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 incense notes that both of those have - as well as Anais Anais, though it's a touch less flowery than that. But in general, it's got that same sense of total wearability, not so commanding that it must be paid attention to, yet not so wimpy and washed-out as many of the more modern compositions around today seem to be. Also, like the other fragrances in my self-appointed category, it's comfortably affordable and widely available particularly through online retailers (well, Demi-Jour perhaps just a bit less so than Je Reviens or Anais Anais but about the same as Bal a Versailles.) The notes for Demi-Jour: top notes of bergamot, aldehydes, greens, violet; heart notes of rose, orris, lily of the valley, jasmine, ylang ylang and heliotrope; basenotes of musk, moss, sandalwood and cedar.

An operatic fragrance, dramatic in different way from many other 80s power fragrances. Diva is considered a rich chypre floral and is certainly that. The main floral emphasis is on rose and particularly honeyed rose, though this is not at all a sweet fragrance in the way that fragrances are sweet today. It's more of a truly rich and full sense of fragrance - there's also a lot of tuberose in it as well as a very heavy base that includes ambergris and civet. Dry and warm, Diva's a true chypre with major chords of spiciness - cardamom, coriander, carnation, patchouli, narcissus, sandalwood - and minor ones of powderiness from the iris. The topnotes are thankfully almost fruit-free; there's a spot of mandarin but the opening is more about aldehydes that are like the beginnings of an aria. Few fragrances are more aptly named than this one and it's really not a scent for everyone; those who love Diva love it wholeheartedly and wear it faithfully as an intrinsic part of their fragrance lives. Someone like this introduced Diva to me. I have to say, I don't wear it often; it's in the same vein as many of my Guerlains and I tend to wear those more than the Diva. But I enjoy having it around; it always reminds me of a great 80s film also called "Diva" and for that reason alone is worthy of a spot in my collection.

Basic Black was like the third part of the trio of scents Blass put out in the very early 90s - Nude and Hot being the other two. And if Nude is the sexy one and Hot is the wild one, then Basic Black is the very refined, tasteful and well mannered lady-like one, beautifully appointed and self-assured but also incredibly interesting and well-rounded. Unfortunately, it is also ridiculously hard to find! A soft floral with a semi-oriental feel, Basic Black melds rose, violet (which is quite prominent and at its most powdery loveliest) and ylang ylang with some spices, a little coriander and cardamom. The soft base is mainly oakmoss with lower-lying notes of patchouli (can't even detect it) and sandalwood. The result is something that sits between delicate and confident; the violet-moss combination comes through quite clearly as coolish and powdery, while the spices insert a sense of vitality and worldliness. As with a black dress, one could probably wear this on a very regular basis and never tire of it or find it out of style.

Jade Blossom sometimes reminds me of the South, where they always ask you whether you want sweet tea or unsweetened. The green tea in this fragrance is most certainly of the sweetened variety, one of the most sugary green tea notes I've yet to encounter. Fortunately, it works, creating a nice foil for the citrusy grassiness of the verbena and the cool watery cucumber. The tea here is also not of the super-strong, full bodied and potentially bitter variety, which is a good thing to me; it's more along the lines of the tea notes in Bulgari Eau Perfumee and L'Artisan The Pour Un Ete, and less like those of Barneys Route de The or MPG's Eau de Camellia Chinois. Green tea can be a tricky note with my chemistry but Jade Blossom poses no problems. And for such a light-bodied scent, it possesses surprisingly good staying power. If you apply this liberally enough, it can last all day well into the evening.

Creme Bouquet needs some understanding and TLC on its wearer's part before it's able to bloom into a genuinely enjoyable fragrance. I was rather put off by this fragrance for some time, would apply it often during sampling visits to various stores and immediately react with an "ew, gross, air freshener-bathroom cleaner-cheap powder" assessment. And would then pass it by in favor of something less likely to provoke that type of reaction. Then, one day, I allowed Creme Bouquet to take its time and dry down properly and at its leisure, and ended up amazed at how beautiful it had become, vanilla intermingled with extremely delicate floral powders, reminiscent of scented pastilles and lace parasols. It has a certain Victoriana sensibility, with something almost like a charming touch of naivete with its sweet, innocent lily of the valley and pink lilac. I have loved it ever since and worked my way through two bottles of it. A very fine scent if given the chance it so richly deserves!

Almost patently offensive, Flirt can only be described as having a toxic topnote that I've never been able to place in terms of source. The dossinia is an orchid, and although orchid notes can be maddeningly strong they generally don't resemble Raid. That leaves the pomegranate, usually powdery, and the leaf greens. And maybe something of the ginger flower. It must be the alchemical reaction of some or all of these that make this fragrance so - awful. And behind that awfulness, a nothing floral, somewhat green but not enough to elevate to anything worth noting. I was sincerely upset with this effort by Prescriptives; after the very real magnificence of Calyx as well as a well done mid-90s group called Color Sense (fragrances composed according to the colors they embodied; I had White, which was white floral and something like honey, and Red, a very spicy cinnamon-rose concoction, and both were good), I had definitely been expecting something way better than Flirt. I did go ahead and bought a bottle anyway, just to say I did, but ended up giving it away. Prescriptives seems to have been off its game in the fragrance department for some time now, but maybe it's just not a great category for them. They seem now to be focusing solely on Calyx, which makes sense since it's far and away the best scent they've ever done.

Somewhere along the line, Prescriptives seems to have lost its fragrance mojo, with Potion standing as the most recent example - albeit one that's several years old. Who knows, after the nightmare that was Flirt and then this rather anemic potion, perhaps the company has concluded that sticking to its gold standard Calyx might be the best bet? Anyway, I had heard several favorable comments on Potion and had, as per usual with a great many of my fragrances at that time, made a running lunch-break purchase of it at the old Rock Center Sephora. I remember the occasion well. I wasn't impressed with the test spritz but told myself I'd "grow to like it," yada yada. Same old same old - oh, the money I've gone through using that one short phrase as leverage! Sure enough, days later, it was still striking me as a watered-down fruity floral with no special angle, nothing much to say and not a lot to hold my attention save a demi-sourish tang that had me thinking of some less-than-acceptable drugstore scents I'd encountered. There was a touch of fairly pretty powderiness - maybe from the dianthus, probably either a sweet william or pink note - that pulled it off the edge of being total dishwater, but not by a whole lot. I'm sure many had the same or similar reactions as this didn't stick around for long. As for me, I used up my bottle without incident and have gone on to encounter, unwisely purchase and subsequently tolerate many other wishy-washy fruity-florallys of similar caliber. No, I will probably never learn!

Don't mess with Ciara, got that? Though it dries down into a rather nicely wearable if highly spiced oriental, this fragrance has a formidable opening stage. Frontloaded with vanilla, sandalwood, patchouli and cedar, you are met with a very sharply sweet set of topnotes. And then wait, don't relax yet, because there's more! Frankincense, myrrh, other spices, raspberry - it's like an incense sundae drizzled with fruit syrup. Sounds potentially wretched but somehow it works. The balsam helps to smooth over and pull together the other notes so that the overall effect is nicely blended, defintiely strong but not noxious. Charles Revson supposedly created this for his "assertive" wife, and I do think of it as a real streets-of-New-York scent, favored by a no-nonsense yet impeccably beautiful career woman stepping out of her towncar with a take-no-prisoners type of expression on her perfectly made-up face. There's a jot of Lauren Hutton, 70s vibe about the scent but it's a positive thing, unless you're avidly anti-70s.

Gosh, I remember this so well because it was around in my presence (in my sister's collection, as were most fragrances I experimented with back then) ages before I really got into fragrances myself; I was just starting to wear them but was a total ignormaus about what they were actually made of and what those ingredients actually meant. I somehow talked myself into believing that the name of this scent meant "ylang ylang" in some kind go Chinese dialect. Wrong! This, as I recall, was an extremely fruity fragrance - nothing Asian or exotic about it at all and not a drop of ylang to be found - that went on with a twang of something vaguely sour. Extremely strong; I'd guess lots o'jasmine, peach, white floral. I'd take a hit of this off my sister's bottle expecting something Opium-like or at least along the lines of Cinnabar, and get nothing but heavy fruits and florals and always feel disappointed about it. I do wish I'd stashed a supply of this, though; it's a real rarity now and the bottle and package - gold foiling striped with various tones of royal purple - were both pretty enough to keep around just to look at even if the juice was basically average.

Although I don't like it for myself, Baby Doll is still a very cool fragrance in my book. I freely admit to being biased; I mean, I love Yves Saint Laurent so much that he or anyone connected to him could launch a stick of unadulterated cocoa butter onto the market and I'd find something fascinating about it. And what I don't like about Baby Doll is actually what makes it interesting to me; I have heard many others refer to it as a light, almost soda-pop-like grapefruity and girly scent, but I find it more dark and medicinal/cough-syrupy beneath its sweet candy-pink surface. I think it's both the currant (which is what makes this scent smell "off" on me) and grenadine (highly sweetened pomegranate syrup) at work there, gliding beneath the tart fruits and slightly powdery florals. In the context of the overall fragrance, these notes contribute something vaguely off-kilter. There's a film by Roman Polanski called "Repulsion," one in which Catherine Deneuve (such the original YSL woman - see "Belle du Jour" for Yves' incredible early work as worn by Deneuve) plays a very disturbed but exquisitely pretty young woman who slowly goes off the deep end during the course of the film. For a good part of the course of her unraveling, she wanders around her apartment in a baby-dollish nightgown. This is always the first image I conjure when I think of Baby Doll, the fragrance!

I love Yves Saint Laurent almost as dearly as I love one of my all-time creative genuius idols, David Bowie, and in my extremely active imagination this is the fragrance that Yves would have designed for Bowie to wear while posing for the cover of "The Man Who Sold the World" back in the early Seventies. Nu is most certainly androgynous in the best Bowie tradition, and reflects on the concept of exoticism with the same remote, distant stare, coldly erotic and paradoxically spare in its vision of opulence. I only wear the EDP, which consists of bergamot, wild orchid, incense and sandalwood; the EDT is different and combines the bergamot and incense with white orchid and jasmine, leaving the incense out of the picture. I daresay the EDT is a bit easier to pull off but lacks the real essence of Nu's story. There's no denying that the EDP's opening is tough to take and not nice at all; in fact, I think of it as a little cruel. It's like a slam of black rubber. When the fume-iness of that goes away, you are then led into a chill den of incense, dark tapestry, strange spices, mystery flowers. The orchid comes off more like datura might, there and not there, enveloping you and then slipping away when you lean in to smell it. And above you and all around as you wander off is the cold glow of the moon on the desert. As usual with Yves' fragrances - and all of his work, for that matter - Nu is all about ideas, visions, stories. Truly transportive in its powers.

Poeme is just as sweet as can be and not a whole lot else. When you jam black currant, peach, mandarin, mimosa, white flowers, tuberose, freesia, jasmine and vanilla all into one fragrance and just leave it there to cook without adding anything spicy, dry, woody, mossy or powdery to balance it out, you are sure going to end up with one very tooth-achingly sweet scent. And that's Poeme. I've never been able to tolerate this well and in the past had never been able to deal with wearing it for more than an hour tops before removing it - sometimes with necessary force, as this is a real honest-to-goodness clinger. But one day, something else was going on and I was distracted from its fruity-flower awfulness for long enough to let it get to its end-stage: Nilla Wafers. Which I happen to like the scent of very much. Moral of the story: good things come to those who wait - and manage not to suffocate - when wearing Poeme. One sidenote: the bottle design bums me out - the logotype is so corny! I think this was when Fabien Baron (very talented visual designer/graphic artist) was going through a hokey-looking logotype phase; he used to work stuff like this into his graphics work on Harper's Bazaar magazine, too, and it always made me roll my eyes.

A big, beautiful clear crystal pitcher, filled to the brim with ice-cold vodka martini that's been stirred with a crystal swizzle stick - this is what Eau de Cartier brings to mind. It's the bottle and the quite alcohol-heavy opening that evoke the imagery; ordinarily, a big alcohol reek coming off the top of a fragrance is not so pleasant, but somehow it really works here and suits Eau de Cartier to a "t"! Once it burns away, I get something very different, a feather-light herbal-woody scent with a trace of lingering mellow fruitiness from the yuzu. It's a terribly refined fragrance, incredibly fine-tuned, which makes it seem all the more expensive and *good* in the manner of a very good watch. I like its fleetingness, too; ordinarily, that is a bit of minus for me when it comes to scents, but here it just seems somehow fitting. I don't like the concentrated version nearly as well; it detracts from the whole concept of what an "eau" is supposed to be, I think.

Argh! The thought of this fragrance makes me cringe. On me, it's another baaaaad patchouli trip - along the lines I take with Angel, Nirmala, Coco Mademoiselle - made worse by the addition of lots and lots of grapefruit. I have no beef with the note of patchouli on its own, or blended with other notes that share or else play nicely with patchouli's inherent dry, earthy, spicy nature. But to my nose, when patchouli is paired with things very sweet or hot - or worse yet, both - awful things result. Awful things resulting in imitations of bodily odor, I'm sorry to have to say. Grapefruit is just such a note, carrying a certain heat of its own, a thrum of warmth that other citruses don't seem to have. And so, when it pairs up with the patchouli - well, there's no need for me to elaborate. It's just bad. The big mystery is where the vanilla's lurking in here. Not that I think it would make the fragrance more palatable to me, but I'm just curious as to how others pick up on it. I guess I just get too wrapped up in the patch-grapefruit crossfire to notice it. I'll have to take the word of others in regards to its presence!

Quinine itself is not the kind of thing you consume and go, "Oh, delicious, must have more! Immediately" It's rather to be savored, a fact to which those who appreciate the perverse pleasure inherent in sipping tonic water - or even certain bitter apertifs like my personal favorite, Campari - might attest. I bought it because I love this kind of bitterness, and because the fragrance is genuinely original and not, in my opinion, so strictly masculine that I couldn't possibly wear it (though it does smell good on my husband, too!) And too because I'm drawn to anything containing petitgrain, which has its own little weirdly medicinal, old-fashioned apothecary thing going on at times. The topnotes of this scent take you right into gin and tonic territory, complete with a healthy slice of lime (the bergamot), and then that burns off into the heart of petitgrain, which is cool, powdery and characteristically a little aspirin-like and here nicely complimented with some spicy counterpoints courtesy of the nutmeg et al. The powder base definitely works for me as well and makes this an ideal scent for incendiary days when even the idea of fragrance almost seems to be almost too much. Eau de Quinine and Eau de Patou - which also contains petitgrain and a fresh herperides top - are two staples of mine for moments like those.

Snicker if you must but Tabu is far better than its name, its packaging or its overall status in the fragrance world would otherwise indicate. It's a classic - anything that's been around since 1932 fits that definition as far as I'm concerned - spicy, woody chypre-oriental blend, rich with rose and jasmine of very good qualities, lush with oakmoss and vetiver, smoothed and sweetened with amber. For the price, you get a tremendous deal for your money. Of course, everything is relative; I'm not about to replace my prize Guerlains or Carons with Tabu, nor do I think that it's even possible to compare the one to the others. Tabu is fairly simple and straight-on compared to the works of those two houses and others like them. But like another of my fave cheap and oft-snubbed but simple and good scents, Caesar's Woman, Tabu is a quality scent with nothing to apologize for and no amends to make.

I have no business wearing this scent, which is loaded with cedar and sandalwood to an extreme I find unbearable. The few times I have worn it, it's smelled as though I've dabbed Liquid Smoke on my pulse points - as there's also something else in here that smells as though it's burning. It feels like cinnamon - the way straight cinnamon oil can really sear your skin - but doesn't necessarily smell like it. I suspect it's the saffron note interacting with the patchouli that's also in the base. I bought Black Cashmere for the beauty of the bottle and will keep it because it's discontinued, from what I understand. But I will not be wearing it unless I really, really want to have that "gather round the barbecue pit and let's fire up some butts, too!" sort of experience.

Good on Christopher Sheldrake for using cedar in a way that divests it of its more repellent qualities and instead emphasizes its finer aspects with a series of contrasting notes. I mean, cedar is a tough one to work with, and in many fragrances where it's combined with the likes of other equally temperamental, potentially repugnant notes - sandalwood, which can approximate chemical assault if abused, or incense with its ability in large doses to smother and choke - it's just way too much, way too overwhelming. That being said, the art of juxtaposition can a delicate one, one that can also backfire and badly (and does backfire, in my opinion, on some of the Serge Lutens signature frags) - but here, in Feminite du Bois, Sheldrake nails it solidly, 10.0 style. This is a wonder of a fragrance; the lyricism in which cedar melds with orange blossom, peach, honey, plum, beeswax, clove, cardamom and cinnamon is just about beyond description. The name of this scent says it all better than I possibly could - "the femininity of the wood." Now for the rant - BAD on Shiseido for taking this off the market. It's just about impossible to come by! If you love it, want to love it, want to try it even, prepare to embark on a scavenger hunt. Perfumebay has it sometimes so check there often!

I have to believe that Lancome sold a little bit of its soul in an effort to get with the times, lighten up, get younger and whatnot, because Miracle is just short of treading the territory trodden by fragrances like Gap So Pink and Victoria's Secret Pink. Miracle's overall impression is one just a notch or two above mass market products - and that's not to take a thing away from mass market products, as I use and enjoy very many of them myself. I just don't see the point of Lancome wanting to lump itself into that category. Miracle is generic to the point of almost literally smelling stale to me; it has that sourish-musty opening in common with just about every "pink" scent I've encountered, though the lychee helps dissipate it somewhat. The magnolia heart note is poorly rendered, too perky for my taste as I prefer magnolia in fragrance to have that same lotion-like, creamy-cool smell it does in nature (and in very well rendered magnolia scents such as L'Occitane's.) And the boring jasmine in the drydown just seals the compostion's fate. It's not as though Lancome's always been known for the most intellectual, complex fragrances around - I mean, good old Poeme is pretty simplistic in its own way. But at least Poeme's a love it or hate it type of thing, a scent that takes a stand. Miracle's point-blank banal and signals a turning point into further unextraordinary fragrance ventures for Lancome: Connexion, Attraction and the infuriatingly ripped-off Calypso/Lollipop, which is a bad copy of Escada's shift into the frivoloty of fun-and-fruity scents.

Until I revisited Tresor very recently I'd forgotten just how much I wore this scent in the early 90s. At one time I was really genuinely fond of it, which is funny since it's not much to my immediate taste anymore. This and Chanel Coco were real staples of mine for a time - guess I was loving the peachy-oriental thing back then! Tresor's topnotes have always been a little bit of a question mark to me; the peach is obvious but I've always felt there was something else in there, something almost minty, throwing off the nectar-like qualities of the fruit. The only thing I can think of is that the lilac note offsets the peach in an odd way, as I don't think the rose or apricot would have that kind of effect. The fragrance's heart notes are unexciting and the first part of the drydown is as well, but as I was reminded in my recent return to this scent, the longer-term drydown is utterly glorious. One of the most poetic, perfect blends ever of amber, sandalwood, musk and vanilla. I can't define exactly what it is that makes it so divine but it's like the drydown of my dreams. I may have to start wearing Tresor again on a regular basis, it's that fine.

Delicious is Tresor on a very horribly bad day. Though the two have precious little in common compositionally, they're both generally fruity-floral orientals. And while I have some issues with Tresor, in general I think it's a quite nice scent. Delicious, on the other hand, is like a very un-delicious Tresor, just over-the-top ripe and reeking and bordering on a little rancid, I'm sorry to say. And just ridiculously loud on application, an invasive blow of mimosa, jasmine, tuberose and mandarin that smells like canned peaches. Everything in Delicious - and in Gale Hayman scents in general; don't even get me started on Delicious Feelings! - smells cheap to me, cheap and low-grade. Why this is the case, I don't know; the bottle and box look quality enough, but the ingredients in the juice just come off as el cheapo.

Oh, this inspired feelings in me alright - but most assuredly not delicious ones. Quite, quite the opposite. I have to come clean in noting that I've never really worn this fragrance in the traditonal sense; I did get it on my person once, and could NOT get it off, but it was an unintentional encounter. I was at a TJ Maxx store picking through the perfume selection and simply lifted a box of Delicious Feelings to move it out of the way. As it turned out, the bottle had leaked in the box and some of that leakage got on my hand. Immediately, I was offended by the brute strength of the scent as well as its hot, hedione-fueled fruitiness. (Hedione is a jasmine-like compound that shows up from time to time in compositions - can be vicious stuff if you don't like it, and I definitely do not like it.) Five washings later and my hand was still experiencing Delicious Feelings, as it were. I swear the scent chemically bonded to my skin. I finally looked up the notes to see what was making the stuff so savagely strong; their seeming innocuousness makes the offensive of the juice all the more a mystery and so, as is often the case, I squarely blame what I suspect is a heinously large dose of the hedione. The notes are: osmanthus, white freesia, lily, jasmine, cashmere wood, musk, plum, sandalwood.

The best thing about Wings? Sorry, I'm inclined to go with the packaging here. The scent itself is not remarkable but the box looks like an astronomical dreamscape fantasy, which I find cool. Of course, it's not Wings' fault that it's not all that singular; it's a warm, oriental-focused fruitry floral that was conceived at a time when warm, oriental-focused fruity florals were a market staple in much the same way that cool, aquatic-focused fruity floral seem to be today. You've smelled one, you've smelled them all in at least some basic sense. I did wear Wings quite often during its early years and still keep it around - again, love that box! It's extremely mellow, very golden-yellow florally and lacking in that zip of spiciness that many other orientals of that time brought to bear. Instead, with Wings you go from raisiny top notes to solidly floral middle notes to a soothing base of woods/musk/amber. Contrary to its name, Wings will more than likely not be taking you off to some otherwordly flight of mental fancy. Frankly, it reminds me more of shopping at J.C. Penney, which is where I believe I first made its acquaintance. But that is not a bad thing, not bad at all. There's comfort in that kind of familiarity, and I tend to associate Wings with that sort of easy, simple comfort.

