great, but nice. The vanilla is dry and a little nutty and of the type I've come to think of as "tropical" vanilla - Calypso Vanille's vanilla note is indetical to this one. If you do NOT like gourmand vanillas, this fragrance is an excellent choice. I'm giving it a neutral because it's not to my taste.

If you're expecting anything remotely reminiscent of jack o'lanterns, woodsmoke, bobbing for apples, even anything vaguely resembling autumn in general - keep moving, because you won't find it here! The color of the juice, a very lilac shade of purple, is a dead giveaway. Halloween is an aquatic, ozonic floral - about as anti-autumn as you can get. The topnotes? Lime, green banana and "seas of Alaska." That must mean something glacial. Got it. Other notes include magnolia, lily of the valley, tuberose and pink pepper. Actually, the fragrance itself is nice enough, so long as you understand what it's about; it's pleasantly different from the usual aquatic fruit-florals, has a little more character to it. I can't think of anything else it closely resembles, but if you're familiar with Coty Ghost Myst (which I actually don't like, and which is also very innappropriately named as it's about as ghostly as Mickey Mouse) and Herve Leger, which has a strangely surreal sense of smelling not quite of the natural world (i.e. synthetic - but in an interesting rather than jarring way), Halloween comes off as a hybrid of those two. It really and sincerely does; I have all three and have done the experimenting myself!

Inspired by the hot-yet-cool red lipstick of the same name by Revlon. Does the fragrance run hot and cold as well? Not really, at least in the sense I'd think of hot and cold smelling, something like fiery cinnamon and cool mint, which might not actually smell all that great together! Very mouthwashy. For this scent, "Sharp and Sweet" might be a more descriptive name, as it blasts out of the bottle with one of those very nose-tingling types of orangey-vanilla-sandalwood salvos. I used to despise fragrances that opened this way and consider them a bit tacky until I realized what I was smelling; now I don't have much of an issue with them. They're just heady is all. From there, Fire and Ice burns down to a warm, pretty decently balanced oriental that offsets a tuberose-magnolia heart with woods, spices and maybe a little musk. If you've ever smelled or used Emeraude by Coty, Fire and Ice is a nearly identical fragrance, with the only difference being Emeraude's heart of jasmine. Fire and Ice is still pretty easily found online; I don't see it much in regular drugstores but online retailers seem to have plenty of it.

Is this still around? I haven't seen it anywhere in a while, though admittedly I haven't been looking all that hard. It's actually one of my favorite floral fragrances, perhaps the one very Sambac jasmine-intense scent that I've ever really been crazy about. And the rose honey - well, if you are a fan of Nahema and/or Ombre Rose, this is certainly one to be tried. I used to receive endless positive comments on this fragrance; it's got a warm, engaging sense about it, a genuine inner glow. Sounds corny perhaps, but there was just something about it that reached out and drew in people - even those people usually a little on the dour and/or reticent side - and made them smile. Very linear, with maybe a little lemony something in the opening notes, but not at all boring thanks to what seemed to be extremely high quality, very long-lasting ingredients.

Another fabulous musk from Jovan! While the regular "plain" musk from Jovan is my favorite from this brand, the white musk runs a tight second. This is soft white musk, pillowy and a teeny bit baby powdery and sweet - much different from a fresh white musk, which is often more sparkly, zippy, not sweet at all, tending more toward soapy-fresh. The Jovan version is full of honeyish florals - jasmine, honeysuckle, ylang ylang - and this bouquet rests on a base of amber, woods, aldehydes and, yes, musk. And the complexity comes through in the fragrance, too; it amazes me sometimes as to how some of the really inexpensive drugstore scents out there seem to be so much more thoughtfully blended that much higher-end products. We all hear that from time to time and Jovan White Musk really takes that point home. Where this musk truly shines as as a layering scent with vanilla - either another vanilla fragrance or a vanilla body lotion, anything from a drugstore brand (St. Ives is nice, as is the one from Body Fantasies) to something like a Molinard vanilla. It's so incredible smelling a combination that it must be tried to be believed.

I have nothing but love for Alyssa Ashley musk. Close in character to my number one drugstore musk choice, Jovan Musk, Alyssa Ashley is shampoo-ish (think Breck, Wella Baslam, Revlon Flex) with notes of balsam and maybe a tiny touch of soap. What makes the Ashley different enough from Jovan to merit having and loving both is a touch of powderiness and a little, almost barely perceptible trace of spiciness (don't think "spiced musk" though, because it's not like that at all.) It's just a little softer than Jovan, with the little spicy warmth a bit reminiscent of the also-great Coty Wild Musk. Given the fabulousness of this fragrance (which I wear in oil form, by the way), I'm dying to try the Ashley rendition of vanilla. I need to track that down one of these days it's got to be amazing!

To my nose, this vanilla got left out in the fields, because I can almost not make it out in this very powdery, florally fragrance. I think Coty uses a very light, not terribly warm vanilla in its fragrances to begin with, and it doesn't stand out well at all in Vanilla Fields. I think of this as a mostly jasmine scent with just a little bit of vanilla and maybe some green top notes as well as something lightly clean and powder-like in the base - possibly a very light and clean musk. I ahve repeatedly tried to get myself to like Vanilla Fields, just because I'm such a vanilla fanatic and want to believe there's no such thing as a lukewarm vanilla, but to no avail. This will never be what I want it to be! Not a bad scent, though, so it gets a neutral rating.

