Fragrance du jour, recent sniffs, random notes.
Petrified forest.
The cedar and amber make for a very stony accord, and the nutmeg takes it even earthier, though in a refined, almost preserved, way. (And it does last forever, a few inches above the skin.)
It’s not very exciting, but would pair well with a men’s blue suit.
Some more woodsy blues–
Opens feminine, ylang-ylang sweet prom corsage, then nutmeg and carnation bouquets–
–but after an hour it turns masculine. Pepper and cloves dirty up the soapy pinks and give it bite, close to the skin, for another hour.
It’s suave and sporty, in a summer afternoon crisp linen shirt kind of way.
I love this wistful summery afternoon song– this February has been dull and gray here.
Confession:
I’m horribly intimidated by people who worship at the altar of Guerlain.
They say, “Mitsuoko, a classic of the genre,” and “L’Heure Bleue is my universal reference,” in reverent tones. I nod silently and try to look discerning while hoping my Lolita Lempicka or LUSH holds against my nervous sweat.
I keep trying Shalimar–vintage bottles and new–and sometimes it’s cedar sawdust and vanilla powder, and sometimes it’s leathery old lemons and oddly sweet turpentine.
I’ve just never gotten a “feel” for the stuff. It lasts forever on the skin, projects like mad, and reminds everybody else of somewhere, some time, or someone, but I’ve never understood the magic.
Everything wonderful is in there–a citrus opening, earthy rose and patchy iris in the middle, smoke and civet and balsam on the bottom–but there’s never that gestalt moment when the scent becomes more than the sum of its parts.
So I keep sniffing it, hoping for the a-ha understanding, when my novice schnozz graduates to full-on fragonista, capital-N-Nose, and maybe I will see the light that is Guerlain.
Shalimar was introduced in 1925, when Paris was overrun with American jazz and the années folles of art and entertainment following the Great War.
Gershwin hit Europe with Rhapsody in Blue that same year.
This father-son duo do a great piano arrangement.
Lollia #74
(My favorite of Margot Elena’s Poetic License Collection.)
Wet lemon geraniums and herbal jasmine, but there’s a nice vodka accord that cleans it up and makes it interesting.
Lasts in personal space for a few nice hours, then fades to a woody lavender on the skin.
(I actually love the rain against my window.)
TokyoMilk No. 33 opens with poisoned alcohol, that metallic knife edge of distillation fumes called “the angels’ share.”
Dusty bruised apples roll in fast, brown sugar and rose–nice, but on me soon get lost in the forest green notes–and end in bittersweet musk.
A fairy-tale step-mother perfume.
Movie soundtrack videos are usually kind of meh, but this one is fun.
In-the-face PIE.
Toasted caramel, baked berries and vanilla cream. A hit of roses keeps it from being too cloying.
It’s a step above a Yankee Candle Bakewell Tart, but one I’d put in the Scentsy warmer rather than wear.
Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab blends are hit or miss for me–but the quality of the oils is always good.
*
Daamn can Nancy Wilson play guitar.
Fun.
Cocoa and loud roses, orange zest and white flowers. Coffee kicks in after 15 minutes and settles into personal space for another quarter hour.
The chocolate sticks to the skin, but the citrus lingers longer on clothes.
I’d like it on a guy, too–a laid back type who wears floral print shirts and has a good belly-laugh.
This one is also fun and laid back.
La, this is lovely.
Incense that’s been soaked in sweet wine, an antique spice chest with gilt hinges, a library of flowers pressed in rare books–
Fills the room at first, labdanum fueling soft animalics, then slowly fades to the skin. Wormwood takes the sweetness from the cloves to make them leathery and rich, but roses soften the edges, making it feminine.
Lasts all day, and even longer in the hair, vintage luxury at its best.
Emaan Zadjali is an American-Omani online sensation who calls her music “trap-soul.”
I like this smoky tune.
Lollia #88.
(Part of the Poetic License Collection.)
The top notes of cassis and patchouli are fun for a minute, but then it turns sulky with sour sandalwood on the bottom.
Lasts a couple hours on the skin.
Another one by Margot Elena that would make a good quality candle, but seems cheap on the skin.
This Night is so much more fun:
A golden oldie from 1962–and proof that ladies of a certain age can still hold their own–classy, fun and sexy.
(Elizabeth Taylor wore it!)
Opens with lovely roses and neroli, then gets almost fruity with the creamiest jasmine ever. After it warms up with sweet benzoin and balsam, civet slinks in with vanilla and stays within arms reach for days.
That same year saw the release of Joan Baez In Concert, with this song that caught the ears of Jimmy Page and Robert Plant.
kira a. gold 