Dazzling Gold is not exactly dazzling - more like burnished to a warm glow, if you ask me. It's also not entirely interesting; in fact, it easily falls into the class of just-another-fruity-floral-for-the-cooler-months type of fragrance, nothing to write home about. It is, however, definitely one thing - much, much better than its counterpart, Dazzling Silver, which should be subtitled "choker." Anyway, Dazzling Gold is a soft and relaxed scent and the honeyish fig topnote gives it some potential to be at least a little special, but that potential ends up being squandered on the pretty ordinary heart of lily and orchid. (Don't let the fancy names fool you - they're just lily and orchid.) Orchid, when left to its own devices, can bring down the more finely-tuned calibrations of any fragrance and I feel it does justthat here. It smothers all the other notes and just sits there being boring and heavy. Orchid doesn't even strike me as a very golden flower - instead, it brings to mind light mauves. And it also makes Dazzling Gold just another run of the mill floral. Too bad.

My intention is not to alarm, but I must say this in regards to Estee Lauder Spellbound - please treat this fragrance with a good dose of healthy respect, or better yet fear, as it can and will attempt to damage your breathing passages and internal organs if used inappropriately or with anything approaching abandon. Spellbound, in my life, is inextricably linked with Calvin Klein Escape, to the point where I still often get them confused and inadvertantly place all the blame on one for the heinous reactions I suffered from both. (Escape generally receives the brunt of this burden, for some reason.) They both launched the same year, 1991, and both entered into my life (I say entered because both were given to me, not purchased by me) at that same time. And both of them tried to do me bodily harm, to the point where I suffered a vicious one-two punch that had me switching back and forth between the two trying to figure out which was periodically nauseating me and subsequently enduring a series of events that included nearly passing out in an overheated elevator, almost retching in front of the Saks Fifth Avenue window that bore a giant blow-up poster of one or the other's ad campaign (I want to say it was Spellbound's - black and white shot, guy and girl, the girl being not Lauder's "house" model Paulina Porizkova but some other model whom I had really liked in the late 80s and whose star had fallen quite a bit before she'd picked up this new Spellbound gig - but I cannot be entirely sure because Calvin ALWAYS uses black and white in his fragrance ads and I do know without doubt that this window poster was black and white) and so on and so forth. Fun times - not. If the memories sound vivid, they are. But let me get to the point - both Spellbound and Escape can come on like chemical warfare if (a) overapplied or (b) worn on the wrong day, one in which your chemistry is not feeling particularly friendly to the scent in question. Compositionally, the two are very similar; among the many notes they share are various summer and fall fruits, coriander, clove, carnation, rose, jasmine, cedarwood, amber and musk. Where Escape runs a bit clean/marine, though, Spellbound is bit spicier and more oriental - but not by much. The turn-my-stomach clinchers are a little different too; Escape accomplishes this with a nearly fatal fait accomplis of sandalwood, while Spellbound opts for an inescapably engulfing civet oiliness that does. not. go. away. Ever. Just as some believe that we all have an identical twin somewhere out there in the world, I do believe Escape and Spellbound were somehow conceived from the same single strand of fragrance DNA. They are twins. And not just any regular old twins - they are evil.

Jabuticaba fruit? Natal plum blossom? Mahonia japonica? Golden melaleauca bark? No, I don't know what these are either, but in spite of this fragrance's almost too-clinical-to-be-tropical inclinations and origins, I like it. Unlike so many bursting-with-life, dripping-with-dew scents that really just smell like, well, floral perfumes, I think Beyond Paradise actually succeeds in going above and - yes, beyond - the usual parameters of simulated nature. For an Estee Lauder fragrance, it has a multi-dimensional character that no fragrance from that particular company had ever before achieved. Much less cloying, much more living. Comapre this to THE Lauder floral of the previous decade, Pleasures. Beyond Paradise is a vast improvement; I don't exactly hate Pleasures, but it's rather dull at the end of the day. I did detest the TV commercials for Beyond Paradise, the ones with Carolyn Murphy - in fact, they made me NOT want to buy Beyond Paradise, as something about Murphy's legs and dress really bothered me -but I ended up caving. This is a favorite scent to wear when I go to visit Florida during the winter; it seems, somehow, made exactly for that type of occasion.

I might as well come to terms with it - BCBG did not have my preferences as a consumer in mind whne creating its four-fragrance series of this, Sexy, Metro and Nature. I am not in junior high anymore, nor in high school. I'm not even close to being out of my early 20s. And I sincerely believe that these fragrances are targeted to those in that age range, and even a subset of young women in that age range who like their fragrances soft, soothing, not too pointed or specific. I would classify BCBG Star as a Love's Baby Soft for the 21st century; like 21st century teenagers, it's a little more knowing and sophisticated, quite a bit less naive than back in my day. Like the Love's, Star is at heart a powdery secent; it's simply got a tad of somethin'-somethin' that innocent little Love's, the scent of choice for my generation's adolescent years, never had. Star is front-loaded with white florals that tend toward the clean and powdery side as well as a streak of powdery amber, and then backed up with some very happening musk and moss notes. Again, soft and soothing - not necessarily simple, though not particularly specific either. Just a more complicated kind of simple.

If this fragrance could talk, it might say, "I'm not a truly sexy, rich vanilla kissed with spice and deepened with musk, but I play one on TV." It says all the appropriate things, mimics all the right moves and expressions, but just doesn't come off as the real deal. The notes - mandarin, red berry, bigarade (citrus), jasmine, clove, lily, rose, amber, incense, vanilla, tonka, sandalwood, musk - all seem to have been put through a grinder and then mixed through with some kind of fragrance-neutral powder so that they're coated with some kind of barrier that prevents them from being true. I find this to be the case with all the BCBG fragrances and while it doesn't make me hate them, because they're not offensive enough or anything enough to really *hate,* it causes me to not love them either. If I had to choose the best of the lot, though, I'd choose this one, Sexy. The vanilla-spice blend, though muted, pulls it back from the edge of beign truly insipid. Overall, this is the type of fragrance I wear for maybe two days before requesting the check, settling the tab and moving on.

The BCBG scents - all four of them, kind of their own little family - were so ubiquitous for a while there that I felt I couldn't get away from them, and since I never really found them appealing enough to pay full price for, I frankly avoided them. Once they began appearing at places like Marshall's, though, I decided to go for it. All four - including this one, Metro - seem to be built along the same constructs as most of Anna Sui's scents. All of a mish mash with no clear defining notes or orientation, not at all offensive or unpleasant but just confused and watered down. Metro is perhaps my least favorite of the bunch; it's a nondescript mixing of fruits (yuzu, apricot, black currant), florals (gardenia, magnolia, jasmine, lily of the valley) and musk and sandalwood. Fine, except it smells like each one of those notes was taken out, dipped in cornstarch to suitably mute its true nature, and then put back in the mix. It just smells - sweet and little musky and more or less like its counterparts Sexy and Star minus the vanilla that makes those two just a little bit better than this. A thoroughly forgettable fragrance and probably just too young for me.

Seems to have potential at first but dissolves into something quite dull. A basic blend of orchid, musk and - depending on who you ask - also rose and/or violet and/or blackberry. Really just a straight-out semi-exotic type of floral balanced on a neutral musk base. Neither here nor there. The "scent color" for Gloss is supposed to be shimmering pink taffeta, but in my head I see a sheer dusky purple fabric that neither shimmers nor sparkles. Costume National scents always disappoint me, I'm sorry to say; I appreciate the brand's fashion but fragrance-wise, not a good label for me. Everything in the line, including this Scent Gloss, is very one-note and lacking in imagination and inspiration. Not truly bad, just boring.

Alright, two things I need to say before I get into a real review here. One: could someone please tell me where the coffee's hiding in here, because I've darn near tormented myself over the years trying to smell it? And two: Ines de la Fressange (and I really love her, by the way - one of fashion's most beautifully "quirky" and atypically gorgeous women), L'or de Torrente just called and wants its fragrance back, and the bottle too, even if you did shift the heavy gold plate around a bit and play with rearranging the leaf motif. Okay, I feel better now! Time to explain myself, and this fragrance. L'Or de Torrente is still being made and is readily available online from etailer sites including Perfumebay, though not so much anymore at traditional brick-and-mortar retailers. But if you like to try before you buy and can't seem to find a tester of the L'or anywhere, I recommend you get yourself to a Sephora right away and spritz on the new Ines de la Fressange fragrance - because it's essentially identical to L'or de Torrente. The same cough-syrupy black currant topnote livened somewhat by citrus (tangerine for the L'or, neroli and mandarin for the Ines) and light greens (angelica in the L'or, bergamot in the Ines), the same rose-iris heart (rounded out by magnolia in the L'or versus lily and peony in the Ines - hey, close enough). The drydowns are a touch different - vanilla and cedar (quite a bit of both, too) in L'or versus benzoin-patchouli-musk in the Ines, but by the time you get to that point, it doesn't even seem worth noting. True, it makes the L'or a little sweeter-spicier than the Ines, but the differences are splitting hairs to me. These fragrances are more less like twins separated at birth; even the bottles are the same with a twist, partially armoured in heavy gold-plated metal and embellished in the motif of leaves. In the L'or, the leaves are depicted in the metal itself; in the Ines, the leaves are embossed on the glass part of the bottle. Take a look at the two, you'll see what I'm talking about. I was so disturbed when I smelled the Ines (which, just to clarify, is NOT the first fragrance she's put out under her name; there is another, older Ines de la Fressange fragrance and I don't know what it smells like, but it is available at perfumebay. Also, for those keeping track, back in the Eighties/early Nineties Ms. Fressange was the "face" of Coco by Chanel) at Sephora, so aggravated by the fact that it was just so very alike something else I already owned. Took me days to go through my notes and collection and figure out it was the L'or de Torrente. Which brings me back to my original gripe number one - L'or de Torrente is semi-famous for having a coffee note that no one I've ever met has ever been able to detect, self included. I swear it's not in there. I know it's not, darn it! Drives me crazy. Happily, Ines' fragrance spares us the mystery and drama of the present-yet-absent note -no coffee note listed, none smelled.

I like this scent quite a lot but something in it makes me inexplicably dizzy and light-headed at times. It's got to be an element in the heart or basenotes as it tends not to hit until I've been wearing the scent for several hours - maybe it's the combination of pittosporum, ginger, cedar and sandalwood? It may also be the overall men's cologne-ness inherent in Deep Red; I honestly believe that was conceived as a men's cologne and then fruit-ified through the topnotes to make it a women's fragrance. It opens with a flourish of mostly cassis and pear and then becomes spicier with wood and musk foundations. It's a fairly potent fragrance and one that needs to be applied with prudence; so long as I stick to one or two sprays total, I don't get the moments of head-spinning disorientation. But sprayed too heavily or worse yet layered with the shower gel and body lotion, this can be a dangerous scent and not in a good way. I would probably pass on my bottle but as this was given to me as a gift from a family member, I keep it in my collection and continue trying to work with it and make it work on me.

A fragrance that makes absolutely no attempt to disguise its frankly provocative nature. Even the name carried with it a jot of controversy when Rush was first launched - and the print ads? Okay, no punches being pulled here. This has been identified by some as the prototype for Dior's Addict - Rush? Addict? And do they both owe anything at all to Opium? - and I'm not inclined to disagree, though I much prefer this to Addict. They are about equal in terms of Bourbon vanilla-smoky mysteriousness, but Rush with its gardenia goes into musky-clingy territory where Addict's queen of the night flower veers into a dusty sharpness that sticks in the back of the throat. (I'd call it bug-sprayish but for the fact that I actually like Addict.) Rush is bodies packed tight in an all-night discotheque, Addict is midnight with a dominatrix in an abandoned mansion.

Has probably launched a thousand headaches but I like it anyway. Gucci Envy is a green, vibrant floral with a definitive twist, something in the base that makes it a singular scent. Some say it's the smell of money - the literal smell of a paper bill - and in other places I've read that it's a "rare white wine flower that blooms only one week in June every year." Okay...it could be either, could be both, or else something else entirely different, but it's most definitely there among the earnest green sap of the hyacinth, the sweet timidity of the lily of the valley and the powdery cool earth of the iris, honest and unpretentious flowers all. It's almost like an inside joke, these modest, unobtrusive, non-showy garden variety flowers covering up this underlying reek of money, power, unnattainability, decadence. It's an interesting concept, a true parable told in fragrance notes, and given the remarkable talents of the perfumer who brought it to life, I'm not surprised it's as fascinating a fragranec as it is. Hats off, Maurice Roucel!

I love, love this fragrance - love it! First and foremost, it reminds me of a spiced dessert syrup that's part of an Indian dessert called golub jamun. It's a dish I've had many times and in the company of good friends, and the resemblance of it to this fragrance is what drew me to the Gucci even before I tested a spritz on my person! It's a fragrance that smells like it looks - lusciously, exotically sweet and thick, a little spicy, delicately perfumed with florals at the fringes (the golub jamun syrup is actually flavored with rosewater - the Gucci instead has orange blossom, a very different floral but also a common flavoring in Middle Eastern/South Asian desserts and so somewhat similar in associative memory for me) and generally just delicious. I will always have this in my collection and consider it a staple; it doesn't seem to get the attention of the other Gucci scents and is perhaps a tad more subtlel than Rush and Envy, but spectacular nonetheless and a stunning example of an exotic gourmand fragrance.

Coming off the perfection that is Gucci Eau de Parfum, this sequel is just a big, major-league letdown for me. An essentially pedestrian floral that's way, way too sweet for its own good; the violet-blackberry-black currant-jasmine combo literally clobbers the senses in the most assaultive manner possible. It's so strong I feel as though I can almost see the fumes emanating from the bottle the way heat rises from the pavement in summer. And it's all I get from this fragrance, too, as the drydown doesn't really go anywhere from there. It becomes a little powdery - the heliotrope - after hours and hours, but that's it. I was really digging on Gucci fragrances - Envy, Rush, the first EDP - until this one came out, and since its appearance I feel the house's "edge" has disappeared in terms of scents that best express the brand. Gucci EDP II completely lacks the sense of provocative, on-the-verge-of-scandalous attitude that the other "Tom Ford Gucci" scents possess. Compositions like this one are the antithesis of what I look to Gucci for when it comes to fragrance!

I find Clinique Simply to be stripped-down, less exotic take on Jil Sander Sensations - in much the way that Clinique's Happy is the same type of spin on Jean Paul Gaultier Classique. Simply and Sensations have a few points in common, including the following: a sharp, almost scratchy opening moving into a softish woods-based drydown; a series of comfort food notes, which are soy milk and toasted soy meal in Simply versus a milk-and-cereal accord in Sensations; and a subtle floral background of sweet white flowers. Heck, even the bottles are done in the same shade of warm, soft, hazy nude-toned glass. What differentiates the two is the fact that Simply inserts an amped-up fruit note (watermelon) into its topnotes, while Sensations just doesn't go there. (Similarly, Happy throws a generous serving of Orangina-style orange-citrus into its topnotes while the JPG goes with just a few extremely subtle squeezes of slightly bitter mandarin rind.) And also the way that Simply lacks a certain complexity in its base that Sensations certainly has. The parallels between these scents are just pet theories of mine and have no basis in any facts I'm aware of; but then again, as in all creative endeavour, nothing is 100% new, so I can fully see how Simply could have been inspired by the Sander scent. That being said, I prefer the Jil Sander fragrance by far over this; it's just got a certain something that Simply lacks. Simply's not at all bad - it's "simply" not as good as Sensations!

Another lesson in not learning from my mistakes when it comes to green tea fragrances. I bought BR against my better judgement after hearing so many raves about its cleanness, lightness, refreshing soapiness and so on. I tried it on in the store and didn't care for it, but convinced myself I'd grow to love it. (The very reasonable price tag made it hard to form a counterpoint, might I add.) I tried wearing it repeatedly, days in a row or one day a week - with the same outcome again and again. No clean soapiness, no light elegance, just a heavy, remotely sourish down note in an otherwise unremarkable and slightly annoying floral composition. Like my other green tea mistakes, which have variously included Route de The and MPG Eau de Camellia Chinois - other allegedly "clean-fresh-light-soapy" scents, the BR made me slightly queasy. I've concluded that it must just be the quality of the tea note itself; some are just heavier, stronger, more full-bodied, tending toward bitter or acrid, etc. than others, and the one in BR has got to be in that heavy category. And it's not as though this type of note is hidden way back in the bottom of the composition; I can generally pick up on it right away, as it tends to dominate the other notes from start to finish. I just don't LISTEN to my instincts is all. Well, as with my other trials and errors in tea scents, I was able to find a loving home for my bottle of BR, which now lives with someone who fully and completely understands its appeal.

When this came out, I felt rather let down - I adore Jean Paul Gaultier and his work, and I'm crazy about tuberose, but Fragile just left me so unimpressed. And still does, for the most part. Tuberose, to me, is a rather fiercely deep and serious, take-no-prisoners type of floral, one you either go for completely or else don't go near. The worst thing a fragrance can do is "prettify" this big white flower and turn it into - gasp - something gardenia-like. Not that gardenia's a bad floral at all; I just consider it the, well, the Ava Gardner to tuberose's Jeanne Moreau. If that makes sense at all to anyone besides film fanatics...I mean, Ava was a goddess of beauty and beyond reproach in that regard, but Moreau simply defies description, not because of physical beauty but of other qualities that go well beyond the limitations of appearance. Tuberose is much the same to me, makes those sorts of impressions on me. ANYway, if anyone should have understood these differences, I'd have expected it to be Monsieur Gaultier, but apparently he had other visions in mind. Fragile is a sweet, warm fragrance in which the paradoxically dry steaminess of the tuberose gets covered up by fruit and clipped by the warm vapors of pepper and cedar. It's very feminine but a smidge or ten too predictably so, and only a hair or two less twee than Marc Jacobs' signature scent. (I like Marc a lot as well but cannot tolerate his fragrance - to the point where just thinking about it annoys me incredibly.) JPG's Classique, though it has its flaws, is entirely worlds better and more true to his image than this one, in my humble estimation.

Every so often, I just go mad for this fragrance because it's got such a healthy, invigorating sense of aliveness to it. I associate ginger itself with healthy things - it's supposed to be very good for you - and the Origins fragrance rendition of this zingy root is the best one there is, I believe. Ginger Essence combines an array of citrus notes, heavy on the lemon and lime, with ginger (of course) as well as several other spice notes and a soothing jasmine-vanilla-amber finish that keep the "starring note" form getting too harsh. The opening accords of this scent can be a bit abrupt - I remember trying this on for the first time at an Origins store and thinking, "Um, no thanks," but the drydown comes around fairly quickly and then the composition becomes very pleasing. A little Seven-Up-like but less bland, more complete and sophisticated. I like wearing it most in the fall, when the ginger's natural warmth as a note becomes most apparent. I have both the Sensuous Skin Scent (lighter, EDT like) and the Intense (EDP like) versions and actaully prefer the Sensuous Skin Scent. The lasting power's not nearly as good but I think the overall composition is more balanced in this version.

Zzzzz...a dully generic floral with a vaguely sour character. If there's anything wonder about this fleur, I'm definitely missing it. The notes - mango (which I believe imparts that sourness - it's not a good quality mango), florals, greens and patchouli - don't give you much to work with in terms of description. The florals, I'm guessing, are mostly peony and maybe some standard-issue rose and jasmine; the greens are anybody's guess. The patchouli, on the other hand, is present and accounted for and lends the base of this fragrance a distinct note - of garden variety dirt. It's not incredibly strong but not hidden, either. I do like some of Mark's other scents - Hollywood Pink, for one, is really pretty nice, not exceptional but powdery and semi-gourmand. Wonderfleur, though, is a big disappointment and one I would not recommend even if it is very well priced.

Huh? This is a way bizarre scent. No vanilla exists in it as best I can tell; honestly, it smells of not very good roses, pretty bad musk and - totally serious here - prunes. It has a raisiny, sticky feel to it, with the prune/raisin note coming close to that in Comptoir Sud Pacifique's Princesse Muscat (formerly Coeur de Raisin) though the CSP's is much nicer, much more like good quality red wine as opposed to Lily Prune's slight Eau de Thunderbird. When I tried it on, I was completely puzzled and then repelled; no vanilla in the topnotes, none in the drydown and none to be found anywhere at all. And it was a long anywhere to boot; this stuff has staying power like nobody's business and the bad, men's cologne-y musk only gains fortitude over time. I'm still trying to figure this one out after looking up the notes - how can a composition of white rose, peony, milky notes, musk and amber add up to vanilla? I guess only Ms. Prune herself knows the answer to that!

A nice fruit scent, nothing mind-blowingly special but completely acceptable. The actual raspberry note is not all that pronounced; it is fortified with both apple and peach notes, both of which drown out the raspberry somewhat. Also, the berry is not completely "true" - it has a less-than-realistic quality to it. Personally, I think the raspberry note is a particularly hard one to get right - I've smelled some that reek of powdered drink mixes, others like this that are a touch flat and plastic. But for the $5 and change a big bottle of this body spray costs, it's difficult to complain. When in doubt, you can certainly layer it with other scents - blended with the Body Fantasies Vanilla is an especially nice combination and it works well with other vanillas, too. Or, there's always the old standby - use it as a room freshener! It's actually nicer than a lot of others out there.