Really a nice fragrance; next to Jovan Musk, my gold standard, Coty Wild Musk is probably the best drugstore musk out there. (Alyssa Ashley is my number three, in case you were wondering!) I think the name "wild" captures this well; for some reason, my overly active imagination conjures wearing this while lolling around on a bearskin rug and wrapped in big cozy blankets in front of a big crackling fire at a lodge way out in the woods somewhere. It's got that sort of a feeling to it - snuggly, very warm, a teeny bit smoky. It's got vanilla and musk and, it seems to me, some very slightly spicy resins. And it's very much a personal, close to the body fragrance; I wear it in oil form and it's very subtle. Not a clean musk at all, not a terribly animalic one either. It's pretty much the ultimate "comfort musk" in my book.

Coty's handling of vanilla is suspect to me. The brand does so many things so well, but other than Vanilla Musk, it's never produced a vanilla fragrance that I've found even acceptable, much less good. And being that vanilla's one of my most-loved notes, this saddens me as I'd love to find a great, readily available drugstore vanilla (that is, besides Body Fantasies Vanilla - which is quite good) that I could just drench myself in when I felt the need. Dark Vanilla won't be fulfilling that role for me, that's for sure. Said to be a blend of bergamot, jasmine and vanilla, Dark Vanilla is to my nose a pairing of cheapish, low quality vanilla and very oily coconut. I have cheap hair oils that smell better than this stuff, I'm sorry to say. Bergamot - nada. Didn't show up for the party. Not sure it would have made a difference anyway. Another bad vanilla bites the dust.

Badly overripe, overly sweet, cloyingly bad and chokingly cheap smelling. Dulce Vanilla is said to be composed of coconut, caramel, amber, raspberry and, of course, vanilla. Had I gotten even two of those notes coming through in a semi-palatable way, I would have been satisfied. I innocently tried it on expecting something creamy-caramelly and dulce-de-leche like. What I got was fruit reek, the worst kind of cheap perfume smell, the kind that just dogs you in your dreams long after you've finally managed to sandblast it off your skin. This and something called "Delicious Feelings" by Gale Hayman are two of the most pernicious, awful things I've ever smelled in my life - and I've smelled a lot, a lot! Avoid this like the plague, unless eau de sweet-hot garbage appeals to you. You have been warned!

Sand and Sable represents my first real appreciation of tuberose, that kind of "a-ha" moment when you find something that really, really speaks to you on an intrinsic level. Though there are also gardenia and jasmine at work here, as well as a peach note and some green flourishes, what grabbed me the most from the beginning was that buttery, rich, velvety, in the least bit sweet call of the tuberose. I remember trying it on at some drugstore and walking up and down the aisles sniffing my arm and thinking, "what IS this stuff?" I was fascinated with it. A number of years later, when I first encountered Fracas - same thing. Sand and Sable's a very good introduction to the whole tuberose-gardenia subcategory best defined by Fracas, Versace Blonde and several other dryer, almost champagne-like yet rich combinations of these and other notes. I would recommend it to anyone who either already loves this type of scent or wants to learn to love it.

New Musk is basically a tuberose-musk blend, a fragrance combination that can also be found in Body Fantasies Tuberose-Musk Fantasy. Both fragrances are made by the same company, Parfums de Coeur, and so are in all likelihood built around the same base of ingredients. However, they're not completely identical; the Body Fantasies version, which is very nice on its own, is a little bit sweeter and more florally than the New Musk. Conversely, New Musk is muskier and cleaner. Some find it comparable to Coty's Sand and Sable and I get the resemblance to some extent, save for the fact that Sand and Sable's musk-less. Both are similarly not too sweet, though. Those who like the "buttery" quality that Sand and Sable captures so well should find the New Musk pretty nice, too.

A crisp and sparkling rendition of white musk and one that wears on hour after hour; beware overapplying this one as it can be a bit strong and even a bit sickening in overlay large doses. Unlike other creamier, sweeter white musks, Fresh White Musk has very little that's mellow or sweet; it's supposed to be a blend of white floral and musk but I think it's a little too soapy to fit that description. Extremely clean, extremely fresh, quite nice. But again, watch with application' I have a little bottle of this but the sprayer mechanism is on the aggressive side, if you know what I mean. A good deal of fragrance releases when you apply, so either hold the bottle out and as far away as possible when spraying or else do an air-spray-and-walk-through routine. You'll be glad you did.

Outstanding stuff - high end purists may balk but this bears a not-so-far-removed resemblance to the beloved Collection by Escada fragrance, in all seriousness. The cross-action between the musk and vanilla here give off a cola-like vibe with a lightly effervescent citrusy fizz (cola and mandarin being two of Collection's defining notes, it makes sense the two scents would seem alike.) And Vanilla Musk has the same almost nuttyish sweetness to it that Collection has; what it doesn't have is Collection's tuberose richness or tonka-Bourbon vanilla pipe smokiness. Not a problem, though; this fragrance dries down to a slightly spicy sandalwood richness of its own, and it's really nice. This is a great one by Coty and smells like way, way more than its pricetag.

