Ginger and peppercorns that sweeten to ground spices, powdered cardamom and nutmeg, drier than dry toast, to the point that it makes me thirsty–almost itchy.
Half an hour in, the almonds warm up, and it gets creamier. A bit of floral musk makes it more palatable, and then the dry down is lovely, sandalwood with a hint of sweetness.
Stays politely in personal space for most of the day. Pair with a two liter drinking bottle.
Opens sharp and sweet, like peaches, then settles into soft green forest floor leaves with a cinnamon/curry melange–calycanthus is also called “spice-bush” and “sweet-shrub” in the US–and ends with ferns with cardamom spoor.
Interesting and unusual.
Released in 1970 as part of Bosari’s Library of Fragrance, but I don’t know if it was sold apart from the reference set.
It’s a spicy scent–reminds me of the curry-plants the herb guy at the farmer’s market sells.
Le Orme is a prog-rock band out of Italy, formed in 1966. They’re still around today.
This makes me feel like I’ve walked out of the most expensive shoe store in Paris.
A quick opening of aldehydes and spicy fruit, as if to anchor the time period–and a few of the usual flowers to say I am French!—then the leather kicks in with patent pointy toe boots and kid gloves, leaving prints behind for days.
It’s down to earth–this footwear has solid heels–with oakmoss and pungent geranium and a pinch of tobacco.
I’d wear it if it had a touch more sweetness.
This tune came out in 1959, too.
Midnight Fantasy and Tea Rose meet for a tryst in a hedge maze, saying, “J’adore!” while Lou Lou watches with Envy.
Plums are tasted, roses are plucked.
Night flowers bloom, then fade after a few hours, leaving a long trail of powdery musk behind.
No one speaks of it in the daytime.
It’s gorgeous and delicate, yet a bit naughty.
2001 also saw the release of one of my very favorite French movies.
Chocolate covered mushrooms.
Tom Ford’s biggest is actually an olfactory pun on truffles!
The bottle is even textured like gills.
Opens sweet and dirty and loud, earthy cocoa and umami fungus that grows on your skin and your clothes and the walls of your dining room.
They slowly warp into wet white flowers and syrupy fruit, in a change of dinner courses that doesn’t take the old plates away, a trencher of watermelon garnished with petals and patchouli.
Afterwards vanilla beans, smoked like cigars.
Very sexy, in a you-make-me-hungry way, but don’t wear it if you’re dieting.
So many ‘shroomy covers of this song. I’m stuck on this awesome Arabic one right now.
Cloud pops open with herbs and artificial pears, then some sweet mushy stuff wiggles in the middle over a solid base note of woodsy chemical musk.
It’s got a hook–I keep going back to sniff the peelie–but it’s just too synthetic for me to want to purchase.
Kind of like a lot of Ariana’s songs, actually.
(Ugh. I’m old and crotchety. Girl can belt it, and I do like this one.)
Opens with a sheer boozy rose that I’d love if it were louder–then I’m glad it isn’t as it settles into a discordant vanilla.
Slowly eases into a generic auto-tuned amber that isn’t horrible on the on skin but is irritatingly musty (and tenacious) on cotton.
The top note is so pretty, but the rest of it just doesn’t hold up.
I’ve a sneaky that more attention was paid to the packaging than the contents.
This song came out in 2003, too. It’s got a bit more substance than fashion.