The full name for this is Sugar Vanilla Fantasy - it's different from the straight Vanilla Body Fantasies product, though. Despite its name, Sugar Vanilla is not so much a baked goods/sugar cookie type scent as it is a tropical vanilla, a bit nutty and embellished with coconut milk, sugar cane, cedarwood and sandalwood. Honestly, this is a truly beautiful fragrance - close to an exact smell-alike for Calypso Vanille, a high-end boutique fragrance also considered a tropical vanilla. It's also similar, but far superior, to Bath and Body Works Warm Vanilla Sugar. The Body Fantasies version just smells as though it's made from better ingredients than the BBW, and isn't burdened with that plastock-y aftersmell that seems to plague some BBW products. I'm a big fan of Body Fantasies products; most of those I've tried have been truly excellent, particularly in proportion to price. And the Sugar Vanilla Fantasy is a perfect example

Good stuff - a genuinely nice vanilla, easy to wear, easy to like. It's sometimes compared to Victoria's Secret Vanilla Lace but I think it's much better and less plastic/fakey smelling than Vanilla Lace. This vanilla is highlighted with a nice floral fruitiness - some apple, some jasmine - and maybe even the teeniest touch of spice, something cinnamon-like. There is a gentle musk at the base but it's very unobtrusive; I find the amber-musk basenotes of Vanilla Lace to be just a little too overpowering for the strength of the vanilla there, but here the vanilla is not overwhelmed in the least. Don't expect a super-rich, warm, buttery Comptoir Sud Pacifique vanilla bean vanilla from this one; it's not that type of vanilla either. It's light and right in the middle, not too warm, not too cool. Could be one of the most wearable mass-market vanillas ever created if comparisons are to be drawn at all.

I like white musks in general and this is a good one. It's a white-floral musk blend that tends toward the creamy, skin-musk variety with a hint of baby oil and a clean, fresh undertone. It seems to sink in to the skin rather than "sparkle" on the skin's surface like other drugstore white musks do. (Interestingly, Body Fantasies products are made by Parfums de Coeur - which also makes Prince Matchabelli products, including the very effervescent Fresh White Musk, another really good drugstore musk.) I like this scent quite a bit but have found I prefer it in body lotion form rather than spray for whatever reason. Overall, this is a great product and one of the best impulse purchase buys around; how can you go wrong with $5 to $6 for a nice big bottle?!

The best thing about this Parfums de Coeur product is the light, fizzy ginger-ale quality it gives off; the ginger note here is very authentic and true and lasts throughout the composition. (In fact, for the price the lasting quality of this fragrance is really good; that ginger hangs in there hour after hour!) That being said, this is not a sweet fragrance at all, so take the ginger-ale analogy with a grain of salt. There is a smidge of citrus in this as well as, supposedly, a floral thread that I don't detect. And the single-notedness of the ginger is not an issue - until you tire of it. I liked White Ginger for quite a while until I got tired of it and stopped using it, and I have yet to find a really good reason to go back to it. Has layering potential, too, if you do get bored with it.

So airy and cute it nearly giggles coming out of the bottle. I bought this because I love sweet pea - it's so delicate and innocent that it just brings a smile. The two musks at the base, the cherrywood musk and the crystal musk, give the sweet pea something to hang on, though by its very nature sweet pea just isn't a floral that's going to stick around for any length of time regardless of base. The back-up floral here is peony, which also fortifies the sweet pea a bit; I wish some other flower had been used though, maybe a magnolia or even a tiny touch of lilac, as I find peony can go a little bit fruity-sour at times. For what you get in lasting power - not much - this could seem like a frivolous scent to some. And if you don't care for sweet pea, pass it by. Due to its lightness, this can make a great "first fragrance" gift for pre-teen girls. I would have loved it at that age, I'm sure.

Other than a golden, buttery stage this fragrance passes through on the way to the drydown, J'adore is just kind of blah to me. The notes are mandarin, champaca, ivy, orchid, rose, violet, plum, wood and blackberry musk. The florals - predominantly orchid to my nose, obviously laced by ivy - are full and lush, made fruity by the heavy shot of mellow mandarin in the opening and a ripe, abundant plum in the heart. The drydown is also rather plain. I could certainly see how those who adore florals who enjoy this; it's romantic, maybe a little glamourous, a good everyday scent precisely because it doesn't stand out or demand attention or sieze the senses. I would probably be more interested in this if it weren't for the fact that I own something called Signature by S.T. Dupont that is like J'adore amplified. Signature has virtually all the same notes as this one does and some of the same feeling, with the rounded mandarin flowing into a floral heart accented by ivy, but the florals in Signature are more complex and the drydown is far superior to J'adore's.

Weird - for some reason, I was perfectly okay with this fragrance until one day it crossed me mind that it was a simplified, less dark and complicated version of Jean Paul Gaultier Classique. And then I started resenting the heck out of it! Billed as a citrusy floral, Happy is, to me, a citrus-sandalwood-powder combo, sharp at the outset and settling into something clean, spicy, powdery, soft. I am not one hundred percent sure I get why this is so popular among younger fragrance wearers; in fact, I'm not even sure I get why it's called Happy. I don't get "happy" from this at all - more like witty, slightly dry, a smidge sarcastic. The concept of happy in a bottle to me is more along the lines of Creed Spring Flower, L'Artisan La Chasse Aux Papillons, flowery and spring-timey butterfly stuff. Anyway, in terms of the true personality traits of Happy, those things are fine by me and not a problem as I can certainly relate to them. But once I began comparing this to the JPG, it came clear to me how much depth Happy lacks, how relatively plain and unchallenging I found it and how it lacked that backdraft of mystery and drama I like with my wit. It has been considered by me to be "JPG Junior" ever since and I basically never wear it. Not a bad fragrance at all - just not my style, as it turns out.

Spring Flowers - so not my type of scent as I'm so not a girly-girl and own not a single item in pink, yet I just can't not love this fragrance. Its sheer joie de vivre renders it irresistible on some level; it's just so dang happy! Has the same effect on me as the first real day of spring - which is my least favorite season for a number of reasons but still just so incredibly hard to dislike on that one particular day that even curmudgeonly moi falls for it every time. Super-fruity (I myself get watermelon - think it might be a subliminal thing cued by the extreme pinkness of the adorable bottle!) and lemony, fresh-from-the-garden florally, I'm always so delighted by the topnotes that I barely even pay attention to what comes after - except for one thing that docks the scent down a tad, the waft of hot-and-sweetish-breath-smell that is hedione, the jasmine-like compound that Creed seems to favor using in place of the real thing. In lesser blends - CKOne being the prime example for me - hedione can be a truly evil note, as rudely insistent and persistent as kudzu, that creeping green vine that literally covers everything in its path. But the other notes in Spring Flower help keep it under control here so that it only pops up now and then and fortunately doesn't permanently detract from the whole. Basiclaly, it's not a good enough reason to keep me from having very fond feelings for Spring Flower, the happiest, smiliest darn fragrance there is!

Victoria's Secret's entry in the rose fragrance category - goes on terribly musty at first but softens quite nicely over time into a honeyish, powdery scent with a little spicy, peppery heat. A very classically romantic scent but one tending toward the simple, sort of an extremely homogenized version of some of the great and complex honeyed roses such as Nahema and Ombre Rose. The So in Love includes three different roses and in terms of smell-alikes among comparably priced brands, it bears the most similarities to a four-rose fragrance by L'Occitane, something called Eau des 4 Reines, though I'd say the L'Occitane is just a bit nicer than this, a touch more subtle and not burdened with that opening blast of musty-sour. On the other hand, So in Love has a certain lush, sensual vibe that the L'Occitane lacks; So in Love is a lingerie rose, one might say, whereas Eau des 4 Reines is better suited for breezy cotton frocks and wandering in the countryside. So vive la difference and get both if you're a rose lover!

Eau de Val is L'Occitane's new-ish magnolia fragrance, a blend of notes that features the magnolia flower. Not to be confused with the company's straight magnolia EDT, which is just - you guessed it - magnolia. Eau de Val takes the coolly sweet, almost lotion-y scent of the magnolia flower and blends it out with tuberose, freesia and watermelon, strong notes all though the magnolia is plenty sturdy enough to take them on and shine through. Eau de Val is, in a word, splendid; it has the feel of pastoral France, graceful in its freshness and legere. It's the type of fragrance I imagine sitting on the vanity of someone's country home in Provence, worn by a woman who uses very heady, pronounced scents for her life in the city but enjoys turning to something much more lighthearted for her time away from Paris. For so light a scent, the lasting power is impressive; the scent goes on quite surprisingly strong and then fades to half-strength in about a half hour and lingers there all day. And like all L'Occitane fragrances, this is so well priced for the quality you get. I like this and all the new-ish "Eau" line (Eau d'Azur, the mimosa scent; Eau de Vanilliers, the vanilla scent; and Eau des 4 Reines, the rose scent) not just for myself but also for gift-giving as these scents are just so light and universally pretty as to be appealing to pretty much everyone.

Upon first sniff, this is extremely potent stuff, almost perversely so; when it first hit the market, I was simultanously repulsed and fascinated and coudn't stop thinking about it until I finally had it in my possession. It's an incredibly intensive rose-myrrh blend embellished with ylang ylang, cedar, cistus and Bourbon vanilla. My first impression of it, each and every time I apply, is "holy bug spray!" because that myrrh is just so hugely commanding. From there, it travels along a journey that traverses velvety rose, powdery, ambery cistus and spicy-smoky cedar and vanilla. The drydown, which retains and balances elements of all the notes involved, is considerably softer than the other stages of the scent and becomes, after perhaps three or four hours, like a warm pulse. But beware that everything before that is like wearing a scarlet slash, almost vibrating in its power. Comparison-wise, I do see thsi compared fairly often to the stunning triumph that is Guerlain Chamade and I concur somewhat, though the Rouge is sweeter and has a much more frank, bowl-you-over rose note. One fairly small bottle of this particualr Hermes scent could easily last five years, as this is a tiny-spray-at-a-time fragrance.

Smells like having cognacs in the wood paneled, mahogant furnished library of an English manor after a sumptuous black-tie dinner, with huge arrangements of almost too-ripe roses and red fruits scattered about the room and a thread of cigar smoke drifitng through the fireplace-warmed air. This is an evocative scent if ever there was one, and if inserting yourself into a scent-scape of this lifestyle appeals, Kors is for you. Note highlights - cognac, pomegranate, red berries, roses, rosewood, balsam, incense - set the scene that Kors himself must have had in mind when he worked with Lauder on this composition. Personally, I love this scent, though it took me a while to get accustomed to its weightiness, its traces of booziness and the occasional intrusion of what could only be called dirty ashtray (that's the incense - supposed to be cigar-like, sometimes takes a little wrong turn on those "bad chemistry" days. Incidentally, the shape of the bottle itself is modeled after that of a cigarette.) It's just tremendously luxurious and alluring in only the way something very expensive can be, not out-and-out sexy but something a bit more - well, rich.

This is a stiletto-heels style fragrance, no-holds-barred sexy and voluptuous verging on, well, a little dirty due to the patchouli note buried deep in the base of the scent. It's not to everyone's taste, apparently, but I think it's a satisfying divergence from Victoria's Secrets lighter, more "girl next door" type fragrances. It's big-girl sweet - lots of orchid-y vanilla - and big-girl floral - tuberose and gardenia - topped out with plummy, woody port wine. Admirers of Kors by Michael Kors may find this scent appealing because of the port note they have in common, though aside from the opening accord they're fairly different. Basic Instinct is sweeter than the Kors and a little less refined; that patchouli at the base lends it that distinct body-heat type earthiness whereas Kors' defining basenote is incense (which can sometimes come off as a little ash-trayish at times, particularly up against the booziness of the port.) One other thing to note about Basic Instinct: some people get chocolate notes from this and I do as well, sometimes. It seems to be a chemistry thing; when I apply it in the morning, no chocolate, but as the day and the drydown wear on, it sometimes appears. And it's lovely when it does!

Orange Tonic is an eau fraiche that is the successor to the utterly charming Eau Belle. In Eau Belle, you have mandarin topnotes blending with a delicate honey-jasmine heart and resting on a misty mossy-wood base. Orange Tonic picks up the orange and honey theme and adds in more florals, mostly warmish and sunny white flowers, as well as a few herbal touches. You get a very simple but nonetheless lovely scent designed to be a treatment fragrance; its official designation is not EDT but "tonifiante" (toning fragrance), because it's fortified with vitamins and energizing essences. As Azzaro is a Clarins company, this makes total sense; Clarins makes some of the absolute best treatment fragrances out there and Orange Tonic is no exception. I hope Azzaro continues to do fragrances in the eau fraiche theme, because the ones they've produced thus far are really terrific.

A more charming, almost innocent fragrance you're not likely to find. Eau Belle is a women's scent you virtually never hear about and I know I wouldn't have discovered it had it not been for a European friend who mentioned it to me. It's an eau fraiche type of scent, designed to be refreshing and whisper-light - just like a bazillion other scents out there these days, right? But what sets Eau Belle apart is the relative simplicity of its composition; it's not loaded with aqueous fruits, ozonic notes, watery flowers, clean air accords and etcetera and so on in a striving attempt to mimic the concept of refreshing. And as such it succeeds where so many other "fresh and clean" fragrances fall down. With Eau Belle, you get a simple opening of bergamot and mandarin, a very light heart of honey and jasmine, and a cooling moss base with just a tinge of woods. Ridiculous as it sounds, in my imagination this scent embodies the story of "Beauty and the Beast" and particularly of the heroine Belle wandering through a mossy forest. It has that fairy tale quality to it, gently romantic and airy with a lowlight of hidden, shaded, cool darkness. And the bottle design must be seen to be appreciated; it's made of dove-gray glass blown, in an artisanal manner, to represent the shape of a belle in a ballgown. The best light fragrance you've probably never tried.

An exhilarating and tonic-like burst of orange and mint with a little bit of bitterness to it. Funny, I find this more masculine than feminine, though in general I think even Hermes' women's fragrances veer dramatically from what's considered trtaditionally feminine. Eau d'Orange Verte is like an invigorating slap and seems almost more of a "treatment" fragrance or aromatherapy product as it smells so natural and un-perfumey; it really reminds me most of those very zesty Kneipp herbal bath products. In addition to being enjoyable to wear, d'Orange Verte is one of the best gift-giving fragrances ever because it's pretty much universally appealing. The packaging makes it look all the more expensive and high-end, too, which has delighted every one of the dozen or so people (mostly men) I've given it to over the years.

Kind of a little disappointed with this one at first; the notes sound so spectacular on paper but when I tried it on, all I got was a semi-clone of lots of other dark-fruit, slightly cough-syrupy scents out there, new and old ones ranging from classic Dior Poison to the brand new Ines de la Fressange. I guess I was expecting something a little more spectacular but then again, Calvin's scents have often taken their cues from other fragrance trends floating around out there and then "Calvinized" them by adding something specific to the brand's persona. In this case, I think this happens most noticably in Euphoria's drydown, which takes a long time to arrive but is a big, big consolation to the seemingly ordinary topnote introduction. The base brings together a profound wood note touched with very good candied fruit and a general plushness and luxury that's somehow not of this time or place. It makes me think of Vienna, for some reason, and it really is very beautiful and becomes even deeper over time. I will end up buying this and will have to come up with a different "pet" name for it, as the Euphoria moniker makes less than zero sense to me.

This is such a feel-good fragrance, from the bright chartreuse-green bottle to the juice itself - a gentle lily infused with very tangy fruit and soft woods. It smells like April, big Easter bouquets, sparkling dewy mornings, everything vibrant and awakening. Lily can sometimes be a bit too cloying and clingy and "toilet watery" at times but here is handled very well, not overdone at all. Other positives include the fact that this is still an easy fragrance to find, despite its being discontinued; and its palatable price. The lasting power is so-so, which I find to be the case with just about every Escada limited edition, but the scent's so affordable that it's not a big deal.

It's interesting to see where Escada has gone with its fragrances over the past decade and a half, culminating in this new signature scent that has just come out in summer 2005. Gone are the extremely rich and saturated compositions behind the exotic uber-floriental Escada by Margaretha Ley and the tantalizing ambrosia-kissed cola, tonka and sandalwood of Collection. Ever since the company started turning its new launches progressively lighter and less intense - Sentiment, Magnetism, the feather-light fruity annual limited editions - it's become clear they're trying to distance themselves from their old, rather heavily gilded late 80s-early 90s image. And while I fully understand the need for a brand to evolve and stay relevant, unfortunately this fragrance is just TOO generic and like a gazillion other things out there. The Escada folks should have quit while ahead with something like Magnetism, because this new signature scent is plain old wishy-washy, nice and all but really without any kind of definition whatsoever. I've sampled it extensively and have to say it's the first Escada I won't be buying; I'm already up to my eyeballs with all the aqueous-fruity, lightly floral, clean, refreshing scents I could ever want. The market hardly needs another. I just find it really disappointing, to the point where I feel nearly nostalgic for the days back when Escada by Margartha Ley nearly asphyxiated me a few times with its extreme headiness! The notes for this new launch include bergamot, black currant, greens, cucumber, lemon, sea breeze accord, freesia, honeydew, magnolia, jasmine, muguet, rose, ornage blossom, peony, amber, musk, nectarine, vanilla, orris, patchouli, sandalwood.

What really makes this scent pop are its two uncommon notes: the rooty and earthy, slightly gingery essence of ginseng and the aromatic note of caraway. If it weren't for those, you'd have a very nice, mild herbal scent more than capable of standing on its own. But these two notes give it a lift; I think of them plus the lemon as the "dynamissante" part of the mix (which makes a lot of sense since ginseng is considered a natural energizer anyway.) There's a mild effervescence to the opening of the fragrance and then just a really pure, fresh drydown that is totally unique. There are some parallels to Shiseido Energizing but the Clarins isn't as powdery or woody at the base. I've mostly worn Eau Dynamissante in dry oil form through the years, dabbed just like a parfum at the pulse points. It's so nice and subtle and always gets attention and inquiries. A little known but really, really winning fragance/treatment/experience.

I was all over this fragrance in the mid-90s; I easily went through three bottles of it in succession and just couldn't get enough of it. It's important to note that a key note in Pleasures is black LILAC (not black lilies as per the notes above; I suspect that's a typo), one of my all time favorite flowers, and ten years ago lilac as a prominent note was just not to be found. (Then again, it's not all that common today either!) It was just such a pleasing fragrance, so lilac-y and fresh, mildly powdery and very clean - albeit, like many, many Lauder scents, a touch overpowering in the opening and also a little tiny bit sourish. My only problem with Pleasures was just burning out on it; I might wear it once a year now, if that, and no longer find it has that "mmmm - stunning" factor. But it was good while it lasted. I would still like to try the pure parfum one of these days, though (I always wore the EDP) as I've heard it's really beautiful.

Sunflowers seems to be a now oft-maligned smell that ran its course in popularity in the mid 90s. Yes, I wore it along with millions of others; I even wore, in addition to and for variety, a sort of pseudo-version of it called "Van Gogh" (he of the famous painting of sunflowers - made a lot of sense) made by who knows what obscure perfumer. These days, I dabble once every so very often with a mini of Sunflowers; it's a very friendly, warm fragrance of not tremendously distinct character, particularly because I think its basic construct ended up being copied into a number of other formulations. It literally smells yellow to me, the way I imagine a goldeny-orange shade of yellow would smell, and also a little waxy, like wax fruit. It's got melon and peach topnotes, a heart of jasmine, cyclamen, tea rose and raisiny osmanthus, and a base of sandalwood, musk and moss. Pretty simple stuff but it can be deceptively STRONG if applied with too much exuberance. It's been known to make many people headachey so go slow.

This is one of those very late 80s-early 90s fragrance affairs that seemed perfectly right until it suddenly seemed so very wrong. Come the mid 1990s, fragrance trends changed, fashion trends changed and Red Door just seemed like such an anachronism all of the sudden. I don't even really recall what I thought of it before then; I know I used to wear it regularly as a young professional so I must have considered it suitably savvy, and I remember being gifted with it several times and being perfectly fine with it until - see ya! I just one day decided I hated it and banished it from my fragrance radar. Fast forward many years later to about nine months ago, when I was at a family function and just could not ignore how fabulous an in-law of mine smelled. Her scent? Red Door. Well, like many others d'un certain age these days, there are those moments when I long for the old days of fragrances with a capital "F," the strong stuff that contains neither fruits nor aquatic notes nor genuinely sweet and gentle flowers, and in this spirit I obtained another bottle of Red Door for myself to see how time had treated it. The verdict: quite nicely, thank you. It's much spicier and cleaner than I remember, almost as though it's got a big stephanotis thing going on, which it does not. And the red rose profusion - you know, compared to a lot of the far more sour and dour rose scents that have launched since Red Door, the rose here smells positively honeyed (honey is one of the heart/base notes) and really, really lovely. Overall, this is an ambery rose with accents of sultry tuberose and spicy-clean orange blossom. The peach and plum in the topnote can be a little much but dissipate pretty quickly. I have to say I'm really pleased to rediscover this fragrance; it still has its charms even after all this time!

Eighties flashback alert! Another fragrance, in addition to Cinnabar and Paris, that I "borrowed" liberally from my sister's stash back when we were both in high school and I did not "officially" wear fragrance (because it doesn't count if it's someone else's, you know.) This is a fairly uncomplicated melange of lots and lots of varied florals, some green notes and a dash of spice. Funny, though, as romantic and dramatic as it should be with all its flowers, this really comes across as a very approachable, head-on and kind of easy fragrance, feminine in a comfortable, contemporary way. It's in a somewhat similar vein as Bill Blass signature, but more accessible, a little less high-end boutique than the Blass is (although the Blass is very easy to wear in its own way.) I still keep a bottle on hand - the stuff is dirt-cheap and widely available - because just looking at the triangular primary-colors motif on the box it comes in always makes me smile and also because the bottle shape makes it fun to apply (which is why I think I was drawn to it in the first place!) This is/was the olfactory embodiment of Liz Claiborne, the brand, at its height, before it became sort of more loose and diluted in its identity. Again, a very, very Eighties thing.