My favorite drugstore musk if not favorite musk in any segment. If you love the smell of Breck shampoo - heck, if you even remember the smell of Breck shampoo - then you must, must try this musk. (Some feel it's more like Flex shampoo from Revlon - and I can see, or smell, where that's coming from though I find/found Flex to be just a little spicier than Breck or the Jovan Musk itself.) It's clean and balsam-y sweet and a little honeyish; I've read that there are flowers among the notes and I'd have to guess they were of the white floral variety. You can wear this alone - I use the oil version - or with other fragrances or layered with scented lotions, what have you. There's very little it doesn't smell good with and on its own, it's just glorious. No musky noxiousness, no heaviness or oiliness whatsoever - honest. A musk among musks.

First might end up being the only thing I ever own from Van Cleef and Arpels, but what a consolation prize! This fragrance is nothing short of magnificent and also holds many happy associations for me, so of course I just love it. It's categorized as an aldehydic floral - and sparkles on the topnotes, which are sweet and warm with nearly jam-like black currant and raspberry. The base is sweet, too, sweet and rich with amber, honey, oakmoss, vetiver, musk and civet. What saves this composition from going over the edge of the cloying-animalic-get-this-stuff-away-from-me waterfall, though, is a perfect middle layer of florals, and not just any old florals. There's a big tuberose perfect in its buttery splendor, a very clean and spicy narcissus and a really well done almost unsweet Turkish rose. A round of sweet, humid, overripe flowers would just have killed this scent, but the way the florals work here have the effect of elevating, differentiating and truly deliver First into a category of its own. This one's a real jewel of a fragrance, a top-grade diamond.

Regardless of what one thinks of other fragrances from the Diptyque line, EVERYone loves Philosykos, right? Right? Wrong! Argh, what is it with Diptyques that causes me to block on them so badly and miss what so many others seem to be enjoying?! When it comes to figs, I'm a L'Artisan Premier Figieur kind of girl, yet open to other interpretations of this stellar fruit, which I've kind of been in love with since childhood. And Premier, like Philosykos, is green fig, not ripe fig, not the honeyish variety you find in other scents such as Balenciaga Cristobal. So I'm okay with the green fig thing. Philosykos, though, is just TOO green, too thin and - nail in the coffin - weirdly sweet in the drydown, a little powdery-sickly sweet and so not what I think of fig as being. Drat! I had a chance recently to buy a bottle of this at such a good price; a boutique near me was going out of business and selling off a few Diptyque SKUs. Cut-rate Philosykos was right there in front of me and I still couldn't/wouldn't take the bait. I realized from that experience that Diptyques and I will never see eye-to-eye.

Sharp yet soft - if that makes sense. Olene, composed of white florals headlined by wisteria and narcissus, has a whip-crack of some kind of sharpness to it. Whether it comes from the fragrance's alcohol content - all Diptyques I've ever tried have at least a moderate alcohol reek - or some of the spicier aspects of the narcissus or both, I'm not sure. But it's there, as is the honey-plush heat from what has got to be either honeysuckle or jasmine or both. Gardenia and tuberose - I think they may be in Olene as well, particularly the tuberose which adds least a little of its singular clean-dry-butteriness to the mix. Not much, though. Straight white florals are straight white florals to me and Olene's no exception. I hate to say it but *yawn* another non-starter from Diptyque for me, too predictable, too plain. I am giving it a neutral, however, because it's a pretty one in spite of its simple nature.

I just can't seem to hitch a ride on the Diptyque love train, and this widely loved Diptyque scent hammers that home for me. While not unpleasant - as in sour, musty, dusty, dour - like some rose scents can be, L'Ombre dans L'Eau smells so basic and straightforward to my nose that it just leaves me unstirred. Fresh, dewy young rose meets some green notes. Boom, the end. I don't get any black currant, no earthy notes, no nuance whatsoever beyond buds and leaves. I've really made an effort with Diptyque scents but they just don't cut it for me. Recently I happened across a shop that was selling a few Diptyque scents, including this L'Ombre, at dramatically discounted prices. I'm talking around $15 a bottle. And I STILL couldn't get myself to buy any of them; if that's not my subconscious telling me, "Calchic, you really hate these, you won't admit it but you really hate these," then I don't know what is!

I'm not a major cheerleader for many chypres; a lot of them can really hit me the wrong way and make me wonder how anyone could find them pleasing or even logical. (I'm still struggling to appreciate Mitsouko but I mean, really, moss and - peach? I just can't get my head wrapped around the melody of that somehow.) Aromatics Elixir, though, has always struck me as a little bit different because it doesn't seem to be trying to be something it's not. It's got a earthy-crunchy-hippy commune vibe going on, like Woods Hole, Massachusetts or Provincetown back in the early 70s, and doesn't go to any hugely great lengths to cover up that identity with notes that are "prettier," sweeter, more stylish or whatnot. It just is what it is and lyrical in its own way. It reminds me of a young James Taylor. I think that's cool. It's got a little fire (some spicy coriander, palmarosa - aka East Indian geranium, carnation, sandalwood), a little rain (cooling, mosit mosses) and the same certain kind of smoothness heard in the voice of old Baby James. Chamomile smooth, like a good herbal tea. And plenty of patchouli, too; again, it is a 70s kind of thing, but still plenty good these days, too.

