You're in a (TF) tux doing a line (blow) off the leather armrest in the back of a Rolls (Phantom). This stuff smells like that (blow).
Transcendent citrus and spice. A brighter version of L'eau, it's conjures Christmas morning, after you've opened the present you really, really wanted from a lover who wants to go back to bed.
Linear, but don't dismiss this soft treasure you've found in the back of your cedar chest amongst yellowed linens--a perfumed fist of wooly yarn.
Tom Ford and I are the same age. He had a crush on his uncle who smelled like this too. Yes, he wore gold chains and platforms, but he had style and a handshake that made your knuckles pop,
I don't care what Luca Turin says, this smells like the bottle: red, plastic candy. I give it one star for how utterly bizarre it is. I'd sooner eat wax lips.
I wore this before I had hair on my chest. Now that I have hair on my chest AND back, I can really wear it. Distilled testosterone.
If M7 is the one you shag by the fire, Mugler Cologne is the one you marry in spring.
A birch tree seeps honey on a cloudless September day.
Is that mulch in my taffy? Delicious!
Your best friend's uncle dies. You go to the funeral because you are a good friend. You stand above the flower-strewn casket, now lowered into the damp earth. You look up, and cross from you, dressed in black and wearing a single carnation, stands the sexiest, silver-haired man you've ever seen in your life. This is what he smells like.
You lost the lottery, but instead of stones, the Villagers bludgeon you with lemons and grapefruits. Sure, it hurts, but it smells good too.
Fall on your knees beautiful. Smells vaguely of tapenade and cleavage.
A very sexy monk eats a clementine in the forest.
The chaste and drunken sister to Sable by Goutal, Chergui is a spice cake floating on a cloud of sherry-soaked cotton candy, Chergui starts off Christian and ends up Pagan.
Grace Kelly's handbag stuffed with Robert Mitchum's jockstrap. Pretty-dirty.
An old shoe grinding a baby aspirin into a gravel road.
The only scent I associate with my father. He died bowling.
Smells like the neatly folded costume of a retired clown in an old alligator suitcase.
Roasted red peppers marinating in Indian spices at the bottom of a leather satchel abandoned in a church. Ugly-sexy.
Could trigger flashbacks to alter boy trauma, but if you liked church, you'll love Passage to Hell.
Smells like sex between a vampire and somebody's grandmother. In a crypt. Totally intoxicating.
Initially very interesting. Fruity and herbal top notes were compelling. Drydown was disappointing--too much cassis? What is that sharp, fruity note that radiates like poison darts from any woman who wears Allure?