Alright, not to get too personal here, but I shower with Ivory, always have, and its fragrance forms the basis for much of what I consider to be the definition of clean, soapy, fresh, what have you. A little bit spicy, rather dry, very white-smelling if that makes sense. So the whole deal of Clean, the fragrance, smelling like clean-I-just-showered has always been lost on me. I'd have to be showering with something very lemon-sugary - Fresh's Sugar brown sugar body polish comes immediately to mind as nearly an identical smell-alike to Clean, right down to the heavy proportion of litsea cubeba - to consider Clean to be, well, clean. But that's fine, no problem; whatever one's concept of freshly showered may be, Clean is a perfectly nice fragrance, tangy with citrus and a little powdery as well as extremely sweet. I assume that sweetness comes from the lily in the mix and also the litsea, which is equal parts lemony (actually more like lemongrass than fruit lemon, I think) and perky sweet. I enjoy wearing it from time to time and do consider it in the same category as a few of the Fresh scents like the original Fresh Sugar, which I prefer to this but find has inferior staying power compared to Clean's.

Gag em with a gargantuan wad of Juicy Fruit and douse me with a bucket of bathroom cleaner - this is not babyish or clean or even wearable for the most part. It's just sicky, sticky and not of the natural world. The whole concept of the Clean line is a touch of a mystery to me, as my idea of what the concept of clean smells like is not nearly so sweet or fruity as anything put out under the Clean label. Guess I use a much different brand of soap? But while some of the other Clean scents are bearable and even decent, Clean Baby Girl is an abomination. The official lineup of notes astonishes me - Egyptian geranium, cinnamon, cedar, white musk? Really? Where?? And while some of the other notes including the African violet, heliotrope, cyclamen and citruses are more detectable, they all have a pretty synthetic edge to them. Upon application, this fragrance is genuinely scary and evokes myriad airport restrooms freshly cleaned. Once it dries down, it's scarcely more tolerable but not quite as bad as it seems as first, if that's any consolation...

The Eau Legere rendition of this fragrance is not classified on its own here but I'm going to go ahead and review it anyway because it's the one I wear and the version most special of all the Pantheres, I feel. It's a much greener, lighter variation on the fairly sweet and spicy, classically oriental Panthere; it features green mandarin, neroli, tuberose, gardenia, jasmine, tonka, patchouli, sandalwood and green notes. If it's at all possible for something to be both sumptuously, deep-down luxuriant and fresh-scrubbed, sparklingly, soapy clean, it's embodied by this fragrance. The matching up of the tuberose/gardenia and extremely sprightly mandarin and greens is radiant; this is a midsummer night's dream in a bottle, puckish and at the same time movingly lovely. I've heard comments from those who love really heavy and heady fragrances that this is far too light, particularly for a Cartier (though it has far more body than Eau de Cartier, which truly is a lightweight, almost water scent if there ever was one.) But I proclaim it perfect, probbaly the single best effort from the Cartier fragrance oeuvre as a whole.

I never learned to like this - it's incredibly nondescript to my nose and on top of that has a very unpleasant tenaciousness to it that I know comes from the hedione, which carries with it the power to destroy everything else in its path. Hedione is what makes every *bad* jasmine bad - the hot-breath-like, cloying, awful kind of jasmine that hounds you like a stalker and will. not. go. away. It certainly gives this fragrance a lot of staying power, that much is true! Because it's so universally well regarded, I kept this in my collection for the longest time just thinking it needed to be there; I felt as though there was something wrong with me for not liking it. But the dealbreaker came when I found out that this was the fragrance that Rosie O'Donnell self-admittedy drenched herself in - something like twenty-five sprays at a time - on a daily basis. Rosie O'Donnell. Drenched in CKOne. Need I say more? The horror, the horror. It ceased then and there to be part of my fragrance holdings and I can't say I ever regretted that decision.

Wallopingly incense-y and spicy to me, to the point of being unbalanced. I love incense, I love spice, but this fragrance overdoes it and automatically turns me off; I react to it the same way I do FM's Musc Ravageur, which is also just too much, too soon. Most definitely unisex, tending toward the masculine, with even the amber in it taking a mainly masculine turn. There are also resemblances here to some of the CdG signature scents, none of which has ever appealed to me due to their chemically aggressive openings. I guess this is an outright no for me; I've tried it multiple times expecting a different outcome and have returned every time to the same conclusion!

Very, very white flowery - gardenia, magnolia, jasmine, honeysuckle - with a shake of powder from what I suspect is the pomegranate flower. I would call this a very breezy take on the florals involved; just the gardenia and honeysuckle alone have the power to overwhelm, but they don't in this case. It's as though they're running at half-strength, which I think has more to do with the dilution of the notes rather than the notes themselves. I find all i Profumi di Firenze (iPdF) scents to be heavily alcoholy and this one is not an exception; the notes tend to come at you all in a huge rush upon application and then almost immediately calm down to subdued levels and then, several hours later, disappear so completely that you could have sworn you never applied fragrance at all. We're talking vanishing act here, in all seriousness. For this reason alone, I would recommend the iPdF line only with a very big caveat; the products are very expensive for you ultimately get in terms of quality and lasting power. I've had the same experience with the line's Iris di Firenze, Talco Delicato, Vaniglia de Madagascar and Limone de Sicilia scents, so I know it's not just an Acqua Chiara thing.

Though it's long been a cult favorite among certain New York fashionista types, Route de The and its charms have always been lost on me. I find it just a mite too sour and bitter as well as too - well, something indefinable but very much what also makes MPG's Eau de Camelia Chinois so unpleasant to me, something vaguely chemically and akin to hair toner if you've ever smelled that (and if you've never bleached your hair out, you probably haven't! You're not missing anything, trust me.) The actual notes of Route de The are green tea, citrus, muguet and amber, but it seems to also have traces of a particularly musty tearose to my nose. It's supposed to be a fresh and refreshing scent yet is anything but because of its particular reaction on me. I do think it's a your-mileage-may-vary case, though, as I know I've smelled it on others and been amazed at its beauty. Happily, it's fairly reasonably priced (particularly compared to anything else Barneys carries!) so you won't get badly stuck with a big bill even if you end up not loving it.

A quite nice if not totally remarkable fruit-floral based casual scent. Definitely a grade above the Victoria's Secret Garden Collection fragrances, which are nice but run a bit nondescript and common in many cases. Ralph's marriage of musk, apple and freesia may strike some as a "shampoo scent," but I like that about it. (Apple as a note so often seems to have that effect, I've noticed.) Like the sunny, glowing Breck girl that this fragrance always reminds me of, Ralph is fresh, clean, completely classy and not too serious about itself, the type of scent you can wear when you almost don't feel like putting on fragrance at all. It just sort of melds with you and whatever you're doing, doesn't bother you or others, just quietly does its thing. That being said, I couldn't imagine wearing it with anything other than jeans, sneakers, white shirts, totally laid-back casual; it's so fresh that to pair it with more professional attire would seem almost bizarre to me. (Then again, lots of people dress really casually for work these days so there you go!) Going out apple picking, having a spur-of-the-moment picnic? Wear Ralph - it's so right for those moments.

The cutest bottle ever - I get tricked into wearing this scent every time because the high-energy, popsicle-ish pink and blue packaging just says, "spray me, I'm so much fun!" And this actually is a fun-smelling iced fruit scent, really bright strawberry-melonish kiwi and kicky watermelon, almost as giddy as a junior high crush - until the cucumber begins to make its presence known. And then it gets really unpleasant. I've heard this fragrance compared, unfavorably, to dill pickles and with regret, I am inclined to agree. I know it's from the cucumber note, which should be watery and refreshing but somehow clashes rather rudely, in the end, with something else in here. Maybe the honeysuckle and jasmine bring out its worst qualities? That's the only thing I can think of, and it's such a shame. Overall, minus the eau de pickle, this is one of the better fruit fragrances out there and really does have the refreshing sensation the name implies, at least on inital application. But the one clunker note kind of kills it, all the way through to the drydown. But hey, if you get a pickle craving, now you know where to turn!

Okay, it's important to note that there are really *two* Flower by Kenzos - the EDP in the clear glass bottle with the red flower and the parfum in the solid red brushed metal bottle. Both are lovely, both are worth owning - but they are very different. The EDP is very much about florals - particularly violet, which comes through headily in the topnotes - and rose, with vanilla and a bit of sweet woodiness playing supporting roles. It's a very soft, almost muted fragrance, very pretty but not what I would call striking or terribly individual. The parfum, however, is an entirely different tale and one well worth exploring if you have not done so yet. It picks up on some of the EDP's notes - the rose and violet as well as the vanilla, opoponax and white musk from the EDP's base - and intertwines them with amber and almond. The result is just pure heaven, nearly indescribable in its beauty. Mind you, there is a bit of waiting required to get to the good part; on initial application, you very much get a fairly basic violet tinged with just a touch of almond. But once thirty minutes or so passes, you find yourself with a patch of paradise on your skin, a sweet velvet essence so inviting that it becomes almost a full sensory experience rather than just an olfactory one. If it sounds too incredible to believe, I urge you to try it for yourself; just be sure you track down the parfum. For quite a while, I heard people rave about Flower by Kenzo and couldn't figure out what the big deal was over the slightly underwhelming EDP. Then I finally got around to trying the parfum - and now I know!

This is "Opium (the fragance!) American style" to me, a little cleaner and more forthright, not quite as mysterious as YSL's masterpiece but a great fragrance in its own right. True, the 80s were awash in this and in truth, I didn't really start getting into it until the mid 90s, when fragrance tastes changed and it was no longer so ubiquitous. Obsession is really, in terms of composition, more like Lauder's Cinnabar than Opium; its fruit topnotes are peachy-citrusy rather than plummy-raisiny like Opium's, though Cinnabar is almost aggressively peachy where I find Obsession plays out the slightly more subtle mandarin emphasis. Obsession's base is almost identical to Cinnabar's, heavy on the amber whereas Opium is loaded with every type of resin imaginable with amber being just one of many. But what makes Obsession ultimately cleaner and relatively lighter - if heavy orientals could ever be considered light at all! - than both of the others are the absence of incense and patchouli as basenotes, replaced by a stronger emphasis on fairly clean musks. This gives Obsession a certain frankness and straightforwardness that's different from the more come-hither qualities of the other two. To be honest, I enjoy the personalities of all three fragrances and find they can all exist in harmony in my collection. Obsession is the one that has the most versatility for me; I can wear it casually and it feels perfectly right, whereas Cinnabar and Opium are more for specific, dramatic applications.

My first introduction to the concept of "hesperides," LOL! I still remember so vividly getting a bottle of this (and also Jean Nate - wow, that WAS a long time ago!) in my stocking at Christmas and being mesmerized by the incredible *blast* of fresh-squeezed lemon coming from the splash-style bottle. That was close to three decades ago and I'm convinced that I love citrus fragrances to this day because of Love's Fresh Lemon. As far as lemon scents go, it's honestly shockingly good; even today, when I'm wearing L'Artisan's Zeste d'Ete, I can honestly say with a completely straight face that the quality of the lemon in Love's comparaes favorably to that in the L'Artisan. Pretty remarkable. This really is a fresh lemon - no oiliness, no furniture spray overtones or random sugariness. Great stuff. Sadly, this is darned near impossible to find anywhere anymore; Dana has brought back some of the other Love's scents but the Fresh Lemon seems to have been left behind. Too bad - especially as it's still a totally relevant scent!

Okay, this has got to be the number one or number two nostalgia scent for those of us who attended junior or high school back in the Seventies/early Eighties. Sweet, soft, soothing with a scent somewhere in between baby powder and baby oil; all I have to do is close my eyes and think about how it smells, without even actually smelling it, and those memories just come flooding back! Sadly, it's been reformulated of late and is not as pretty as it used to be; it's a bit sharper now and more baby shampooey than anything else, which is still nice but not quite as gentle as it once was. (On the upside, the "new" Love's Baby Soft spray bottle is easier to wield than I recall the old splash style bottle being. Or was it Love's Fresh Lemon - another one of my very, very nascient fragrant loves, that came in the splash bottle?) Despite the changes, I continue to wear it from time to time, and still like it quite well for what it is - simple and easy, perpetually young and a whole generation's idea of what a certain time of life smelled like.

I don't know what it is with Casmir, a fragrance I have always felt I should really like because the notes seem so enticing but have never, ever been able to get enthused about; it has always struck me as missing some component, lacking that special "something." What it is to me is Opium or even Cinnabar minus the spices - which just leaves something very fruity and vanilla-patchouli based. Nice and all, but where's the exoticism? With a name like Casmir, I always find myself waiting for something a bit more mystical to kick in when I put this on, and it never arrives. Instead, what it approxmates is a slightly less aggressive Escada by Margaretha Ley, particularly through the peach-coconut topnotes. Not quite the effect something called Casmir should have, I'd say; even a little tiny smudge of incense would have helped...Anyway, this fragrance definitely has its fans and so I can't get away from the idea that I'm just not "getting" something. That's why I go back to it every so often, just to see if maybe my take on it has changed over the years. So far - no dice!

Understatedly chic, just like everything Bill Blass ever did - this fragrance was my first real "adult" scent and one I've always gotten nice remarks on, even way back when I used to wear it at wings-and-pitcher nights in college! It's florally but in a clean, self-assured manner - you've got hyacinth, geranium, iris, tuberose, orris, ylang and carnation, so you end up with some fresh greenness, some cool powder, some spiciness, some richness. It all works, along with the green galbanum and pineapple in the topnotes, which are just like the right finishing touches in a floral arrangement. The base is classic and well-suited to the rest of the fragrance - amber, sandalwood, benzoin, cedarwood, oakmoss. A very effortless fragrance, very easy to wear, very charming. And the price is always right; for such a great little scent, a bottle of Bill Blass is one of the best bargains around.

Gourmand-y and fun, Amorito is an enticing blend of chocolate - more milky than dark - and vanilla with a jot of jasmine. It's a caramelly chocolate, a tiny bit powdery around the margins but generally very cheerful and just uplifting. Depending on how you like to wear your scents and for what occasions, this can be worn alone or layered, as per The Body Shop's intent for this and the other 8 EDTs in its "Invent Your Scent" range. Personally, I bought it for layering - in my case, with some of my more sophisticated fruity fragrances like Carolina by Carolina Herrera as well as some light rose-violet scents like YSL Paris and L'Artisan Drole de Rose. What's great about Amorito is that it's so reasonably priced - well under $20 for a one-ounce bottle of EDT - that you can buy it precisely for these kinds of layering "experiments," many of which yield you whole new fragrances, without breaking the bank. In that sense, I consider this in the same class and of the same unbeatable value as the greatest of all gourmand layering scents, Molinard Vanille, which is high praise indeed for Amorito.

To me, Opium is as much an experience as it is a fragrance. I have a fondly recalled history with it, as when I was a teenager I worked up my nerve to wear it (from my mother's supply, initially) by "training" myself with the more user-friendly Cinnabar by Estee Lauder (from my sister's supply! This was eons before I became a hard-core fragrance junkie with an extensive collection of my own.) What drew me to Opium and draws me still are the dramatic images and scapes it conjures; I know it's more about the Far East but I tend to endow it with incredibly exotic Middle Eastern, Saharan associations, visions of "Lawrence of Arabia" and the call of the desert, the sensual allure of the souk, and so on and so forth. And as Yves himself was born in Algiers and has long resided in Morocco (part time for a long time and now permanently, I believe), this all makes sense to me. From Opium's dark spice-spiked plum opening to that rather startling note of carnation to the base of bottomless, almost narcotic resins, you're in for a spellbinding, transformative journey here. I freely admit that Yves is my ultimate in terms of favorite fashion designers; I honestly feel everything he's ever touched has turned to genius, and his fragrances are no exception. How one individual could have dreamed up concepts so diverse and "scent scapes" so defined and self-contained as Opium, Rive Gauche and Paris is a source of never-ending amazement to me, as Opium alone is worthy of awe.

My, but this is an intensely, almost tooth-achingly sweet fragrance. Nothing in the notes really indicates that it should be sweet to such a degree; it's mostly florals here, including freesia (okay, granted, that can get pretty sweet in a white floral kind of way), Bulgarian rose, tuberose, carnation and chrysthanthemum (is that very sweet? Beats me!) So that leaves the fruit notes of mandarin and osmanthus, both of which must be cranked up to the Nth power here; you can smell the rounded, ripe, slightly raisiny (that's from the osmanthus) scents they throw from a mile away. And there's a big dollop of sweet and powdery amber in the drydown, along with oakmoss. Because of the oakmoss, this is considered a fruity chypre, but so is Patou Cocktail and Cassini is basically like a honking quart of cherry heering (a ridiculously sweet liqueur with overtones of cough syrup) compared to Cocktail's crisp shot of palate-cleansing apertif. I love Oleg Cassini himself - charming man with the kind of globetrotting, fantastical life that people just don't live anymore - but this fragrance is not for me. I am giving it a neutral mainly out of respect to Mr. - or, more accurately, Count - Cassini. One last note: this fragrance has some definite similarities to the signature Anna Sui fragrance, the one in the purple and black bottle. If you like the Anna Sui, investigate the Oleg Cassini, which is a touch more formal and sophisticated but very much in the same vein.

Very, VERY lovely fragrance; I see it's categorized here as both feminine and unisex and that makes sense, as it's certainly clean and spicy enough for wear by both guys and gals. Has a little of the same spirit as Calypso Homme but this one is more about summer hikes through the woods than sultry days spent in tropical settings. Eau de Gantier begins with a tart, cleansing wash of citrus and then opens into blackberry and raspberry spiked with verbena. The hints of soapiness and spiciness must come from the sandalwood at the base and the way that it interacts with the other notes; the clean musk basenote is pretty quiet here and in no way resembles that in Eau de Mure, another MPG berry-musk combo in which the musk plays a central role, or the one in L'Artisan Mure et Musc, for that matter. Those fragrances, with their heady musk components, are all about sexy to me; the Eau de Gantier is simply pure and outdoorsy, no ulterior motives, no seductive undertones, just fresh and approachable. This is a sunny, friendly, energetic fragrance, seriously easy to wear. Staying power is so-so but since I only put this on in the hottest months, that's not an issue and doesn't bother me. The progression of fresh, zesty notes makes frequent reapplication a pleasure anyway.

Puma - love the shoes and this scent, though the scent lacks a certain level of hip downtown sportiness that the shoes and other Puma products have. Basically, Puma Woman is a sheer, very feminine fragrance, one that starts out happily fruit-laden - with peach, melon, quince and blackcurrant - with a twist of mint. This is a nice touch; if you've ever eaten ripe fruits with a little fresh mint leaf mixed in, you'll know how splendid a combination it is. From there the composition gets a tad ordinary as it moves into white peony and bamboo leaves, but never fear, because the drydown is worth the wait. It's a soft, positively sensual blend of white musk and praline with just a little sandalwood. A beautiful skin scent, not unlike one of my newer favorites, Body by Victoria. Actually, Puma Woman's drydown is even more gorgeous than Body's, a touch sweeter and more nutty, albeit not as noticeable or lasting. If you like strong and assertive scents, Puma Woman would likely not be a good candidate for you, but if subtle is what you seek, check this out. It's very underrated and probably something you can wear without smelling it one everyone else, as I virtually never hear anyone talk about it.

Yikes - fragrances like this are why I have such negative connotations of freesia as a note. Gap Dream, which combines freesia and citrus notes and possibly also a touch of orange blossom, is a loud and unsubtle scent, about as dreamlike as going to sleep next to a construction site. I have no problem with mass market, affordable fragrances - and in fact consider quite a few of those out there to be true gems - but this one is a nightmare and I'm puzzled as to what Iw as thinking when I bought it in the first place, as there are other Gap scents far better than this. There's not any nice or graceful way to state how cheap this smells and how tenaciously it clings. And on top of all that, I have terrible memories of the first time I wore it, on a marathon all night, all day, multiply flight-delayed business trip to Lexington, Kentucky during one broiling Fourth of July weekend. Well, I will say this - the fragrance kept on going long after I did! It took two dry cleanings to remove its essence from my suit. Anyway, if you must have a scent from the Gap, look instead to the chain's new Scent Editions line, as the fragrances in that are a major improvement over this one.

Sweet Cinnabar - I will always think of this as Opium on training wheels, a gentler take on a heavily spiced oriental and one without Opium's stalking, brooding darkness or intensely binding, almost engulfing base of half a dozen competing resins. In the very early Eighties, when I was still quite the tomboy and just starting to dabble in "grown up" fragrances, I started out by sneaking sprays of my sister's Cinnabar and then, once I had gotten used to it, turned to swiping off my mother's bottle of Opium for a new, more thrilling and dangerous-smelling fix. Cinnabar opens more aggressively than Opium and in a less insidious way; instead of sneaking up on you in the louche way Opium does, the Cinnabar's brighter and friendlier, more upfront with its spiciness. Opium says, "Psst, come here, I've got something to show you" where Cinnabar's all "Hi, I'm a spicy sweet fragrance - nice to meet you!" Note to note, the two fragrances are not that far off from each other at all, but Opium's got a dash more of something here and something there that give it many more directions, like a seductive maze. With Cinnabar, you can pretty much tell where it's going, all the way through the spicy opening to the rich floral heart to the quite soft amber-benzoin based drydown with accents of incense and patchouli. No animalic basenotes here either, which further defines this as a refined lady's version of Opium. So, in short, when in situations that call for restraint, reach for the Cinnabar; save the Opium for when you really want to walk on the wild side.