Pretty and completely feminine, Il Bacio somehow manages to escape the "just another fruity floral" doldrums, though I'm not sure how. It must be in the way the notes are calibrated; I notice that violet is one of the basenotes here, which is highly unusual to say the least. Also, the very large assortment of fruit notes - peach, plum, melon, passion fruit, pear - plus the fruity osmanthus are situated in the heart of the composition, not at the top. The florals, including honeysuckle, rose, jasmine, orchid and lily of the valley, do function as topnotes here and are atypically airy and clean. Il Bacio reminds me of a fresher verison of another fruity floral that I happen to find exceptional, First by Van Cleef and Arpels. They are both rich and somehow almost generous and benificent at heart, yet don't get bogged down into simple syrupy, sappy sweetness touched up with some spicy notes.

Nice for a man - sort of a niche perfumer's take on Monsieur de Givenchy - but Luce is not for the ladies, or at least this lady. Lavender, lemongrass, ginger and musk add up to a definitively masculine scent here, a nice one though somehow lacking in that little *spark* that it seems to need. Something is missing and it's hard to say what; the ginger should be adequate to give Luce a hit of the spice it calls for but somehow doesn't deliver. This one rarely gets worn around my house - my husband seems to find it as basically unexciting and blah as I do. If you want to get a Beth Terry scent that's failsafe in its uniqueness, go for Mare. I haven't tried Vita yet so I don't know how it ranks in the Creative Universe universe, but Mare is a truly genius fragrance. Luce just is not.

Another one of those puzzlingly named scents - sounds like it should be an understated, effortlessly elegant fragrance, like something along the lines of Bill Blass signature. Instead, it smells like a knock-off of Giorgio Beverly Hills and a scary one at that! Of course, the striped box - navy and white, versus Girogio's yellow and white, should be something of a giveaway, but still. Way, way too strong, intense and spicy-florally-heady to be called something like Navy. Not my type of scent, never was, never will be (same goes for Giorgio - ugh!), this fragrance consists of some citrus topnotes, heavy floral heartnotes and spice accents that include coriander and cinnamon. As with Giorgio, though, the description of notes doesn't really reveal the true character fo the composiiton. Everything here is balanced toward the heady and heavy. If you want something properly power-80s-like but in a good way, my advice is to skip the Navy, skip the Girogio and look into some Red instead.

Ah Coty - for every unpleasant and offputting Exclamation or Dulce Vanilla you put out, you manage to turn around and launch something improbably beautiful! Case in point: Ici. Warm, sweet, creamy, almondy soft, a composition of magnolia, mimosa, cocoa, amber and musk. Far ahead of its time and truly genius, a genuinely lovely comfort scent. In fact, on the level of several premium fragrances including Burberry Brit and Lea St. Barth yet at a fraction of the price tag. Actually, I wish I had known how terrific Ici was before I'd gone ahead and bought those other two, because it lingers longer than the Brit and is less cloying and annoying than the Lea. Check this one out if you love gourmand fragrances.

Improbably, after all this time and all the stuff that's come and gone from my life since, I've managed to hang on to a bottle of this that I purchased in the mid 80s. From what I gather, Emeraude's been through many incarnations, bottle styles, strengths and possibly even reformulations, so I don't know where my particualr rendition falls into the spectrum. The bottle I have has that trademark crown-style top on and the juice itself is almost neon green, very similar to the color of Prescriptives Calyx. In terms of scent, this one starts out sharp - sharp! Whip-you-in-the-nose, somewhat old-school sharp in the manner of old Prince Matchabellis and such. Sharp and sweet; I think it's the orange-vanilla-sandalwood triple punch doing this, as I have other orange-vanilla scents that have a similar sharpness and know that some of them are also underscored with that spiciness of sandalwood. Back in the day, I used to avoid wearing this fragrance much for that very reason; I just didn't get it and my sense of smell was a little too untrained for that type of thing, I suppose. I'd just think, "this smells like grandma's perfumes" and put it back in the shoebox where I kept it. Today, I'm much more well rounded and can appreciate this type of opening for what it is! In addition to those three notes, Emeraude contains jasmine - which is quite sweet though not totally obnoxious - and some other spices and perhaps a touch of patchouli. It's a pretty good one; I don't know what the newer versions in the newer bottles are like, but this version is not bad at all.

I'll exclaim all right - I truly dislike this fragrance and always have!!!! I must be in the minority since Exclamation has evidently been successful enough since its launch in the late 80s to have inspired a number of spin-offs, including Blush, Femme, Play, Noir...the list goes on. But in my experience, when Coty fragrances are good they are very, very good, but when they're bad they're awful - and Exclamation is just that. It's just so darned musty somehow; I think it's just an apricot note, but it comes off not as fruity-sweet but as apricot sour, that drink made with whiskey sour mix and apricot schnappes. It's just strange and off and very unpleasant. There is some amber-type powderiness in here that should, by all counts, cut this sour whiff somewhat but doesn't quite accomplish the task.

Coty does some great, great stuff in the fragrance field, and also some not so great stuff; Ghost Myst is one of those not-so-great ones. I think the thing that rankles me the most about this fragrance is the misleading name. Ghost Myst is neither ghostly, as in ethereal and soft and shape-shifting, or misty, as in ethereal and soft and, well, hazy. Whether intended or not, what Ghost Myst smells like to me is a knock-off of Estee Lauder Pleasures. (They both did launch in 1995, and I know that Pleasures came out in late winter-early spring because I clearly recall wearing it then, so I suspect that Ghost Myst floated along somewhere later that year - probably as a holiday season launch.) Mainly a watery floral with a dash of fruit and some sandalwood, Ghost Myst suffers from that same case of sour/musty-itis that has always made another Coty scent, Exclamation, so very unpleasant to me. They share some common ground; Ghost Myst is marginally better than good old "Ex," but not by a wide margin!

