I have two that immediately come to mind, both of which are from the_good_life:
Creed's Royal English Leather:
"A sweet, oriental leather, not of the birch tar variety. Do not expect a dirty, challenging, cowboy leather, but a regal potion oozing nobility, crawling into every crevice of a throne room like some rich, dark golden, olfactory honey, forming a shimmering luxuriant aura around its wearer. Bend your knee indeed. A gentle, rather than zesty, fruity top, creamy beige-rolls-royce interior leather, and the oriental caramel sweetness of a fantasy Taj Mahal-India. Indeed, the year of its creation, 1780, saw the second Mysore war of the British in India. Strange coincidences. This opulent yet absolutely lucent fragrance smells of pre-democratic, pre-capitalist Old Europe (in the nice part of town, that is). Iím not surprised it was created just at the time when democracy and capitalism started taking off seriously (it was reformulated in 1805). Mr. Creed must have known he was creating a fragrant preserve of the old order. While Iím with Tom Paine politically, the winner in the aesthetics department is the ancien regime, or rather, the English constitutional monarchy. Royal English Leather deserves six stars for having aged so very gracefully, for its abundant but not overwrought luxuriousness, for being a monument to the idea that quality may transcend epochs and their fashions.
On a personal note: this was my first Creed, and smelling it caused an olfactory epiphany that assured my abiding interest in this house ."
and Penhaligon's Hammam Bouquet:
"Orientalism captured in a bottle. This is the olfactory complement to Ingresí Turkish Bath, which is, of course, what a Hammam is. A brilliant projection of repressed Victorian sexuality upon the foil of an imaginary Araby. Fantasies of a Sultanís absolute power and unrestrained sexual indulgence with unlimited numbers of women, of reversing the strict codes of the British social veneer in the dreamland that Stephen Marcus, in The Other Victorians, labeled Pornotopia. What better way of scentualizing these desires but by combining the rich floral power of rose attar and the violet-like orris, supported by a hint of cedar that adds a traces of oriental spiciness, with the smell of sex created by musk and amber. Hamman, we realize, is just a code for what a Victorian perfume could not be called, despite deliberately intending the association: Harem bouquet. This smells like a heady opulent boudoir in which people have just had sex, pure and simple. And certainly everybody in fine society knew this and yet did not Ė Victorian doublethink. Few scents could be richer in cultural history and this, seriously, should be smelled by students in seminars on the Victorian Era, British imperialism, Orientalism - and gender history, since quite likely many present-day individuals would experience gender confusion here, associating femininity (perhaps even of the Queen Mum sort)with the flowery aspects and then stumbling over the sexual-animalic component."