As carnation in large doses is often wont to do, the carnation in Soie Rouge just pretty much ends up trampling everything else to dust in this fragrance. You get peach and apricot and carnation and then pineapple and musk and carnation and then more and more carnation with not a lot else left to stand up to it. If you enjoy straight, largely unadulterated carnation, go for it; the fruit notes of Soie Rouge are oddly artificial anyway (odd particularly because MPG generally handles fruit notes so beautifully) so you don't really miss them a whole lot once they're gone. But for my money, Caron Bellodgia is a much more interesting carnation scent, made far more mysterious than carnation ordinarily shows itself to be thansk to a brush with a dark, incense-y accord and a smoothing dose of vanilla. Soie Rouge is perhaps my least favorite MPG though I would not call it a bad fragrance, just rather plain.

Mango, mango, mango! In all fairness, mango is not even listed as a note in Fraiche Passiflore, but it sure smells like it's in there and very prominently so. I'm guessing it's the result of the seriously syrupy sweet, tropical-tinged passion fruit note (that's what the passiflore stands for - passion fruit in, I take it, French) meeting with a clean-ish musk basenote; the actual mango fruit has always, to me, had a juicy yet clean, ever-so-subtly soapy flavor to it, if that makes sense. The other notes said to be present here - peach, raspberry, tagetes, jasmine, pimento, sandalwood - barely make it onto the radar, making for an extremely simple and linear scent that's all about, yes, mango! It's really nice, infinitely wearable and well suited for something like a great weekend getaway to the Caribbean, South Beach or even your local ocean spot. Simple and easy, totally uncomplicated and slightly addictive once you get in the habit of wearing it.

In very much the same family as other spicy-ish, mossy-ish, fresh greens Ma Griffe, Coriandre and Ivoire de Balmain, Caline is a great one to add to your collection if you're a fan of any one or all of those scents. Me, I don't love any of these, and Caline's no exception; the coming together of certain combinations of notes disagrees with me and that's the case here with the meeting of basil AND iris AND moss AND coriander. There's an odd sense of viscousness I get from this and I just don't care for it. That being said, I refuse to give this a negative review because I consider it a classic; just because it doesn't agree with me does not, in this case (or the case of any of its smell-alikes, for that matter) cause me to regard in any lesser way. Call me biased, but Patous, Carons and Guerlains can do no wrong in my eyes! Besides, I've only worn this a few times and think I could grow to at least like it, if not love it, once I got used to its particular nature.

Created in 1930 by Jean Patou to mimic an apertif, Cocktail is a fruity chypre, smooth yet crisp and topped with a bracing twist of lavendar and a cooling, tonic-like petitgrain. The mellow, relaxed fruitiness is derived from the floral notes and most particularly a honeysuckle note that is uniquely Patou, not too sweet and not too humid. Other notes include hyacinth, jasmine, rose, amber (possibly - depending on which source you consult) and, of course, oakmoss. This is an enjoyable scent to wear, sophisticated in such an easily languid way, like having cocktails at dusk out by the tennis courts before getting all dressed up for a big formal dinner. Not that I myself live that way - but I can certainly pretend when I wear Patou Cocktail! Like all great fragrances, Cocktail indeed has the power to transport, and the delightful splash bottle just heightens the sense of traveling off in your mind to another place, another time.

After the magnificent Blue Grass, Green Tea is my favorite Elizabeth Arden scent (though in all fairness, Red Door runs an extremely distant third for me and Sunflowers isn't even a starter, despite the fact that I wore both regularly for years.) This gets props for its deceptive simplicity; it's so fresh and clean that you'd never guess at all the notes it's got packed in there. Yet it's exactly these notes that keep it from being as bitter and blandly washed-out smelling as a used tea bag, as simpler green tea scents sometimes have the tendency to become. The little quirks here of extremely tart rhubarb, sprightly and springy celery seed (just a little, too; no dreaded celery overdosage here), and anise-ish caraway and fennel are all detectable if you really close your eyes and focus on what you're smelling. They also help the scent maintain its body well into the wearing process so that you're not faced with rapid fade-out. This is just sophisticated enough for all-around wear if you're so inclined; it certainly works for low-key occasions but can also be worn for more formal ones.

"Rose is a rose is a rose is a rose." Thank you, Gertrude Stein, for so succinctly describing Perfumer's Workshop Tea Rose, which is just that. A rose. That's it. Straight rose fragrances don't agree with everyone - they can go musty, dusty, sourish, overly florid or warm or all of the above, and Tea Rose can definitely have these tendencies until you get used to them and then just start thinking of them as part of the overall rose experience. This is a very deep scent, ridiculously potent and extremely tenacious; what I enjoy doing most with it is using it as a layering element when I want to change it up a bit with a different, more complex fragrance. Try a touch of Tea Rose on top of a very smoky incense fragrance, an almondy-powdery heliotrope or a very sweet, warm, fruit-and-vanilla blend. Additionally, because of its relative longevity and affordability, Tea Rose holds many scent memory associations for me, especially from my college years. It's happily youthful and hopeful in that regard, a simple scent from - well, a not so simple time, come to think of it, but that's okay. It's still a winner in its humble little way.

Absolutely In Your Face would be an apt descriptive for the opening notes of this fragrance, which comes on with a heavily alcohol-toned, cinnamon-fueled fury that doubles-slaps you across both cheeks before standing back and giving you a load of its curvy but too-sweet "double tuberose" (which is the actual name given to the tuberose note here - fits the bill, too.) Once all that commotion has taken its toll, this fragrance becomes rather calmly introspective and dare I say far more serene than fabulous; its soft, warm turn towards white musk and woods and "temple incense" is surprising but welcomed. It is at this stage that Absolutely Fabulous becomes worth putting up with; how it literally converts from something so brazen and loud to something so relatively gentle and sensual is beyond me. I still barely wear it because the opening accord bothers me so, but I wouldn't necessarily write it off as just another drugstore scent either. Plus the frou-frou marabou-ringed bottle looks so cute standing next to the black-lace gartered Chantall Thomass bottle on my dresser; it's like a meeting of the burlesque ladies club!

Darn near impossible to find but worth at least trying to track down if you enjoy fresh, sheer skin scents. Revlon Skinlights always reminds me of Sprite soda with its effervescence and citrusy crispness; the fragrance's main notes are clementine, lavender and ginger. The only problem with it is a tiny hint of sourness at the top of the composition; I assume it's the clementine, and it can be a tad sickening if you spray on too much of this at once. The lasting power of Skinlights is bizarrely remarkable; it must be the lavender that gives it its tenacity, and for a sheer scent you'd be surprised how long a ways just a little of this goes. As far as smell-alikes go, there's a fragrance by Ultima (a sister brand to Revlon) called Head Over Heels that reminds me quite a bit of Skinlights; the Head Over Heels is in a pink bottle with legs - yes, legs, pink plastic legs - sticking out of the top. It's a touch more floral than the Skinlights but not tremendously different in spirit.

Killer bottle, killer scent - a sharp, so sharp opening blast that fades to clean, soft, powdery beauty. Castelbajac is interesting that way; all the seriously intense aspects of all the notes, from the orange blossom to the almond to the patchouli and sandalwood, come at you so powerfully upon application. The closest I can think of to what it's like is something from Prince Matchabelli that one of my grandmothers used to wear, something that blasted sharp sweetness to an extreme. But then, soon after, precisely these same notes become as fresh and soothing as a newly laundered chenille blanket, heavy on the fabric softener. Throughout all, a trace of Elmer's glue. (That's got to be from the almond as well.) I've read that Jean-Charles Castelbajac himself was seeking to recreate olfactory cues from his own childhood with this, and I definitely "get" the connections. This is nostalgia of sorts in a Pop Art package and is one of my favorite comfort scents because it's got an edge to it; it's a bit more challenging than something that's just plain old sweet. I would compare it most closely to Etro Heliotrope, which also develops into a clean scent on my skin, but would give Castelbajac a slightly higher rating as it's just a more complicated and interesting take on fragrance to me.

Squeeze yourself a fresh glass of orange juice - it must be blood oranges, as they're much different from regular old orange juice oranges, much sweeter and more honeyed and rounded in flavor. Add a shot of the most incendiary hot sauce you can find, preferably something of the habanero family. Add one or grates of fresh nutmeg, inhale deeply of the resulting concoction and - voila - you've emulated the heart of CdG Harissa, which smells almost realistically edible in its pairing of sweet and hot. The tomato, while not an obvious note, keeps the honeyish fruitiness of the scent going long after the blood orange - a famously fleeting note - has split for the hills. There is a trace of the masculine in this scent, and it's hard to pin down where that comes from - the combination of saffron and angelica, perhaps? But it's nonetheless easily wearable for both women and men; my husband has been known to sneak a shot or two of my Harissa when I'm not looking! Downside - staying power on this is fair to middling, not great.

A sultry, envelopingly honeylike rose in the manner of my all-time favorite fragrance, Guerlain Nahema. Happily, Ombre Rose is just different enough from Nahema to warrant its own special spot in my collection. Both fragrances open with peach and aldehydes but where Nahema is also green with hyacinth and bergamot, Ombre Rose features the spicy thrum of geranium. The heart and base of both scents are very similar but where Nahema deepens into a rosey, florally, fruit honey with traces of spice and a foundation of soft balsams, Ombre Rose veers just a bit more toward the powdery end of the spectrum with its notes of iris, tonka and heliotrope. It's funny, because tonka is so synonymous with so many of the classic Guerlains and forms the basis, along with vanilla (which Ombre also has) of the famouds Guerlinade- the Ombre Rose is in some ways more classically Guerlain-esque than the Nahema, which also has tonka in its base but not as markedly so. Anyway, there's more than enough room in my heart for both, and besides, the delicately divine bottle design of Ombre Rose is reason enough to keep it in my lineup.

An unusual, slightly masculine, rather remote vanilla fragrance from MAC. You'll find no warmth or coziness here, and on certain days the whole thing can smell a bit off. MV2 opens with a discernible lavendar - hence the masculine air -and then moves into a fairly sweet vanilla that's bizarrely grassy and a little lemony around the edges. All the notes have an airy, not-quite-real thing going on, as if they've been spun out of a laboratory and puffed up with helium; the whole fragrance seems to float just above the surface of the skin and never really sinks in at all. An oddly alienating fragrance that I can never decide whether I like or not; it's definitely a weird one. I do get the occasional compliment on it, though, and get the impression that it smells better to the beholder than the wearer. It also has a curiously good staying power; it goes on light to begin with but never really fades away, even after a full day. An enigma, this one is. BTW - I have a feeling it's on its way to being discontinued, as it's become near-to-impossible to find at the MAC counters I frequent. So stock up if you love it!

The name of this fragrance is absolutely dead-on -sounds like something from a graphic novel by Frank Miller ("Sin City") and smells like it, too. Who knew florals could be so black and slinky? They are here: there's an intense vanilla-esque queen of the night flower (also found in Dior Addict), a viciously sweet night blooming jasmine and a black violet so deeply powdery that it nearly wraps itself around your throat. In case it's not obvious by now, this is not an easy fragrance to pull off; it's both sinister and incredibly sexy in a way that can only be described as doomed. Makes me think of latex and festishistically high heels, alleys at night nearly pitch dark save for one harsh cold flourescent street light in the distance...Great for conjuring up imagery but I can't wear this one to save my soul, it's just too-too-too wrong for me. If I suddenly dropped everything and took up a deeply Goth lifestyle overnight then yes, this would be perfection. Is that why I keep a vial of this hanging around? I never wear it but since it's discontinued, I like to have it in my collection, just in case...

"Hyper fruit cake" is how I've always referred to this fragrance. Think figgy, raisin-y and incredibly dense cake, heavily spiced and soaked in brandy, and you'll get the essence of Hypersouk. The fragrance itself aligns closely with its actual composition - quince (which can be very fig-like), plum, cinnamon and bay rum. There are also notes of red rose and vanilla, which bestow a bit of the spirit of loukhoum (a Middle Eastern confection flavored with fragrant rosewater) into the blend. And so "dessert bazaar" would be another fitting name for this, then. But as with any good spread of rich confections, Hypersouk can easily be OD'd upon; it's so incredibly intense that one dab easily lasts 24 hours, no exaggeration. This discontinued scent was sold as a "three pack" of vials; the fragrance comes in oil form. Given its hyper-potency, I quickly gave away two of the three bottles I had and am still not even close to being halfway through the one bottle I still own. Can be enchanting when worn on the right kind of cool, gray, cloudy November day.

If you can get past the very intense, medicinal, Dior Poison-like opening of Trussardi Python, you will be richly rewarded with a positively edible, gourmand-focused and shockingly soft, velvety fragrance. I still remember trying Python for the first time, back when it was launched in 1999; I spritzed it on at Sephora, recoiled in horror ("ewww, Poison!" - not a fan of the infamously strong purple juice, never have been) and moved right along down the fragrance shelf to find something more agreeable. It wasn't until I was nearly out of the store that I noticed something on me that smelled like a spiced, very deep, dark, high cocoa-content chocolate I'd had from Richart (a fancy chocolate maker) blended with sweet resin and vanilla. It took me at least a minute to remember what I could have spritzed that smelled like that, and finally realized it had to have been the Python, as everything else I'd tried had been basically florally. Well, I marched back into that store, got a bottle and have been in love with it ever since. I don't wear it terribly often; it's quite potent, even in its softer gourmand drydown stage, and can be cloying if overapplied. It's also not terribly easy to find. But it's worth the search, as it's terribly unique and sensual. Perfumebay does have it from time to time, so check it out!

A fragrance that's so unobtrusive it's impossible to really hate, in spite of the clashing base of cedar that throws the whole rest of the balance of notes completely off. Here you have a fruity-aquatic-floral story consisting of bergamot, violet leaves, mandarin, orange, apple, jasmine, lily of the valley and just a smidge of pink pepper for liveliness and warmth. Sounds perfectly nice, right? Nothing too heavy or offensive, just in need of a firm but complimentary basenote or two, perhaps something a bit resin-y or else clean anfd gentle. Instead, though, you get pencil shavings, closet fresheners, hamster cage - in other words, cedar, and far too much of it. All the sweet notes from the fruits just bring out the cedar even more and make it all the more medicinal and pungent. It just seems so wrong to me; I get the pairing of cedar with straight citrus, a combination that shows up in at least half a dozen popular scents, but mixing it with other fruits strikes me as a mistake. That being said, I have put up with the bothersome cedar and gone through several bottles of this because it is so light and casual, great for the weekends or whenever you just want something low-key. Recently, though, I stumbled on another fragrance that takes all the positive aspects of Trussardi Skin and combines them with a fabulous soft white musk base that is just such an improvement on the pencil shavings scenario. That fragrance? Victoria's Secret Body by Victoria. If you like Trussardi Skin, definitely try out the Body; it's amazing.

Despite being seriously underwhelmed by the name of this fragrance - sounds like the name of a gym or else one of those "slimming tonics" that come out every so often - I went ahead and gave this fragrance a try and have been impressed with it more than I would have ever thought possible. It's very much a fruity-aquatic floral, a category of scent that doesn't thrill the socks off me - but unlike other fruity-aquatic florals I've had and been less than blown away by, this one possesses (a) remarkable staying power and (b) a stunning drydown. The top and middle parts of the scent tend to the bland - crushed leaves, freesia, mandarin, water hyacinth, cucumber. Nothing thrilling, though there is also stephanotis, which I love for its dry spiciness. Perhaps that helps spark up the composition somewhat. But it's the simple-enough sounding basenotes of white musk and sandalwood that make for a drydown that is creamy, a touch powdery and almost praline-like without being sweet. I'm guessing it's the white musk that smells so lovely and brings out the best in the rest of the fragrance. What Body by Victoria reminds me of most is Trussardi Skin, which smells very similar at the top and in the middle but is ruined by a hugely cedar base that reeks of "eau de hamster cage." Body by Victoria gets it right with the white musk; this is a fantastic really casual scent for hot or warm weather.

This scent goes on like gangbusters, gives you the impression that it's going to be around alllll day (you know, like the kind of fragrance that you basically have to sandblast to remove from your skin) and then - *poof* - makes an abrupt and inexplicable exit, leaving very little in its wake. It's a musky-sweet composition of blackberry, freesia, lily and "skin suede" - which I imagine is something between a skin musk and a suede-like accord - and can almost be a touch choking on application, it's that heavy. About half an hour into it, the tone of Very Sexy 2 comes down considerably and starts to smell just sweet and dusky, a tiny bit port wine-ish and generally agreeable if not entirely original. But then, strangest thing, just when you start to really groove on it, it's pretty much gone. I mean, gone-in-around-60-minutes gone. Must be due to the lack of any kind of major fixative; I guess skin suede's not the most tenacious of bases. I'd give this scent about a C+ to B- for effort, but there are other VS scents that put on a better show.

A cheery, bright, optimistic fragrance that comes off a bit brassy in the top part of the composition but dires down beautifully and has surprisingly good staying power. As with just about every Victoria's Secret scent - save perhaps two or three - Pink has that floral-fruity thing going on for the most part, and in this case we're talking *pink* flowers and *pink* fruits, particularly grapefruit (though I think that's more the mandarin - pink mandarin? - and bergamot coming through, as grapefruit's not actually used here.) The topnotes are a bit tart and a bit fresh but also a bit fake. It's not until you're well into the drydown that the scent loses its fakish edge and begins to smell like soft peonies and freesia, tempered by a jot of spicy warmth from the juniper. Eventually, the florals too fade and you're left with a dusky, lightly powdery scent that remains, subtly, for a remarkably long time. Two sprays on the same spot easily lasts up to eight hours, which is truly impressive for something relatively light to begin with and not all that intense.

Genius scent, showing the house of Armani at its best with its understatement and elegance. This is another one of my husband's signature fragrances that I take out for a spin now and then as it's so unique. It's not a big statement-maker of a fragrance; if anything, it reminds me of how water fresh from a cold-running mountain stream might smell (yes, moreso than Silver Mountain Water does - sorry Creed!) if such a thing actually had a scent. It's got a light efferevescent snap from the citrus, a very light almost-sweetness from the olive flower and tonka. I don't find it masculine with a capital "M", which is part of its charm; it's discreet and sleek, much like the cut of an Armani jacket. One of the best fragrances the house of Armani has done in ages, in my opinion. And the bottle design is perfect, so much improved over some of the Armani packaging of yore.

You must be a fan of exceedingly sugary scents in order to appreciate Chantal Thomass; I like sweet scents, vanilla scents, sweet powdery scents, fruit scents, you name it, but this is a little over the top even for me. At least that's the case in the initial application, which comes on like an tsunami of raspberry Kool-Aid and makes you honestly scratch your head in wonder as you ponder the connection between a childhood beverage and the very boudoir-esque, black lace-gartered bottle in which the actual fragrance is housed. There seems to be a very curious disconnect at this stage. Then, once the big, big berry !!blast!! simmers down, the fragrance moves into more identifiably coquettish territory with a combination of rose, powdery deep violet and almondy heliotrope. This stage is somewhat evocative of L'Artisan's Drole de Rose, excpet that instead of Drole's honey note, here you have - tomato? Yes, it's true, it's a discernible note in the Chantal Thomass composition, and incredibly bizarre as it may sound, when paired with very sweet ingredients (this is true in culinary preparations as well), tomato can take on a honeyed quality. Try a very sweet tomato jam if you ever get the chance and you'll see what I mean; tomato plus lots of sugar really has a honey-like aspect to it. Anyway...the Chantal is not as smooth or gentle as the Drole de Rose and has a harder edge to it, which is actually a bit of a plus if you're not thrilled with Drole's staying power. Chantal sticks around for quite a while, believe me. Basically, Chantal is Drole's big and slightly brassy sister, slugging down her Kool-Aid for all she's worth and going the distance, black garter and all!

Made for a man but I like it too - it's one of my husband's signature scents but I find myself craving it every so often as well, primarily due to its profusion of benzoin, one of my favorite of all notes. (I've been known to wear straight benzoin essential oil, that's how much I love it.) There is not a women's scent I can think of that features so much unadulterated (by florals, incenses, etc) benzoin as Pi, so I wear it occasionally - it's lovely in the dead of winter - to get my fix. The topnotes are masculine enough, IMO, to remind me that I am in fact wearing a men's scent; I get a decent dose of basil and pine needle in the opening, and both stick around through the progression of the scent into its sweet, warm woody-resiny heart/base. It's a classic scent, I think, so different from just about everything else out there (though if you've ever smelled S.T. Dupont Signature for Men - which includes basil, pepper, birch, cedar, citrus, incense and amber - it comes somewhat close to this) and utterly fantastically smelling on my husband, who pulls off warm and resiny scents very well. A very definite thumbs up.

A pitch-perfect blend of florals, spices, resins and vanilla, highlighted by citruses and underscored by mosses and incense. It's true, not much is left out of Bal a Versailles; it's much like many of the classic Carons in the sense that it includes a huge compendium of notes that would seem to create nothing more than a very busy mish-mash. Yet like Caron's original master perfumer Ernest Daltroff, Jean Desprez obviously knew what he was doing when he brought forth Bal a Versailles, and it remains a classic today because of that. Mainly, it is an ambery oriental with undertones of sweet orange, powder and spice. Unlike many slightly younger orientals, though (Bal a Versailles having been launched in 1962), it is refined to an extreme and not one to overpower, induce headaches, enter the room before its wearer, etc. Personally, I think that's because the florals here of the "drier," less sweet and less cloying variety, with Grasse jasmine and a very high-quality Bulgarian rose among them. This is a highly wearable fragrance and low-key enough to wear any time and with anything, casual or dress or anywhere in between. I wish the other fragrances of Jean Desprez were as relatively easy to come by as Bal a Versailles, as I would love to find out more about his craftsmanship. If Bal a Versaille is any indication, Monsieur Desprez definitely stands as a fragrance legend.