Ghost is a gorgeous fragrance if given the chance to develop on your skin. It's one of those fragrances I'd keep trying on at the store and feeling confused about as the opening is so rose-intense. Roses, especially fresh young ones like the ones here, are nice but do not smell ghostly or ethereal or haunting or mysterious, as I fully expected and desired this scent to be. So I'd just shrug it off and move on to something else. Well, fortunately, one day I let it dry down to completion without passing such swift and unfavorable judgement on it, and was met with an entirely different impression. Once past the rosy stage, this indeed is a floating, cloud-like fragrance, a puff of slightly strange powder - more than a little similar to the odd powderiness of Herve Leger's fragrance, but with a twisting curl of smoke thrown in thanks to the incense. The notes used are not all that revealing in telling the story of what this really smells like; I can only recommend trying it and being patient with it. Transparent but not without its own kind of weight, not too sweet or traditionally powdery, genuinely moving and a bit emotional in its unfolding, Ghost does live up to its name after all. By the way: this fragrance is not to be confused with the genuinely scary, and not in a good way, Ghost Myst by Coty - a watery-sour imitation of Estee Lauder Pleasures.

A strange green tea scent that bizarrely tends toward the broth-like. The weak green tea note here stands no chance against the forces of celery, clove and grapefruit, which band together to form an aroma so much like homemade chicken broth bubbling away on the back burner, it's uncanny. The remaining notes of bergamot and ylang ylang don't even bother to phone it in - they're just nowhere to be found. On the very few occasions I've worn this fragrance, the only favorable reaction I got to it was from my dog; he followed me around sniffing the air the way dogs do when they think you've got a food snack stashed away in your pocket. Truly strange! I stubbornly hold on to the bottle I have of this - I got it many years ago in a trade - strictly because it's so novel. Not wearable at all in any way, shape or form but like a carnival side show act: step right up and see the amazing chicken soup cologne!

One of the best true, organic-like marine fragrances ever - this and Calypso Marine are the only two I've ever smelled that avoid taking the "sun tan lotion" route to evoke being at the beach. (That being said, the shockingly good Beach Smells by Smell THIS is also remarkably "at the beach" real but has just enough of a cocoa butter note to disqualify it from being all-natural smelling.) Mare smells exactly like sitting in the dunes watching the waves hit the shore, and I'm not sure how it accomplishes that with the notes involved. There's the light iodine essence of sea salt, that much is identifiable. But precisely how the other two notes, avocado and ginger lily (this is a very simple scent) manage to conjure being shore-side is a mystery to me. The avocado is both fruity (in the same way that olive oil can be fruity - not literally fruit-like, but round and sweet) and buttery, which perhaps does conjure cocoa butter after all, just a little tiny bit. And the ginger lily is crisp and clean. Somehow, the workings of these three elements together create magic. The scent literally smells as though it's been warmed by the sun when you apply it to the skin. Hands-down, an awesome marine scent that's great for women and men alike.

If you like very effusive spice scents, this is a good one. Zinzabar is loaded with ginger - it's in the top and heartnotes - bolstered with citruses, pepper, cardamom, cedarwood and sandalwood. There's some counter-balancing freesia in there, which helps to offset the strength of the spice blend, but I still find this scent to tend just a bit too far to the side of masculine. It's from the presence of the pepper plus the absence of one or two sweeter, smoothing notes - like, for example, the vanilla in the base of Origins' Ginger Essence. And the bright red of the bottle telegraphs "cinnamon" to me, so when I've tried this on and gotten mostly ginger it's been a momentary surprise/letdown. I've elected to pass this one over in favor of the Body Shop's outstanding pink pepper fragrance, which is warm and sweet and spicy and amazing and also comes in EDP AND oil forms, so you can layer both for a long-lasting effect.

Within the "Invent your Scent" range, Chymara is considered the floriental fragrance, a designation I would probably take issue with if I were a big fan of "real" florientals. Like the range's Altaro, a take on oriental, Chymara is floriental light, if even that. The proper elements are mostly there, but this lacks a truly resonant base that gives a floriental its body. Of course, I understand that the Body Shop isn't looking to produce the fragrance world's next Coco or Narcisse Noir, as it's just not that type of brand! It's just that this fragrance, to me, has a neither-here-nor-there feeling to it; it starts out very strong and every bit as heady as a true floriental with a heavy presence of spiced fruit, but very rapidly fades on me to a light-ish fruity-floral with quite a bit of clean musk. Generally, this is a nice scent that bears some passing resemblance to some of the lighter fruity-florals from the big houses, Lancome Attraction and Escada Magnetism being among them. The notes are top - mandarin, pineapple, berries/heart - muguet, rose, lilies/base - wood, cedar, praline, musk and amber.

Minteva is one of the closest matches I've ever smelled to one of my ultimate favorite fragrances of all time, L'Eau de L'Artisan. Mint, basil, lemon - both have them, and both smell astonishingly fresh and alive. Minteva replaces the fresh cut grass in L'Eau with some green-smelling florals - peony and not-too-ripe white lily - as well as a touch of spice, but the botanical feeling is just as exhilerating in this as it is in the L'Artisan. I love these kinds of fragrances and have room in my heart for both brands' renditions - though the pricing on the Body Shop version makes it an awfully tempting permanent alternative! Minteva's lasting power is so-so, not as good as it is with the L'Eau de L'Artisan - which itself is not the most pronounced, long-lasting fragrance in the world. We're definitely talking summer scents here, light and breezy and very natural. So buy and apply accordingly!

Next to Amorito, Aztique's my favorite fragrance in the quite clever and generally well rendered "Invent your Scent" line. While super-fruity scents aren't always my thing, this one's got an attitude to it and it's a lot of fun. There are bananas and peaches mixed in with lime zest and some pear; the whole thing smells like white sangria or being in San Miguel d'Allende, a fantastic little artistic-colony kind of place down in Mexico. Various florals plus sandalwood, amber, light woods and musk support this exotic fruit cocktail in the nicest way possible; they keep the mood going without taking over or taking away. This is really good stuff - sort of nil on the staying power but that's not a shocker, all things considered. For a cute little scent like this - which I also plan on giving as a gift - that's acceptable and even desirable in a way, as the upside of walking around smelling like a fruit bowl does wear a touch thin after a while.

Altaro is the oriental-type entry in the "invent your scent" range. It's basically okay but bottom line - if it's an oriental you seek, you might as well go for the real thing (take your pick, from a classic like Vol de Nuit or Shalimar all the way to the newest variations on Opium) because this is just a little too anemic to do the classification justice. It tries hard but is just lacking the body, the substance, the oomph that makes orientals so indelible. There is spiciness here, and the requisite vanillic sweetness, but the basic absence of floral midnotes is what makes you realize just why florals are such a key part of an oriental composition. It's not as though they're the stars of the show, but the supporting roles they play are so key. An adequate dose of rose in Altaro would have made all the difference, I believe. Add to that a jarring opening, one that errs on the side of harshness with a Dentyne-esque blast of chemically cinnamon, and you have a scent not worth purchasing in my book. I'll save my money for some of the range's other better selections.

I don't believe anyone's ever accused apple of being an overwhelmingly exciting or interesting note; it's a nice note, it's a perfectly likeable one, but it has not much in the way of surprises to offer. Unfortunately, the attempt to add a little life to plain old just apple doesn't go over all that well in this Body Fantasies fragrance. Here, apple is paired with a rather assertive pineapple. Problem is, it's not a fully ripe pineapple and it smells just a bit too tart - which overwhelms the apple as well as the vanilla note, which I really can't smell in the mix. The cleanish musk base is there and it's okay, but as a whole this is one of my least favorite scents of the generally shockingly good Body Fantasies lineup. Worth checking out if you utterly worship apple scents but otherwise - pass straight through to the line's Cotton Candy Fantasy, Fresh White Musk Fantasy or Vanilla Fantasy.

Smells just like it sounds - crisp and clean cuke, lots of honeydew melon. If you like these kinds of super-refreshing combinations, this is a good one. Super original? No. But you can have plenty of fun doing layering experiments with this fragrance without having to be concerned about playing around with expensive stuff. Try wearing this over a sandalwood body lotion or even with a dab of sandalwood essential oil; you'll get a heavenly combo that smells like a cool summer evening spent sitting out on the porch, watching fireflies, burning a little incense to keep the mosquitos away. It also blends well with fruity fragrances, particular summery fruits like peach. And if you get really daring, try it with the peach AND the sandalwood - it comes fairly close to approximating the very lovely signature scent of Todd Oldham, which contains three of the four of these notes (but with kiwi instead of the melon.)

Crown Alpine Lily comes close to being see-through, it's such a light-as-air rendition of lily of the valley. What's funny about lily of the valley, though, for all its delicacy - here more like ethereal fragility - is that it somehow manages to linger gently, patiently for hours. This fragrance is indeed odd in that regard; it is so light that in applying it, you just naturally assume that all traces of it will dissipate within, say, fifteen to twenty minutes. Yet two or three hours later, there it is, still sitting as quietly as a butterfly. This leads me to believe that the oils Crown Perfumery uses - or rather, used, as they're not producing anymore - to make its fragrances are more "true" than as is the usual case. I think many lily of the valley essences get a bit bolstered up in the translation to becoming elements of a fragrance and end up smelling more aggressive than they do in nature. Here seems more like the real deal. As for owning this scent, it's hard to get hold of nowadays and I only recommend trying to track it down if you're an absolute fiend for all things lily of the valley. Otherwise, sweet and endearing as it is, it's nothing that earth-shattering.

Crown Esterhazy is a special scent for those of us who are crazy about citrus, and I am so disheartened that it's basically becoming unnattainable as what little supply's left on the market disappears. Boo! This is one of the most inspired hesperides I've ever experienced; scintillating lemon topnotes swirl around a heart of mint, rose, orange blossom and rosemary. If you've ever had homemade lemonade with fresh mint stirred in, then you know how eye-openingly refreshing these two can be together, and this pairing forms the character of Esterhazy. It isn't too tart or brisk either and you don't get any "bracing aftershave" effect, thanks to the rounded qualities of the rose and a little bit of spicy cleanness from the orange blossom. I've never been able to pick up on the rosemary and that's not a problem; this composition is perfect the way it is. Almost splash-like, it's made to be applied liberally and frequently - but sadly, I'm down to hoarding the last little bit of what I have left of mine. Countess Esterhazy, whomever you are, you sahll be missed!