This may not be the most complex or original composition in the fragrance universe, but my gosh it's gorgeous. The pairing of blood orange -tart yet also almost honey-like in its thick sweetness - as well as two types of mandarin and a little bit of peach with a sweet, somewhat powdery, vaguely spicy musk yields a delicious skin scent that I like wearing best in the summer. It's very light and non-obtrusive; in fact, I would dock it only for being not terribly long-lasting or of sturdy sillage. It's much more of a personal space fragrance for the time that it's even detectable. Frequent reapplication is worth it for the renewal of the juicy topnote alone; of course, it's not exactly an economically priced scent, so if you love it be prepared to lay out some serious cash! I've gone through two bottles in two summers and will probably invest in a third because I love it so. Definitely one of MPG's best-ever scents.

Though it's often touted as a fresh and clean fragrance, I find Eau de Camelia Chinois heavy and "off" in an odd way. There is a strong topnote of grapefruit, which can be a pungent and sour note in some cases and is here, coming up against a strong, rather bitter green tea and, at the base, a strong and somewhat bug-sprayish sandalwood. And woven in there is a basil note that lends a certain oiliness. Altogether, not my idea of fresh! I can see what the concept of the fragrance is trying to accomplish but the reality of it is difficult to wear. I once used a particular brand of hair toner (stuff you put in your hair after coloring/bleaching) that smelled much like this fragrance does, and I can't say I find that a particularly positive thing! I think personal chemistry plays a role in this particular scent, though, too, as I've met two other people on whom it smelled glorious.

Love, love, love this fragrance. Funny, it's not immensely different from Secrete Datura, another MPG fragrance that is also good but bordering on oppressively heavy. Fleur de Comores is not light, to be sure, but just seems to be more balanced than the Secrete; instead of Secrete's near-overpowering white florals, here you have a very warm vanilla topped with passionfruit, lightly spiced with orange blossom and supported by ambergris, vetiver and musk (which is also what supports Secrete, though that has cedar in the base as well.) There's also just enough jasmine in Fleurs de Comores to give it a floral touch without making it a floral per se. It's essentially a very elegant couture vanilla with an exotic touch, and it's stupendous. I cannot find fault with it in any way, though I'd say to apply with some judiciousness as, again, it's not a lightweight scent. The lasting power is also superb, something not always true of MPG fragrances.

The datura itself - mystery bloom, opens only at night, deadly if consumed - is portrayed here by a series of notes that include orange blossom, heliotrope, neroli and jasmine and that really don't sound so intense on paper but combine to create a palpably thick, heavy floriental. It bears some resemblance, believe it or not, to the famously heavy Escada by Margaretha Ley (NOT Collection but the other one, in the red bottle - the one many people find too strong!) Mainly a white floral with a pronounced dash of neroli-induced spiciness, this fragrance will treat you badly if you overapply. Underneath the florals, there is a gourmand-ish touch (some consider it chocolate-y and I would tend to agree) as well as a little bit of bitterness. All combine for something that is admittedly very, very lovely if not easy to pull off. To be worn when you really want to make a statement in a very big way; I've never worn this without getting some level of recognition, whether positive or negative, from those around me.

What a spectacular amber this is - I would recommend it to anyone who even moderately likes amber as a note. The composition of notes here, with an emphasis on balsams as well as amber, yields a deep golden-smelling fragrance with a satiny texture so smooth that I almost think this is better as a women's fragrance. It's very sweet - in spite of the myrtle-lavendar topnotes -with its heart of amber and vanilla sparked by nutmeg. This is easily a staple scent for me, especially in the cooler months when its qualities shine through with the most clarity.

Celery's just not a very pleasant note in a fragrance, no matter what you mix with it, and this is a celery scent first and foremost. The very refreshing blast of topnotes - lemon and mint - make this an extremely pleasant fragrance at first. But they don't stick around for long, and then you're into the celery seed stage. For those who've not encountered celery in a scent, it's sweetish and radiates a great deal of heat, almost a bodily heat. It's just generally tough to wear for many. The fact that it's combined here with myrtle, lavendar, fir, vetiver, musk and sandalwood makes it slightly, slightly more bearable - fir alone is also a strong note, and its clean qualities do balance out somewhat the reeking of the celery. But the alchemy of the notes also brings out a certain bitterness in the drydown. So, to recap, you go from fresh to reeking to bitter. That's quite challenging, to say the least!

The early part of the 1990s saw the releases of some pretty heady fragrances - guess the "power scents" of the 1980s were still wielding a bit of influence - and this sure was, and still is, one of them. I worked for a fashion magazine at the time and so was often the recipient of beauty biz new launches, and was introduced to Escada by Margaretha Ley in triplicate via a big, honking set of fragrance, body lotion and shower gel. As with Calvin Klein Escape, another early 90s launch that I received gratis, I wore Escada in relative abundance and quite happily until one day I was suddenly seized with inexplicable headache and nausea. It actually took me a little while to realize my own fragrance was making me sick, it turned on me that suddenly and out of the blue. I have since worn it sparingly, never again layered, and only when I've had access to an open window and/or fresh air source. This is a strong waft, one that would probably be overly cloying with its notes of peach, coconut, frangipani and vanilla if it weren't for the sandalwood at the base of the composition. Ah yes, the sandalwood that both saves and slays; again, as with Escape, I'm convinced that it's the sandalwood here that ultimately is just too strong and bug-sprayish. Sure, it provides great staying power, but when your scent's making you sick, is that a good thing? All that said, I don't dislike this fragrance once in a great while on the right occasion; it is rich and luxurious and unlike many of the much wimpier juices that come out on the market these days. As long as I exercise tremendous restraint in the application, I can stil handle this headstrong scent.

I wore this pretty steadily when it was still relatively new on the market until one day - ugh! - it turned on me and made me incredibly dizzy and sick-feeling. It's been touch and go ever since, and I always experience some degree of trepidation when trying it on again. Bottom line: this is an extremely strong fragrance that may make others in your presence want to ESCAPE if you apply more than a few extremely discreet dabs. The topline of it is innocuous enough, actually quite soft in some ways due to the pretty noticeable chamomile with its fruity mellowness. That's all fine and good, but once you start venturing into the rather heavy heart segment of the composition, replete with coriander and clove, things begin to get more intense. What kicks it into hardcore head rattler, though, is a very pointed dose of sandalwood in the basenote. Too much sandalwood can be a serious dealbreaker; it's the reason a lot of people have trouble with Samsara and, as best I can tell, with this one as well. Sandalwood can become bug-spray city sometimes, in certain combinations and intensity levels, and I am quite sure it's the culprit here. I guess not everyone's bothered by it, as there seem to be quite a few Escape lovers out there, but do be cognizant of the possible sandalwood-induced side effects of this one!

The most fruit-packed fragrance ever created! Depending on what source you check for notes, Calyx contains most if not all of the following: passion fruit, mango, grapefruit, mandarin, guava, papaya, apricot, peach, melon, raspberry. Pretty much a cornucopia of summer fruits - and it does smell that way, very much so. It's a fun fragrance but not completely frivolous; the moss in particular helps bring out just enough sophistication to keep this from being strictly for the pre-teen crowd. A good fragrance and one that's still viable now, though I will always associate it with smelling like the late 80s/early 90s when I wore it far more often than I do today.

L'Eau D'Issey has always been a bit of an enigma to me; in my head I always think of it as "that melon and black pepper scent" and then am always so surprised when I go back, review the notes and remember that it contains neither. I believe it's the spicy, somewhat peppery carnation and watery-fruit combination of lotus and osmanthus that create this impression; the actual florals in it have always been barely perceptible to my nose. As for the basenotes, I think L'Eau d'Issey was a first in bringing out very soft, suedelike woods as a platform for clear, aquatic notes; so many fragrances since have been structured along similar lines. I remember that when this fragrance first launched, I was immediately struck by its uniqueness and actually wore it exclusively as my signature scent (okay, it was only for a few months but still!) Today, I don't wear it often at all precisely because it has been so widely imitated and no longer smells so different, but I still think it deserves its due as an original.

Something about this is just too blaring for my taste. It bears fleeting similarities to Fendi (the orginal) in its fruity sweetness but, unlike the Fendi, this lacks grace and finesse. If Fendi is the equivalent of a glorious meal enjoyed in Rome, Tuscany per Donna is a meal partaken in the Italian section of Disneyworld's International pavilion; there's something inauthentic and overbearing in the quality of the ingredients and particularly the vanilla. In fact, one of the closest fragrance matches I can think of for this is something called Dulce Vanilla by Coty, a truly loud concoction of spices and bad vanilla. And like the Dulce Vanilla, Tuscany per Donna is capable of sticking around forever; one spray will take you well into next week, it's that strong.

The ideal in truly chic summer scents, and what makes it different from so many others that are similar - i.e. hesperides-based - is the presence of petitgrain as a topnote. Petitgrain is powdery sweet and has a very cooling feel, and here it plays against the citron and orange so that you get a splash of tartness and a dusting of talcum. Black pepper and nasturtium lend a little spark and character, and the body of the fragrance comes from a very smooth moss-amber-labdanum base rounded with basically imperceptble dashes of musk and civet that are there simply to help out the staying power, which is more than decent for a hesperides. I've gone through two bottles of this fragranve and definitely consider it a hot weather staple; it's magnificent.

Chaldee is simultaneously retro and modern, if that makes sense. Its modernity lies in its simplicity - there are only a handful of notes involved (orange blossom, hyacinth, narcissus, jasmine, opoponax, amber, spices) and they combine to create a clean, spicy and warm blend. The retro aspect has more to do with the imagery Chaldee brings to mind for me; specifically, Cairo in the 30s a la "The English Patient." This IS the scent Katharine Clifton wore, I'm convinced of it. It's a fine-boned variety of exotic, delicately defiant, a fragile bloom fighting to live in the middle of the desert.

A masterpiece among fragrances, with the same level of perfection inherent in an uber-premium, best of the best champagne. Like the best champagne, the surface of Joy has a genuine effervescence and crispness; it's dry, so fascinatingly dry that you just want to keep experiencing its magic again and again. Doubtless that utterly distinctive seche quality comes from the effect of the aldehyde topnotes as well as the "starring" note, the jasmine Grasse that Jean Patou cultivated specifically for his fragrances. What lies beneath is a luxuriant blanket of Bulgarian rose, orris and tuberose that lingers on and on in pure elegance. I consider Joy to be the Hope Diamond of the fragrance world, unparalled and legendary (though presumably not cursed like the Hope is!)

I have been wearing Asja on and off since the early 1990s and absolutely adore it. It has some of the same qualities as the Fendi signature scent (the original one), including a fruity-sweet top and a balsamic base. But instead of the powerful waft of patchouli that makes Fendi signature what it is (and renders it pretty much unwearable for me), Asja instead is defined by a brilliant blending of sandalwood, cinnamon and nutmeg perfect in its spiciness and prevented from coming on too sharply by milder touches of mimosa and ylang ylang. Classified as a floral oriental, Asja is mysterious and thoroughly opulent. I would easily rate it as one of my top five Oriental fragrances of all time.

If you can wear this fragrance well, consider yourself fortunate - because on the right person, it is incredibly beautiful. I find it to be a very, very sweet, almost syrupy chypre with quite a lot of patchouli, which is what really stands out and "makes" it on the right wearer, I've noticed. There are also threads of leather, carnation, sandalwood and spice, all woven together to create something deep and luxuriant. It very much says "Fendi," which brings to mind amazing leathers and furs and topaz-toned silks. Seems most apropos for cooler weather though I've met at least one person on whom this smells terrific even in 100-degree plus heat and intense humidity.

The musk - aka "skin accord" - notes in this unisex (there's not one each for men and women; they're the same fragrance) scent kill it for me and not in a good way at all. Musk is not generally a problem note for me but in this incarnation in Helmut Lang it's just cheap-n-nasty and so prevalent that the only other notes I can even detect are the lavendar and almondy heliotrope, neither of which exactly meld well with said skin accord. A chilly, metallic scent on me and also very cologne-y, it's not pleasant on my skin. Others don't care for it on me either; I have received several semi-pointed anti-compliments on it when wearing it.

I've been enjoying Beach Smells since the late 90s, back when it came in a little glass roll-on bottle rather than the plastic flip-top sprayer it does now. I have both and can happily say that the formulation hasn't changed. It's a really beautiful blend of saltwater and cocoa-buttery suntan lotion; it's incredibly clean and sexy and always makes me think of frosted green sea glass (which I think is because the original roll-on is made of very light sea-green glass and as such just looks so beachy.) There are so many ocean/beach fragrances out there, and frankly I find this one of the best ever despite the fact that it's a relatively unheralded mass market product. It's almost identical to Bobbi Brown Beach but at a far more reasonable price tag.

This is not a good take on coconut, I have to say. All I got from it was the waft of car freshener, very chemically and sweet in a truly, grimly sickening way. It's so intensely artifical that I didn't even really get coconut from it - just reeking-sweet chemicals. Smell THIS does some pretty cool stuff but this is not one of them; please, for your own sake, skip it and go for one of the better scents they make, like Beach Smells, Fresh Towels or Cookie Dough.

Very underrated and not a fragrance you necessarily fall in love with right away. On the first few wearings, I thought this a pretty ordinary fruity-floral with woody drydown - inoffensive and an item in my collection that I'd always consider reaching for but ultimately pass up in favor of something more interesting or pronounced. It wasn't until I tried out Vera Wang, which is very similar to this, that I begun to appreciate the unique qualities of Signature. Though it has many different floral notes in it, I think of it as a "yellow flower" fragrance, sunny and akin to a very fruity, rounded chardonnay. The things that keep it from being just about florals - the nutmeg and the rosewood particularly - do in fact make the composition interesting once you bother to notice them. Once I wear this scent for a few consecutive days, I always end up realizing, "Hey, I could wear this all the time and really enjoy it."

Divine, soft and dreamy, completely feminine but in an honestly womanly way, right down to the gentle sway of the bottle's curves. It's warm, somewhat powdery (orris, amber), somewhat sweet (vanilla, lily of the valley) and very plush (suede notes.) It's also not a very light scent, in spite of its "mist" moniker; on the contrary, it's quite concentrated and focused and a spray or two easily lasts all day. From initial application to drydown, there's not much change or progression so if you're looking for complex, this might not fill the bill. But it's beautiful all the way through. There are some parallels between Cashmere Mist and the also very lovely Calvin Klein Sheer Obsession, but the Calvin is sweeter and not quite as smoothly blended as this.

Cool crisp green apple meets a touch of floral and a satisfyingly woody drydown. Perfectly likable and agreeable though nothing mind-blowing and in danger of being more bland than anything else. I think this is a departure for Donna Karan's fragrance line; it's far more mainstream and understandable than anything that's come before, and in some ways I think that's a mistake even for the casual-but-trend-forward DKNY brand, which is supposed to be about an urban lifestyle. This is more of a "weekend in the woods" take on fragrance, something I'd picture wearing in a lodge. Of course, these days all the world seems to be doing wishy-washy fruit fragrances that lack strong points of view, so I guess the folks at DK are just trying to keep up with the crowd.

A haunting near-ghost of a fragrance that almost seems to float. I like just about every incense scent and think the "typical" smoky incenses, from the sweet nag champa types to the heavier, more severe frankincense and myrrh-heavy varieties, are great. But this is somethimg entirely different, with a mist-like quality that could be considered Gothic or just plain old gloomy, depending on where your interpretation lies. This is played against teh sensations of rich velvet - chamomile - and a dry warmth that comes from the cistus oil (labdanum), evoking the heat that rises from candle flames and the smell of wooden pews in an overheated chapel. A truly dramatic and transformative fragrance, one that can easily take you out of the realm of day-to-day real life and into another time, another place, an entirely different history. Brilliant!

On the whole, I found CdG's Series 7 to be a disappointing letdown - with the exception of this one. Everything else in the series comes off as too burnt, too plasticky, too sicky-powder, but Sticky Cake is a rather pretty, girly gourmand-floral. The iris is surprisingly pronounced and its earthy/starchy/powdery thing saves the scent from being just too treacly; you do get the loukhoum effect from all the nut-and-date action, but far more interesting is the iris-honey-myrrh combination in the drydown. If you are familiar with L'Artisan Perfumer fragrances, imagine blending Orchidee Blanche with a drop or two of Mechant Loup, watering the whole thing down (this is much, much lighter in substance and texture than either of those) and giving it a smidge of trademark CdG synthetic spin, and you have something much like Sticky Cake. Feels like wearing a swirly chiffon dress while walking through along carnival midway at night with something upbeat by Mariah Carey in her prime playing over the PA. Also, be forewarned; the lasting power on this is nil. The evanescence of this scent as compared to its price is seriously out of whack - my only complaint about Sticky Cake.

Just "meh" for me - I really like other of the Hilfiger fragrances for women but this one is blandly watery and just not all that special. The cuke note is far and away the most apparent and gives the whole thing an aquatic sensibility; I would never in a zillion years have classified this as a floral. The watercress - sharp, a little bitter - and zingy ginger do come through but to what effect, I don't know. I can't say I love them together in this overall composition. And the nuances of the quince and "silk tree natureprint" - ? Missing, even if I did know what silk tree natureprint was supposed to smell like! If you want a really good Hilfiger scent for women, skip this and go for Tommy Girl or even True Star. Both of those outshine this one.

Contrary to popular belief, you don't have to be under 20 to pull off wearing this fragrance. True, it has "girl" in the name, but overlook that minor detail (and the relative youthfulness of much of Hilfiger's clothing line) and you might find something you like here. Apple pie and Kentucky bluegrass always come to mind for me with this scent; the apple note (more fruit than blossom) at the top as well as the grass heartnote are, of course, what help bring out that association. (The bottle, which looks as though it's based on a vintage design, also reminds me of something Appalachian; it looks like a piece you might find in a jumble sale on the side of the road there, like an old item of sturdy glassware that's been around a long, long time.) The generous dose of citrus notes lend a fresh-scrubbed feel and the florals are muted and graceful. I'd call this an energetic, vibrant scent with just enough softness to keep it from being outright sporty or unisex. In no way does it scream "too young!" or "I'm trying to shave 20 years off my age by wearing this!" I turned an old colleague of mine onto this scent and she fell in love with it, and she's well into her fifties. Smells terrific on her, too.

I adore this scent, and not just on my husband. There's nothing in it that makes it so overtly masculine that a woman can't wear it, and it's also so well crafted that even the marked presence of cedar (a note I ordinarily don't love) neither dominates the other notes nor comes off as "hamster cage shavings." It's a spicy and clean waft that deepens into something more polished and glowing, like a wood polished to show the luminosity of its grains. My husband wears this well year round, but I reserve it for winter wear, when the evergreen notes smell the most lively to me. There is a very vague resemblance to Caron's Nuit de Noel - they share the same spike of pineyness and balsamic base. But the Nuit is much soapier, almost in a Victorian way, and also a tiny bit smoky, something that Rocobar isn't at all.

A very lovely fragrance with edible notes, albeit cool ones. I don't find this to be a warm comfort scent; the unifying almond thread in it has a cold, even chilly edge that I believe comes from its pairing with the powdery tonka bean heartnote. I like that it's on the cooler side, though; this saves it from being sticky or just plain annoying, a la the uber-sweet almond scent Lea. Etro Heliotrope is more along the lines of Castelbajac to me, particularly in the drydown when the almond comes down a bit and a clean-like-fluffy-laundry stage emerges. The only strike against Heliotrope for me is its relative simplicity; I don't find it hugely nuanced or interesting and I get bored with it quickly and inevitably end up layering it with something a little more "challenging." Strange though it sounds, I enjoy combining it with incense-based fragrances.

Perfect, beautiful, pure class in an iconically delightful bottle. This fragrance is so well calibrated and high quality that it can be worn anywhere, any time of year and in any quantity; it's impossible to overapply and is worth frequent spraying just for the spritz of spritely, very slightly sugared lemon at the top. Post-application, it traverses into a very mellow and smooth stage that might be just a touch too sweet - the amber, the jasmine, the rose - if it weren't for that cleansing brush of rosemary and verbena that keeps the whole thing so rereshing without being fleeting like so many citrus scents can be. Just thinking about Acqua di Parma makes me want to book a trip to Capri and pretend I'm living the life of a foreign film star, if only for a short while.

I love this fragrance for its timelessness and sense of free-spiritedness. Stephanotis is supposed to be a bridal floral that signifies constancy, if I remember correctly. Sounds kind of blah but the scent of the flower itself is not; it's both spicy and soapy, very spirited and lively, anything but prim, blushing or even romantic. It's very aromatic as well, very pronounced - again, neither shy nor retiring. Think of it as the bride who can't be bothered with being all fussy and solemn and runs into and out of the church laughing her head off in joy. (Speaking of which - it does bring to mind, in some ways, Patou Joy, itself a touch soapy and spicy.) I have enjoyed wearing this on both casual and more formal occasions, and have gotten many a compliment.

A smell-alike of Dentyne gum, this CdG is harsh and acrid to my nose and, unlike some cinnamons that calm down after initial harshness, this one stays that way. I suspect it's the clove in here that eggs the cinnamon on; individually, I think these are lovely notes, but together they just come on much too strong and in this case combine to render something along the lines of synthetic potpourri. Where the idea of sherbet enters into the picture, I don't know. Beyond the spice hit, you get lemon, bay leaf and saffron; sounds like a poultry rub, I think, but maybe that's just me. CdG is so funny that way; they really throw a big question mark into some of their products! That's fun and I appreciate it - but I still would not opt to wear this fragrance much if at all.