Just the name of this spicym enchanting fragrance is enough to have you waltzing into the evening in a scene straight out of "The Sound of Music." Surprisingly, though, this fragrance is more about an oriental theme than anything else; the florals are ylang-ylang, chrysanthemum and mo-lu-hwa, a "fragrant Chinese flower," and the base is heavy with resins and spices, including benzoin, styrax, cinnaomn, nutmeg and vanilla. The peach and heliotrope notes mainly add more sweetness and a little light, but make no mistake - this is meant to be an exotic fragrance in its own right. It lingers for the longest time - goes on a bit sharp and alcohol-heavy but that fades away soon enough, leaving you with a very unique bouquet and again, that deep drydown. Richly golden in feeling, it's a stunning cool weather fragrance and one versatile enough to actually wear with jeans and sweaters; I find all the Crown fragrances I've used to be "properly British" in their own way but generally a little more lifestyle-geared than, say, some of the weightier stuff from the French houses. As with scents from Penhaglion, Floris and Crabtree and Evelyn, you don't necessarily feel like you're creating a jarring juxtaposition by sporting Crown's fragrances in more casual moments. Sadly, this wonderful scent as well as all of the Crown fragrances are no longer widely available, and seem to be becoming more scarce by the second. If you're curious about this "veddy British" read on an oriental scent, snap this one up ASAP if you ever see it anywhere!

If you're very interested in exploring the facets of lily in a fragrance, this is one to try. The dominant notes of the fragrance feature white Madonna lily, which doesn't show up in many other places, and lily of the valley. I think it's this set of lilies more than anything else that make this scent so liltingly gentle; it's almost reticent in a way, which only adds to its allure. A very "under the radar" fragrance that could almost be mistaken for a floral powder if it weren't for the leather and musk that rest at the base of the scent and give it just enough bravado to keep it from being completely too shy and timid. Every female fragrance lover should have a bottle of Anais Anais in her collection; it's a foundational, ageless type of scent that's great to have around in those aggravating moments of ambivalence when you just can't decide on what shirt to wear, which shade of lipstick to apply or what fragrance to spritz. Ever have one of those days? Anais Anais is terrific at times like that - unobtrusive enough to let you think your thoughts yet so pretty you can't possibly regret having chosen to wear it.

My worldview of soap being limited to Ivory - how banal, I know - I was initially not too impressed with the Mugler cologne when I first tried it. I love the way Ivory smells, and it also provides me with an instant reference point when it comes to a solid definition of what soapy "means." (And there are, point of fact, certain quite common fragrance notes that come close to being Ivory-like; the sublime floral stephanotis is one that springs immediately to mind.) So when a fagrance widely touted as soapy fails to live up to my expectations, I feel disillusioned; it's a very primary thing, I guess. It never occurs to me that soapy, to others, might mean Irish Spring, might mean Tide or Joy or some goat's milk thing from Provence, maybe a big block of olive oil soap studded with lavender, things like that. Thierry Mugler cologne smelled, and still smells, much like 4711 to me - not soap. Petitgrain, which I do enjoy, gives fragrances a certain talcum-cool sensation plus a little aspirin-y bitterness. Once I realized it was this note, and not Ivory, that largely defined the parameters of this fragrance, I felt better about it and eventually came to accept it for what it was, and is. Refreshing, crisp, clean in a NON-soapy way - but I'll take it. When it comes to hesperides-petitgrain blends, Eau de Patou reigns as my supreme favorite, but Thierry Mugler cologne is good too.

Angel and I have never gotten along very well, despite my best efforts and sincere wishes, and so when Angel Innocent launched I had high hopes. Conspicuously absent of the patchouli - which I was confident was the one note that caused Angel to stink to high heaven on me - Angel Innocent seemed an answer to my prayers, a confectionary nougat that I could wear with abandon and relish for its simple, sweet, dental carrie-causing gourmand deliciousness. Well - wrong. What Angel Innocent really turned me on to was the evils of dewberry, one of the few things it shares with its angelic predecessor. Now, I spent most of my developmental years in the Eighties, and did as much of the Elle mag-Benetton-Body Shop routine as the next chick; I know from the yuck of The Body Shop's Dewberry Oil, as it characteristically scented many of those years and not at all in a good way. Yet, when it turned up in Angel, I wasn't aware of it; all the blame there went to the patchouli (and still does, in large measure.) It wasn't until I got to Angel Innocent that I began to detect something of a pattern; the nature of the "off"-ness was different from Angel's, but not completely so. Angel Innocent is more about sugared almonds, brown sugar divinity and nougat, less about the honey sticks, vanilla fondant and caramel-filled chocolate bon-bons that live in Angel's particular region of candyland. Angel Innocent is grounded by musk and amber, not patch; it runs more powdery than Angel does. It's even got some bergamot in there, so that the topnotes don't drizzle around you the way they do in Angel. But innocent though it may be, it still smells as horribly rotten on me as Angel does. Just in a different way. Bad, bad dewberry. How I wish it would go back to the 80s and stay where it belongs!

Angel, Angel, Angel - I know this is one of the most popular and revelatory scents of the latter 20th century, and I have no reason to dispute its standing as such. But when it comes to wearing this fragrance myself, I am one of the unlucky ones who've learned the hard way just how truly awful patchouli - which I frankly love on its own o rin other types of compositions - can become when combined with profusions of sweetness. In short, Angel just stinks on me. And this is not for lack of trying; in fact, I still stubbornly refuse to delete it from my fragrance holdings in the belief that one day, someday, I will wake up and put it on and have it smell as indescribably beautiful on me as it smells on others. This process has been going on for more than a decade in my life, from back when Angel was first launched. I had read about the notes, so new, so different - chocolate, caramel, vanilla, honey? Hello, I'm there! - and rushed out to Bloomingdales to secure a bottle. And the bottle, and the package - entrancing in and of themselves! I was so ill-prepared for the consequences of that other little note that I'd innocently overlooked. And so, the very first day I wore it, an Indian summer day that started out chilly-crisp and ended up in the high 80s and for which I was not properly prepared, dressed as I was in my first heavy sweater of the season and a thick wool skirt...Well, let's put it this way: my prevailing thought for that day was, "Gosh, I definitely need to apply more deoderant, I'm sweating up a storm!" I mean, I was at work all day - it's not as though I could do a pit-check every half an hour, so I just naturally assumed it was me that smelled so rank thanks to the unexpectedly hot weather married with my ultimately innappropriate outfit. The Angel itself went unsuspected. For about a week, this type of thing went on, with the late fall warmth getting blamed for something really being rendered by the effects of patchouli combined with candy. And then, like that - it turned cold. Highs in the 50s. And the truth was revealed, the source uncovered; I became enlightened. It's been an uphill battle with this scent ever since, though I must say that with some affection. It's impossible to really hate Angel, I think. It's just got a little devil in it somewhere in there, that's all.

One of Crabtree's real classics and one of the most place-evocative fragrances ever created, in my opinion. (I've spent a lot of summer time in New England vacation places - Nantucket, the Cape, Newport, Bar Harbor, etc - so I speak from happy experience!) This is a blend of wild rose, lavender and a scattering of green and powdery notes, meant to create the impression of rambling backyard gardens and fresh linens flapping on the line. I smell this and in my mind literally see childhood memories of relatives' homes that exactly fit this description. The rose you get here is not a lush, hothouse one, but something modest and discreet, like a primrose. And of course, the lavender is clean, a bit bracing, a touch spicy. There's not too much of it, either, so you don't get that slightly masculine effect that this note can sometimes lend; Nantucket Briar is very feminine all the way around. The green notes could be either a smattering of grass or something a little more citrusy like bergamot or verbena, I'm not entirely sure; they're not that noticeable but they lend a little spark to the scent, which might otherwise tend toward a bit of flatness. This is just a purely simple and beautiful fragrance.

Tood Oldham's signature fragrance (he only ever did one - it's the same as the "crown") is a throwback to the heady scents of the 80s, even though it was launched in the mid 90s. I can't recall the exact notes but I'm pretty sure they consist of peach and possibly something else like kiwi, cucumber, lilac and a lot of sandalwood as well as decent doses of amber and incense. This is a very, very sweet-syrupy-spicy scent; though totally different in composition, it has a very similar feel to Crabtree and Evelyn's Savannah Gardens. Both even share the same deep amber juice color. The Oldham has a certain smokiness, though, that the Savannah Gardens does not, and is as such a bit more cosmopolitan smelling (versus Gardens' charming sense of innocence.) The beauty of the Oldham is its intensity, which stands in contrast to so many scents out today; one or two shots of this goes on and on easily through a full day-into-night wearing. It's a relatively simple composition so it doesn't evolve a whole lot on the skin; the peach packs a tremendous wallop and is a little obnoxious at first but ends up sweetening the whole blend in a rather saucy, sexy way. I like this one a lot and sometimes really relish the idea of cold weather rolling around so I can put some on; it's way, way too heavy to be considered for anything but crisp-to-cold weather.

This and Crabtree's Nantucket Briar are probably two of the first fragrances I ever actually purchased on my own as a teenager, most likely from the Crabtree shop in Newport, RI, where we used to spend many summer vacations. Savannah Gardens is a white floral, more or less, and an incredibly sweet and spicy one given the way that the jasmine and hyacinth interplay with the orange blossom, vanilla and amber. It's so thick and weighty that it almost has a drawl to it, and applying it feels liek drizzling yourself with some decadent syrup. Definitely a slow down, take it easy scent, something to be fully savored and appreciated. It's perhaps too sweet and drippy for some but I really love it, mainly for the associations of (my own!) youth that it carries but also for its unique character. It's quite original and feels very natural and guileless, as do all Crabtree and Evelyn products to me. The very sweet, fresh packaging always makes me smile, too; very charmingly innocent and gentle.

Demi-Jour is one of those timeless-seeming powdery soft florals that seems as though it's been around since the days of the court at Versailles - although the aldehydes at the opening give it a somewhat more contemporary feel. In my fragrance classification "system," I tend to group this one together with Je Reviens and Bal a Versailles - though it's much less spicy and lacks the i