I can appreciate the idea of this - a tart and refreshing scent, an alternative to more traditional hesperides blends so popular for warm weather - but it just crosses the line into unpleasantly sour for me. It's like wearing "eau de Sour Patch" kids - the rhubarb is so prevalent that I honestly don't get any of the other notes here, not the vanilla, orchid sap or lychee. I find it very plain, straightforward and simple and not sherbet-like at all. As is sometimes the case with myself and CdG scents, this prompts me to scratch my head and wonder when, where and why I'd wear this as anything other than a once-in-a-great-while novelty scent.

A vibrant, fuchsia streak of a fragrance with a definite attitude of uber-femme, dressed-to-the-nines lady. It's super-sweet (rose, voilet, vanilla), musky (musk), powdery (amber) and saucy, the big sister to L'Artisan's more delicate Drole de Rose, which is also rose-violet based. I find it to be one of the better FM fragrances, with more staying power and definition than some of the lighter florals and unisex scents. But it's a very specific fragrance, too; unlike some of those others, which can toe the line nicely between weekday and weekend, dress and casual, Lipstick Rose is strictly a fashion fragrance, best paired with heels, something that shows off your legs and, of course, a nice coat of lipstick in an attention-getting shade!

The topnotes of this, which burn off fairly fast, smell like a good dry gin spiked with pink pepper and then warmed up, saki-style. From there, you get light layers of mostly cedar and angelica, which is green and a bit dusky and warm and also, to me, a little bit powdery around the edges. All of this makes for a truly different fragrance and I give much credit to Jean-Claude Ellena for the concept. It's a bracing, warming and invigorating scent, neither feminine nor masculine but almost completely neutral and also totally non-perfumey/cologne-y. In that sense, it reminds me of some of the scents Comme des Garcon does, of the types that combine notes traditionally used in personal fragrances with some more unorthodox, surprising notes.

A provocative oriental if you can get past the highly aggressive elements of cinnamon and clove and don't mind the also rather pronounced lavendar, which works on some (men and women) but doesn't always agree with my chemistry. The drydown phase is very sweet and not all that intense for a musk; the name implies something far more savage than the relative tameness of the musk here delivers. I like this fragrance fairly well but don't find it spectacular. Some may be offended by the assessment, but Musc Ravageur is not all that far removed from Estee Lauder's Cinnabar or YSL's Opium in spirit. This one is more clear and "clean" than those others but has the same attitude of spicy-sweet sexy oriental.

This is a very round, soft, warm fragrance; it can come off a bit oily at first, which I think comes from both the yuzu and jasmine (which is what the "white flowers" are), but give it a chance as the drydown is beautiful, almost transparent but also lasting. (White musk is also one of the notes and it holds the whole composition together.) It's very feminine and springlike, not overly sweet or florally, fairly fruity but in a graceful, gentle manner. No jello or candy or anything of that sort. Unlike some of the other Keikos (formerly known as Bazaar des Scenteurs), I find this one to be pretty unique and unlike anything else out there. I've gone through two large bottles of the Hanae and could easily wear it every spring.

Hot, spicy, sweet and juicy, Scarlett is a zesty scent, the kind that really sets your pulse up a notch. It takes a bit of getting used to; pairing hot spices with blood orange can be a strange combination, the same way that something like jalapeno jelly can be, a little disorienting with its simultaneous blast of peppery heat and sugary sweetness. But it works, I think. The only downside is that the blood orange doesn't linger very long, and then you just have the remaining spice (mostly cinnamon, as best I can tell) plus some green powderiness from the angelica. A better variation of this same sort of pairing is Harissa from the Comme des Garcons Series 2: Red group. The spices there are more complex and rich - as they include not just the incendiary Morrocan harissa but also cardamom, saffron and nutmeg - and the addition of tomato keeps the fruitiness of the blend going after the initial zest of blood orange has worn off.

Paname is a sweet fragrance, and very umcomplicatedly sweet if you discount the lash of licorice whip you get from the absinthe. It starts out with a heavy dose of medicinally-tinged sweet - think liqueur (that's the absinthe - or wormwood - of course, or, on the tamer side, something like ouzo or sambuca) rather than candy - and that licorice/anise punch. That's all quite pungent and strong, but then it calms down into an unexpectedly mellow, almost skin-scent sweet, which is where the vanilla and "powder musk" come into play. All in all, it's a sexy scent and could go unisex, though I think it's a bit more feminine in its slightly dangerous, femme fatale, "try me on if you dare" way. For those who like to compare, this does bear some similarity to Serge Lutens' Douce Amere, another licorice fragrance.

I have never been able to warm up to this scent - it has a very cold, "off" core that has always bothered me. The opening is nice enough, almondy and sweet almost like sugar syrup, but then it progresses into something that's both powdery in a cheap way and musky in an oily way. Neither powder nor musk notes usually bother me but the way they come through here is vaguely awful to my nose. There is a striking similarity to Helmut Lang EDP, which I find even more unbearable than this. I think there are plenty of other loukhoum-ish fragrances out there better than this and recommend you try those first before committing to this one.

My gosh, this is a strong fragrance. For scenting a most likely dank and mildewy 16th century castle-type dwelling, yes, I can imagine this would be tremendously effective. But as a fragrance to wear, it's just too powerful for me. Cinnamon, cloves and geranium are all incredibly deep, pervasive notes, and combined together they account for the high degree of sharpness this scent possesses, particularly upon application. They also tower above anything else in the mix; I've never been able to distinguish the sandalwood or rose, even hours after drydown. On the plus side, this does smell very authentic, as if made by medieval herbalists, and that gives it a certain drama and mystery. If you can tolerate the heavy spiciness, do try it.

This is a light, dryish, unwarm and not all that sweet vanilla that belongs in the same class as Calypso Vanille, Serge Lutens Bois de Vanille and Bath and Body Works Warm Vanilla Sugar (which is so not a warm scent; where'd they come up with that name?) There is a lack of depth to this fragrance that I didn't like at first; the vanilla itself just seemed so thin and reedy, a little too woody/coconutty as well as oddly herbal and slightly medicinal. But then, over time, I started to like it more and appreciate its quietness. Though I tend to like sweeter vanillas better, sometimes something a bit more subdued, like this one is, does the trick. It's much more sophisticated, in its reserved way, than the CSP or Molinard vanillas.

A lot of the Escada annual limited editions smell markedly similar to me; I don't think, for instance, that I could distinguish between Rockin' Rio and Island Kiss in a blind sniff test. And Tropical Punch and Sexy Graffiti are also very, very close in character, both like highly sweetened berry drinks. For some reason, though, the Ibiza Hippie has always had at least a little something different; the fruit topnotes of Ibiza are more crisp and less sweet than those of the others, and the basenotes are also somewhat more defined and, to my nose, pleasantly powdery and woody. Despite the "raver" sound of the name, I think Ibiza Hippie is relatively sophisticated as fruit scents go. The only knock is a fairly insubstantial staying power. But if you don't mind reapplying often, try to track this one down for a refreshing spring-into-summer scent.

Jil Sander Sensations is deigned a sheer oriental, more transparent and generally more veil-like than a "regular strength" oriental. That can be deceiving, however, as this fragrance is not as light as it seems. It's very sweet, which I'm guessing comes from the nettle flowers (supposedly a fairly sweet-smelling bloom, though all I know about the nettle in nature is its irritating sting) as well as the amber and "milk and cereal accord" (your guess as is good as mine - this smells about as breakfast-y as a dinner at a four-star restaurant! Though in fairness, the softness of the milk does come through in the drydown). But there is also a sharpness to it, particularly on first application; could that also be from the nettle? I'm not sure. Once that has dissipated, the drydown- with aforementioned milk - is gentle and soothing, ambery woods and balmy musk. Again, though, it's gentle but not necessarily light and airy; despite its designation as a sheer scent, this one lingers on quite well through the day. With that in mind, apply with care, as a spray or two seems to be more than adequate. I have several times exuberantly "overapplied" this fragrance, at least according to others who told me they found it too much. How embarassing. No one likes to be told that, right? So consider yourself cautioned!

If you're really craving the smell of the ocean and all that goes with it - right down to the sea grass and salt marshes - you must try this fragrance. It's not the usual light, aquatic/ozonic marine scent graced with a dab of suntan lotion. No, Calypso Marine has a true organic sense to it, something that smells like all the things that happen at the beach, including salt water evaporating, driftwood drying in the sun, hot sand sitting in the dunes and marsh grasses slowly fermenting. (Thankfully, the umistakably stinky smell of brackish water - another feature of many a marsh - has been left out.) If it sounds not terribly appealing, try this one anyway - the actual notes of bergamot, raspberry, nutmeg, bamboo, salty marine accord, patchouli, lotus flower, driftwood, sandalwood, soft musk and white amber form a masterful blend that is so much more interesting than the sum of its parts. Also know that this fragrance applies very powerfully but dries down into something understated but still nicely noticeable. I have received a lot of comliments on this fragrance and have come to automatically associate it with summer's splendor.

A very unusual vanilla that gets points for uniqueness - for those seeking a cooler, less sweet vanilla, this could be of interest. The notes consist of bergamot, orange blossom, vanilla and white musk. The bergamot aspect with its citrusy sparkle completely escapes me, but the orange blossom's clean essence is definitely noticeable and is, I think, what ultimately takes the sweet edge off of the vanilla. That and the white musk give the whole fragrance a tropically breezy, slightly coconutty feel. It's very clever in its own way and really rather lovely once you get used to it; this is definitely the answer to which vanilla works best for warm weather, when other warmer vanillas can be simply too, too much.

A very heavy version of violet, this one; I think the honey in it just basically overpowers the violet note (and even mostly smothers the rose, if that's possible) and makes the whole thing too overly sweet and totally lacking in the qualities that I normally associate with violets. The violets I do enjoy are either shyly subtle or mysteriously verging on unsweet, and this is neither. It's just dripping with cloying sweetness and a fake quality I can't quite identify. Additionally, it's a dead ringer for a scent MAC used to make, one called "Asphalt Flower" that was supposed to smell like synthetic florals. I could nevr pull off the MAC and can't do this one either; both punish me with severe headaches.

This fragrance can easily go unisex - I am among several women I know who enjoy sharing it with the husband! It's quite distinctive and has much more of a tropical feel than the description of notes would lead one to believe; though mango and papaya are not technically included, they seem to be present in at least minor doses. The description of notes I have also includes tarragon, which is definitely in the mix and, in my opinion, gives the scent its distinctiveness. Tarragon's not a shy note and not easily covered up; it's warm and somewhat like anise, and it tends to pervade the blend of notes in which it's included in a subtle but persistent way. You know it when you smell it, and it's definitely here. Its warmth melds well with that of the grapefruit and black currant and also with the light musk base, which holds the whole blend together. A warm and sunny scent that smells delicious for every summer occasion!

Not knowing that this was a men's fragrance (I - and I'm not a man, BTW! - didn't bother to ask when I purchased it; I was lured in by the name alone), I actually wore it on and off for quite a while before somehow it came to my attention that it was for men. And even though it now "officially" belongs to my husband, I still wear it once in a great while because I adore the smell of pine and find this to be the truest, most accurately rendered pine I've ever come across. No Pine-Sol, this; it's sparkling and clean, free of any oiliness or even resin-y tones. It's a waft of pine bough, not tar. This scent also has a certain heat to it, one that comes from the spices; it's intense enough that I'd venture to guess cinnamon and/or clove are included in the spice notes. In general, an elegantly clean and natural scent, uncluttered and crisp.

You must be an admirer of full-bodied, extremely voluptuous rose to appreciate this one - it's got seven different roses in it, so there's not much in the rose world that could have been left out! Unfortunately, it is also the kind of heavy, brocaded rose fragrance that goes musty and sour on me, something I think might be accentuated by the presence of lemon here. The violet here is also rich - it's classified as "crushed violet" and has that feeling to it, thick and velvety. There's not much else to say about the composition; like Jo Malones in general, what you see on the label is what you get in the bottle.

A light, fruity fragrance that reminds me quite a bit of the various Esacada seasonals - the Sexy Graffiti/Ibiza Hippie/Rockin' Rio ones that come out every year around early spring. The Incanto Dream is a hair more subtle; the Escadas, though I like them for what they are, verge on being as aggressive as fruit notes can be while still calling themselves fruit. They're just loud and brassy somehow, whereas this comes off a bit more powdery and gentle. But it has an inescapably generic quality, as I find the Escadas do, to the extent that I can't really differentiate one from the other. I can't honestly say I would make a point of buying this one, easily wearable though it might be. It just doesn't have that "thing" that makes it a must-have for me.

Whew-wee, this is one almost palpably heavy floral! And unlike the heavy florals of eras gone by - take your pick, from Fracas onward - this one is unrelentingly cloying and flowery (as opposed to sugary) sweet, with no interesting twists or turns anywhere along its progression. I am shocked that there's no jasmine in it; it's got that same sort of thick heat that jasmine (sambac) always imparts. And where the iris (cool and powdery) and white stephanotis (soapy-spicy and clean) are hidden is anyone's guess; I suppose they must have given up against the overpowering Bulgarian rose-gardenia combo and called it a day. Once the fragrance tones down a bit it's not as choking, but still nothing that I can appreciate. I know this is a very popular fragrance and all good things to those who enjoy it, but wearing it's just a torment to me. For anyone who does love it, though, and wants something similar albeit cheaper - there's a fragrance called S.T. Dupont Signature that shares many of Vera Wang's qualities. Check for it at perfumebay.com; you can get a big bottle of it for about $30.

A surprising number of notes are included in this fragrance - surprising since, in the end, everything else is dominated by the very pronounced presence of coconut and red fruits (cherry, cassis, strawberry, apple - but particularly cherry.) The spice notes of nutmeg and black pepper, the floral notes of rose, jasmine and orchid and the wood/balsamic notes of sandalwood, amber and cedar do not exactly make themselves known as individuals, which could be a good or bad thing depending on how you like your scents to unfold. Overall, and not unexpectedly in light of Diesel's overall lifestyle brand orientation, Zero Plus Feminine has an air of very post-industrial synthetic to it, the notes seeming to derive more from a chemist's lab than from natural sources. As such, fans of Demeter - similar in construction and concept - may find this fragrance appealing. It's good, not great, quite casual and young but worth one try, at least, to see what it's about.

As lushly refined as I would expect anything from the house of Carolina Herrera to be, this fragrance is in a class with Hanae Mori and some of the better Ungaro scents. If you seek something that portrays fruit in an uber-sophisticat grown-up light rather than a sugary teenaged way - a basket of picture-perfect strawberries from Dean and Deluca, say, versus a Jolly Rancher candy (both of which have their merits, by the way!) - give this one a whirl. The fruit notes are just sweet enough, the woods and musk are caressing, and the dash of pepper is tailored and crisp. It's a bit too formal for casual wear, in my opinion; I'm all for mixing it up but I feel as though pairing this with jeans and a t-shirt would just be too odd of a juxtaposition, even for me. It's pure, strong femininity, nothing even remotely androgynous or quirky about it.

As a designer, Jean-Paul is one of my all-time favorites - the few pieces I have of his are exquisite beyond words - but this signature scent has sadly never worked on me. I always get the dreaded "eau de nailpolish" thing and an oppressive blast of sandalwood (not an "official" note but it must be in here somewhere - it seems to be hiding in plain sight). It's an extremely severe fragrance, very sharp and commanding, highly defined, perhaps like the fit of Gaultier's classic corset silhouette. I've only used the EDT, by the way; one of these days, I need to try the EDP and see how it differs, as the lineup of notes appears to be quite different. It goes without saying that the bottle and the metal "drum cannister" container are genius.

Nothing complicated here. If you've ever sniffed a pomander ball - an orange studded with cloves and then left to dry - you've got this fragrance pretty well figured out, though the cinnamon is slightly less piquant than clove might be. This is a clean, clear scent that requires quite a lot of application if you expect it to radiate beyond your immediate personal space. And luckily, unlike many fragrances that prominently include cinnamon, this has none of the rash-inducing qualities that often result from that particular note (at least on me, and my skin tends to be fairly sensitive to such things.) There is something masculine about this, too; I really feel it would smell better on a man. It has a slightly bracing about it.

Somehow, despite my near-rabid adoration of Molinard's basic vanilla, I don't like this one so much. Got to credit the folks at Molinard, though; there's nothing like a traditional Grasse perfumer to know how to play with notes. Unlike a lot of other vanilla-plus-something-else scents that start with the something else and then dry down to plain vanilla (yes, CSP, I'm talking about you - love you and all, but still), this one starts with vanilla as a TOPnote and then progresses into a fairly complex base, one unified by the vanilla yet more involved than the name of the fragrance would indicate. You get a definite tropical floralness from the ylang ylang/orchid/jasmine heart, and a ribbon of grapey wine from the muscat and osmanthus. The only thing I can't pick up on is the lemon, which here serves as an unorthodox basenote. Vanilla as a topnote, lemon as a base - that has got to be a first! It's like Shalimar in reverse. So anyway, what's not to love? I'm not sure, but I think it has something to do with the grape aspect. It's just not a note I enjoy, for whatever reason.

Often compared to Angel, this one is similar but different. It's got the same characteristic heat - some might call it *ahem* body heat or even *sorry Angel and Nirmala fans* odor - but as best I can tell from all the note descriptions I've seen of Nirmala, that sense comes from its grapefruit topnote as opposed to a patchouli basenote. (Side reflection - amazing how those two notes can resemble each other; they are both STRONG and literally come to blows in a Samurai style dual in Aqua Allegoria Pampleplune, one of the most singularly offensive fragrances I've ever smelled.) Oily as it is, the grapefruit never goes away but rather blends down into the fruity heart of the fragrance, ultimately bottoming out on a drift of sandalwood and cedar (another "hello, can you smell ME?!" note in my book.) I just can't pretend to like this fragrance, as it does nothing for me but make me smell unbathed. Oh well, can't wear 'em all.

How do you review perfection? Of course, you have to be a card-carrying admirer of vanilla to love the geniusness of Molinard Vanille - it IS sweet (even sugary), it IS warm and it's most definitely long-lasting. Rather than getting straight "bean" here with its liquory tones and resinous feel, the Molinard is more like vanilla that's already been incorporated into something delicious and ever-so-slightly caramelized. There's nothing else there to interfere with its sweet nature - no powder, no floral, no nothin'. A simple scent it is, but irresistible. And as a layering scent, forget about it - this is the ultimate layer-er. I can't tell you how many fragrances I'd given up on until I layered them with Molnard Vanille and gave them new lives. I've gone through five bottles of this stuff in four years; it is to my fragrance collection what black pants and a good bag are to my wardrobe.

Probably the best of the "citrus- fruit-cedar summer scents" (see also Trussardi Skin, L'Artisan Zeste D'Ete and Guerlain Eau de Fleurs Cedrat, among many others) out there. I'm not a fan of cedar as a fragrance note - I like it in other incarnations, just not on my person - but what Light Blue manages to do is balance out the hard-to-handle sharpness of cedar's essence with several other notably soft, smoothing elements like apple, jasmine sambac (the sweet, warm kind) and bamboo. All of these are mellow yet sturdy enough to keep the cedar from completley taking the spotlight. The topnote of citron gives the composition its crispness, of course, but after that it becomes a fairly sensual skin scent. There is a tiny hint of the unisex in here that I think is a semi-hallmark of many of D&G's womens' fragrances; the same could be said of By (the one for women) and even - go ahead, call me crazy - Sicily, albeit to a really very minor extent.

Wearing this is such a strange experience - it applies so heavily with that sort of power-powder-floral salvo that gets you thinking, "Uh-oh, is my head going to explode in fifteen minutes?" Yet, no more than 30 minutes later, it has essentially evanesced. Like all Demeter fragrances I've ever worn, Belladonna does not have - and does not seem to be designed to have - any staying power at all. And that's fine, even in this case; it's just surprising, seeing as it has such a heavy rose-powder presence with edges laced in purplish-black violet. It's the sort of thing one would expect to linger longer, that's all. It's also a sort of a "training fragrance" if you're interested in cultivating your taste for very vixen-y, femme fatale florals - like Vivienne Westwood Boudoir, for instance. Boudoir and Belladonna are very, very similar, right down to the cold metallic tinge they share. The only difference, at least for me, is that I can wear Belladonna without hitting headache central, a place that Boudoir sends me to every single time.

I love this fragrance with all my heart ONCE I get past its very aggressive and sharp opening, which never fails to remind me of Windex. (Is that the fault of the topnote of bilberry? I'm going to go ahead and say yes, since it's the one note in the mix that I don't "know" as an individual. Bad bilberry!) I've worn HM through the years in both EDT and EDP combos, and it's an exquisitely adult confection, couture candy with a very real and sensual underlying warmth. Sidenote: to be applied and enjoyed in small doses - do not overspray this one. I've experienced it on others when overapplied and it's not pretty, trust me. Kills the whole effect. Like all great fragrances, a few touches of this, applied in the proper places, takes you through the day in the manner of an exquisitely rendered designer ensemble.

Cerruti 1881 is designed to represent an olfactory rendering of crisp white linen - a bit starchy and sharp at first, easing into something cottony, clean and cooling. I guess I mostly get that from the fragrance, though the inclusions of chamomile, blonde woods and rosewood give it a slightly plushier quality as well, a touch of pure chenille to wear with your linen. (Nothing like mixing seasonal textiles, right?) It's interesting how the geranium, which truly is a sharp note, pops up in the middle; compositionally, that comes through in the wearing and gives the fragrance a more tenacious staying power than it would ordinarily seem to possess. (If you've ever crushed geranium petals in your fingers, then you know the tenaciousness of that flower in its natural form.) The drydown is indeed clean and nearly comforting; no sweetness here, but there's a soothing second-skin quality that flows very easily and with a sophisticated subtlety.

This is an interesting fragrance, really quite unusual with its cross-pairings of greenish notes and coffee, double vanillas (orchid and Bourbon) and subtle, markedly unsweet florals. Fans of Alexander McQueen might like D&G By as well; it's got a hint of masculine, not one that makes the wearer herself smell like a man but rather suggests that a man has just passed by, if that makes sense at all. It's also, particularly on initial application, a stronger and more severe fragrance than the other D&Gs; even with the big dose of vanilla, I don't find it sweet so much as licorice-y and a bit edgy. The staying power is remarkable and the composition one that truly evolves on the skin; the ultimate drydown is clean and nearly bamboo like, rather Zen-ish and approximating the drydown of another fairly unique fragrance in my book, Cerutti 1881. Fans of that one may like the By as well. Oh, and the By bottle - the ultimate in animal print fabulousness!

One of the better old school Demeters out there, this one has a warm quality that smells more authentic than artifical and manages to convey the quality of being "baked" rather than "burnt" (burnt being the fatal flaw of the otherwise quite nice Aquolina Pink Sugar, which I wouldn't be totally shocked to discover was inspired by the Demeter Sugar Cookie.) Yes, like Demeter scents as a whole, this one has little tenacity - a result, I'd imagine, of being built around pure syntehtic essences as opposed to old-fashioned notes and fixatives. But that's okay, because the genius of this is in getting that quick blast of sugar fix anyway; I don't necessarily want to walk around smelling like a cookie ALL day. In that sense, this and all the Demeters are more about very cutting-edge aromatherapy, setting a "scent mood" for yourself and taking it from there. Apply Sugar Cookie - feel comforted and nurtured and a little bit pretty. Apply Funeral Home - get dark and murky and explore your inner goth. And so on.

Soory to be a Debbie Downer, but my version of what a Chanel fragrance should radiate does NOT include patchouli! I have nothing against the note in and of itself, but I do think Coco herself would have been none too pleased about this. It's just so not Chanel. And it really overpowers this fragrance so aggressively, I think, that it comes off as just another sweet-and-fruity-patchouli-patooty composition to me. Note that I do not wear Angel well, either, though I do think Angel transcends its patchouliness better and displays its facets more intriguingly than the Coco Mad does. That being said, the look and juice color of the Coco Mad are magnetic and often pull me in on their own, though the spell only lasts temporarily and I ultimately find myself vigorously cleansing my Coco Mad-sprayed wrists! Kudos to all those who can wear this fragrance with elan.

Something about the particular Chanel fragrance alchemy sometimes makes things seem what they aren't, and this very much applies to Allure in my experience. As with Cristalle, the first thing that springs to mind when I consider Allure is leather - in this case, a lightweight glove leather as opposed to Cristalle's tangy, just-taken-off-a-horse saddle leather. (Where it comes from, I know not; I'd say vetiver, which gives Allure its warm depth and velvetiness, but Cristalle doesn't have any.) I find Allure - in any strength, from eau fraiche to EDP, though it's the EDT I've worn the most consistently - to be a very rich fragrance, one that can easily overpower. A touch is fine, but more than that can be overkill. And I don't at all find it to be sweet or oriental in nature; I think rather that Chanel came up with it as a really quite brilliant transitional fragrance to span the gap between the very Eighties-ish Coco and the newer generation "21st century" scents like Coco Mademoiselle (which has a lineup of notes strikingly similar to Allure, with the patchouli in the Coco Mad mix being the dealbreaker) and Chance. Allure's a great fragrance in its own right, I feel, and one I really enjoy wearing, yet not quite distinctive enough to join the pantheon of GCCs (Great Chanel classics) like Cristalle, Number 5 or Number 19.

For some reason, I'm so drawn to these semi-forgotten, generally overlooked fragrance houses -the Weils, Worths and Molyneuxs of the world - and their creations. Molyneux Quartz is most definitely one; folks, this is a fruity floral that's more distinctive and exciting than 99% of those fruity florals that have come since! Quartz has some characteristics in common with the equally flawless Chanel Cristalle, the same general pairing of refreshing, rounded fruitiness and sexy underpinnings. But where Cristalle is lemony-mandarin citrus with a sprig of basil balanced on chypre and a mysterious lash of leather somewhere in there, Quartz is more about juicy, watery fruits - peach and melon - spiked with cassie and hyacinth and transitioning into a decidedly spicier, sweeter, more woody and even slightly incense-tinged base made up of, among others, amber, benzoin, sandalwood and cedarwood. If you enjoy Cristalle, I can't recommend Quartz (whose name, I'm convinced, derives from Cristalle, which was launched one year before; quartz, crystal - see the connection?) highly enough. It's the same yet different, and a definite winner for spring and summer wear.

This is a warm, dry scent - if the name alone doesn't conjure the African Savannah or Serengeti plains for you, the fragrance itself likely will, with its finely tuned and distinctive blend of aldehydes, sage, Grasse neroli and bergamot. These, the fragrance's topnotes, immediately deliver an impression both refined and sun-baked, elegantly wild; if this isn't the ultimate Isak Dinesen (Karen Blixen) fragrance, I don't know what would be. What further makes this a brilliant blend of the sort that is truly rare these days is the inclusion of chamomile, which brings a lilting blonde softness, and the balsamic ambergris (likely synthetic - I should hope so - but even still a relative rarity in modern perfumery), woody and smooth, balanced out with notes of spicy-ish patchouli and iris to form a haunting, stirring base And lest this sounds like a masculine-trending fragrance, which it's not at all, the heart of muguet and jasmine bring a feminine touch, like a lavish bouquet sitting in the middle of a rugged hut. I am fascinated by this fragrance and wish I could find it in something other than EdC strength; as with Bambou, another Weil masterpiece, there is a newer version of Antilope on the market now and available, at Perfumebay, in EdP strength. I guess I'm going to have to try the new version, though I fear disappointment. Antilope is just so original and incredible - ideally, its magic will live on in its new incarnation.

As best I can tell, I have this in the original formulation and bottle concept; I hadn't really realized there was a newer version (formulation and bottle, I take it) until I looked over at Perfumebay, where they have both the old and new Bambou (as well as the old and new Weil Antilope.) Anyway, now I'm very curious about the new version, which is offered in EDP strength, because I adore this original version but have only ever found it in the rather weak eau de cologne. It's a beautiful and very different fragrance, vaguely reminsicent of some Guerlains thanks to a similar soft, almost velvety roundness that many more modern formulations don't possess. The combination of topnotes is really exceptional and lends the blend much of its unique character; it's a green opening but not sharp or snappy, rather mellowed by the fairly noticeable apple. And as the fragrance transitions into the heart, the apple (which is a relatively sturdy note) stays in the mix and gives the overall composition a very elusive sense of cinnamon, which is clearly not one of the notes. Due to its uniqueness, this is a difficult scent to classify - it's a bit green, a bit fruity, a bit chypre and a bit woody. The florals are understated and not very noticeable, with the exception of a bit of muguet. I would highly recommend this one; in EdC strength it's perfect not only for very hot weather but also for any other time of year due to its soft loveliness.

I find Chanel 19 very cold, almost steely, and a bit stark - all of which are perfectly admirable qualities but just not doable for me when wearing fragrance. It has the same effect on me that many chypres do (and why Chanel 19 is not considered a chypre under any classification I've ever seen consistently puzzles me; it could conceivably be considered part of the same family as such universally chypre-classified secnts as Cabochard, Ma Griffe and Rive Gauche), which is to say that soon after application, I will catch a waft of it and think, "Why, exactly, am I wearing this?" I don't despise it by any means, but for some odd reason it doesn't completely correspond with my concept of what a fragrance should be and what reflections it should bring inspire. That being said, I admire those who like and wear this fragrance well, because it's a special one, truly post-modern and fantastically architectural.

Michael is one of those fragrances that I tried, HAD to have, ran out and purchased immediately and then fell out of love with almost overnight. I don't mind big, bold fragrances at all - in fact, if done right I generally adore them - and this one is big and bold, with a tangibly rich tuberose, an unmistakable waft of sweet, vanilla-ish nag champa incense and a soft, luxuriant padding of those "cashmere" woods. So what's the problem? Well, unlike the similar-in-concept Chanel 22, the Michael lacks that something that makes it intriguing. It seems somehow not completely authentic (which I also personally think is true of Kors' work as a designer - it plays at being uber wealthy and luxe but isn't quite believable somehow) and lacking in mystery and complexity. It fails to inspire me and instead just sits there smelling beautiful but empty. I'm being harsh, I know, but I ran out and bought TWO big bottles of this when it first launched, only to end up ultimately giving them away. Also - another bummer - the bottle AND box design rock but the sprayer mechanism malfunctioned badly not long after I'd purchased.

The pairing of white florals and incense present in Chanel 22 is just about as near to incomparable genius as it gets in the world of perfumery. It's that type of combination you might not expect to work at all, with the smoke of the incense quickly choking the pristine bouquet. But what results is something incredible, edible as a blend of honey and spice yet free of anything cloying or heavy. Just perfection - and once you encounter this it can be difficult to stop obsessing about it, it's that singular. If I ever return to wearing just a few fragrances rather than ranging all over the place as I'm prone to doing, this and Guerlain's Nahema woudl definitely be two keepers. If you've never tried Chanel 22, do yourself a favor and track it down.

I loved this version of Cristalle from the very first time I smelled it soon after its early 90s launch. Strangely, I've never tried the origianl EDT, which seems to be overwhelmingly preferred to this version, but that's okay. Cristalle EDP is perfection in my opinion - gorgeous citrusy, green and herbal topnotes moving into soft and suede-like florals and undertoned with a ribbon of tangy leather, the source of which is a mystery since leather's not an "official" note in the composition. Must be that magical House of Chanel alchemy. Perhaps for that reason, I reach for the Cristalle whenever I want to feel chic yet puzzling, happily paradoxical; wearing it with jeans and a cartoon-character t-shirt is one of my own little "inside jokes" to myself!

I go back and forth on what I think of Chanel as a fragrance house - some of its fragrances I adore, others leave me cold, and Chance is one of compositions that really does not work for me. Makes me sad because I love the name, the bottle and the whole concept of this fragrance, but to no avail. I do wonder whether it's one of those that is body-chemistry specific; the compilation of notes sounds lovely (love iris, love white musk, love citrus, love amber - even love hyacinth, which can be a hard one to love!) but all I get when I apply this is fruit-soaked patchouli, and that's just not a good fragrance profile for me. If you are a fan of Chance's sister Coco Mademoiselle, of Angel or any of its spinoffs, or of anything else in which patchouli is blended with a very sweet base, Chance is probably something that would work well with your chemistry. For me, looks like I'll have to stick with Cristalle, Number 22 and Coco when it comes to Chanel.

Not as straightforward or sweet as it sounds on paper, 212 Sexy is as sophisticated as the rest of the fragrances in the Herrera house. There is quite a bit of floral in this (I can't imagine a fragrance by Carolina that didn't have floral - that would just be uncharacteristic) as well as the spun-sugariness of the cotton candy and the smooth underlayer of honeyish "212 musk." It's a soft scent, vaguely woody, in the same very general family as fragrances like Hanae Mori and Versace Woman but perhaps just a bit less intense than those. 212 Sexy is versatile enough to wear year-round if it's your kind of fragrance; it's more of what I would classify as a lifestyle scent than a seasonal one. Very feminine but not at all fragile, quite light-spirited but possessive of a bit of sultriness as well - that's how I'd sum this one up in a phrase.

This fragrance seems to get very little love but is surprisingly quite nice, albeit heady. Its elements - orange (regular old fruit orange, not the blossom), jasmine, rose, musk, sandalwood, patchouli - are quite simple and add up to something that seems as though it could have been created and worn centuries ago. Considering that it can be picked up for a song at just about any discount fashion or fragrance retailer, it would seem this fragrance might have something of the cheap and tacky about it - yet, like the Je Reviens and White Shoulder of the world with which the Caesar's Woman often shares shelf space, it's not tacky at all. Spicy, yes, and fairly potent, but not reeking and surprisingly well blended; it seems to be made from pretty decent quality ingredients. On application, once the floral heart notes settle in, the incense-y dry down is particularly nice.

Kingdom most definitely has its non-fans and detractors but really, there is nothing else like it on the market and for that reason, I applaud McQueen and the Gucci Group for creating this fragrance. (I hope they don't all wimp out and go more middle-ground with the upcoming My Queen!) It's not for everyone, that is true, but if you love it, there's nothing else like it. The heat and pulse of the cumin, the slightly decayed quality of the rose and jasmine - like overdeveloped flowers left to die on a bacchnalian banquet table, the effortless caress of the woods all add up to something incredibly sexy. Happily, I don't get the "body odor effect" here - body heat, but not the foul stench. I love this fragrance endlessly and would be beyond thrilled to see a pure parfum version come out, though I don't believe that's anywhere in the works. Oh, and the packaging is genius - again, evidently offensive to some, but a work of great beauty in my eyes.

To like Blonde, you need to be a fan of BIG tuberose - not nice or sweet tuberose but one that's major-league and ready for its closeup. Of course, for that reason Blonde is often held against Fracas for comparison, which makes perfect sense. And in my opinion, the Blonde more than holds its own against the inimitable Piguet classic. Blonde has something about it that's reminiscent of an extremely dry champagne, a non-sweet effervescence that perhaps come from a very dry jasmine, the same sort of jasmine that forms the backbone of Patou's Joy. (I believe it's Grasse jasmin, as opposed to the much hotter and sweeter sambac jasmine.) To my nose, it has less of a steamy, moist quality than does Fracas, and so is more couture, a little more catwalk-style attitudinal, hands-off and "done" whereas Fracas is just so pure, blatantly sensual and almost raw in its power. Of all the Versace fragrances, I find Blonde the most distinctive and special, something that makes a big statement much like the house's fashion collections do. You won't be ignored or overlooked when you've got on your Blonde, that's for sure.

Though it's considered a floral-fruity fragrance, Byblos has always seemed very aquatic to me, a not-too-distant cousin of Davidoff Cool Water. (Perhaps the similar shades of aqua blue that both fragrances' bottles are rendered in also has something to do with it.) If you enjoy the Davidoff, this one's also worth a try; it's more velvety and not as crisp as Cool Water, and maybe a smidge more formal and "dressy." Most definitely a three-season fragrance, this can easily be worn from spring through to fall. Though it never gets a ton of attention, I think of Byblos as a real forerunner of so many of the fruity-fresh fragrances so incredibly popular today. Though it was launched in the early 1990s, it's still plenty relevant to what's trending in the fragrance market now.

A very potent little scent that brings immediately to mind red-hot cinnamon candies, albeit in a chic package. The cinnamon note very much characterizes this quite sweet fragrance, and the accompanying floral notes don't do much to slow that down. Unlike, say, Organza Indecence, a fragrance completely devoid of floral notes and one in which the cinnamon is very much tempered by a profusion of soothing woods, in Hot it's further pushed to the fore by the rose, jasmine and musk in the mix, all of which underscore the cinnamon's heat with warmth of their own. The sweet aspect comes from the vanilla and amber, though they're not as prominent as individual notes - again, thanks to that old scene-stealing cinnamon! As lovely as this fragrance is, it can be headache inducing if worn in anything other than moderation or in close, overheated quarters. Definitely for fall, nice for winter as well so long as you're not going to be shut in a small room with the heat turned up!

Aaah - this fragrance, in EDT form, is so supremely refreshing on the hottest of hot summer days, like a dusting of iced powder. The aldehydes in Je Reviens are of the light and sparkling variety and really set off the fragrance's cool violet and clean orange blossom topnotes - all three the hallmarks of this venerated Worth fragrance, as are the spices that balance out the base of the scent. Clove, amber, incense - they don't sound like the kinds of notes you'd want for inclusion in a light summer fragrance, but somehow they work here in wonderful harmony with, rather than contrast to, the fresh top of the composition. (Again, this is in the EDT formulation, and it's quite possible - probable even - that the EDP and parfum strengths place heavier accents on the fragrance's floral heart notes and spicy base.) That being said, for a special treat the next time the thermometer's spiking into the 90s, get yourself some Je Reviens, chill it in the fridge for a few horus and then spritz liberally for an elegant refreshment like no other.

White Shoulders is such a pretty, delicate and almost Victorian take on white floral. It takes the same tuberose and gardenia that can pack such a femme fatale wallop in other fragrances and tames them down with the addition of somewhat more gentle, lightly treading florals such as lily of the valley and lilac. The overall effect is sweet and a bit powdery from the amber in its base; and surprisingly, perhaps due to dots of musk and sandalwood, also in the base, this is a fragrance that does have some gentle staying power. For that reason, I always consider it a spring - as opposed to summer - scent. It is at its loveliest when worn on a cool spring morning, when its notes wrap around you like a shawl that is finely rendered yet surprisingly sturdy. I've heard some dismiss White Shoulders as "my grandmother's scent" but give it a go if you're a fan of white florals, as this one is a classic that should at least be tried once.

I find this, as with Samsara, to be a fully bodied fragrance thanks to its intense signature base - vanilla, tonka bean and sandalwood. Blended on top of that is a compendium of fig and red fruits, and I find that the red fruits are dominant. In particular, the pomegranate - simultaneously tart and powdery - and the redcurrant, with its sweet, vaguely hot warmth - really rule the composition. The fig and citrus topnotes are perhaps the most low-key elements here, which gives some idea of its overall richness since fig in and of itself can often be a dominating note. I get many, many compliments on this fragrance and it is indeed lovely in small doses, though it can quickly overpower if applied too liberally. I enjoy it most in the cooler months and also enjoy layering it, from time to time, with other fragrances to play up a certain aspect of the Shine; one very nice combination in particular is this with Molinard's Senteurs Vanille, either in fragrance or body lotion form.

Nude packs a definitive punch of 80s-style aldehydes - that's aldehydes with very big hair and shoulderpads to rival a linebacker's - that open up into what has always struck me as a very sandalwood-dominant composition with undercurrents of that sort of early-spring powderiness that comes from the orris and narcissus notes. There are other things in the mix as well, like rose, ylang-ylang and jasmine, but I can never quite pick them out as this fragrance is anything but floral. Like the whole 80s trend of flesh-toned beauty palettes (made especially popular by the Kevyn Aucoin-conceived "The Nakeds" collection by Ultima, whose then-parent company was Revlon, the maker of BB Nude), there is something fantastically neutral about this scent. It's not pretty or feminine, not smoky or lavish or mysterious or delectable, not even really very sexy, and yet incredibly interesting. Apply with a light hand as the aldehydes can really throw a punch to the uninitiated; the staying power here is exceptional so a bit of this goes a long way.

For me, there's just not enough "there" there from Omnia, which is too bad because on paper it sounds like a sumptuous wrap of a fragrance, all exotic spice and melt-in-your-mouth white chocolate (which isn't really chocolate anyway but rather vanilla and cream) and an undertone of light-bodied tea. Then again, perhaps I'm missing the point; while it sounds as though this should be the ultimate in "oriental" fragrance, it's really a truly close-to-the-body skin scent, the type that travels with you in your own space as opposed to arriving in a room before you do and lingering long after you've left. I like the way that Bulgari has taken the idea of fine teas - green, black, white, masala - and built an entire fragrance wardrobe around it, but the Omnia just seems to be lacking the kick, the little edge, that exists in the Eau Perfumee The Vert with its citrusy zing of an overlayer, the Bulgari Black with its almost oily, rubbery undercurrent or the pepper zip in the Eau Perfumee The Blanc. But then again perhaps that's the point; not everyone likes a twist in his or her tea, after all, and so Omnia is there in its own soft and very gentle way.

If you like really decadent desserts - things like bananas flambee, berry mousses and rum-poached pears - you must try Red 2; it's like a sumptuosu dessert banquet in a bottle. This is a truly delicious fragrance and it's a shame that it's discontinued; it never seemed to get the attention of its bigger, bolder and spicier sibling Red, but this is a must-try if you enjoy gourmand scents. Unlike Red, which has that 80s "power-perfume" thing going on (albeit in a very lovely way), Red 2 is much more modern in feeling, very sweet yet sophisticated and non-linear in its own way. I'd bet that this fragrance paved the path for many a "dessert" scent that came after. Even the bottle, with its frosty sherbety finish, is stunning. Highly, highly recommended.

Red is a classic 80s fragrance that is still very relevant today if you enjoy spicy, deep, many-layered melanges of notes combined into a rich and lasting scent. It has a great deal of floral in it - as well as a great deal of everything else, to the tune of 600-plus different ingredients! - but it's not a definitively floral fragrance, though the gardenia, marigold and carnation, all very pronounced notes in their own rights, are most evident. There is quite a bit of ripe fruit here as well, and a classic oriental base of amber, sandalwood and vanilla. Oh, and some oakmoss thrown in for a smidge of chypre! In short, in typical 80s fashion, it's a "big" fragrance with a major presence. Very lavish and almost festive, it's particularly well suited for wearing around the winter holidays.

It's always a treat to dive into this fragrance; everything about it is cooling and refreshing, from the swimming-pool blue shade of the bottle to the dew-drenched array of fruity topnotes to the very well blended and quite unique base. (How often do you see mulberry as a basenote?) A perfect summer fragrance and one that I can't see ever really going out of style.

Rich, round and fruity with a certain regal air that's reinforced by its stunningly designed bottle and heavy gold cap. The fig topnote is gorgeously sweetened by the jasmine, with the combination of the two approximating something like warmed honey. The sandalwood keeps the overall blend from becoming too sweet, though, and gives the overall composition more structure. Comparable in some ways to Guerlain's Samsara Shine, though the Cristobal is more mellow and velvety.

Unobtrusive yet not bland, this fragrance blends a suprisingly extensive selection of notes and accords into a formulation that's subtly complex and really very wearable no matter your age. Though there are "watery" and "fluid" accords, True Star is not what I would call aquatic, nor is it gourmand despite the inclusions of rice pudding, kashi cereal and wheat notes. It's just very clean and fresh-pressed smelling, yet not simplistic. A winner.