Opens with dry salty roses that are polite, but not shy. Sweet water seeps in after a half hour, with a cool wet/dry ambroxan musk, and some dusty pink incense smoke rises six inches from the skin all evening. Lasts overnight on cotton, and leans to the floral end of unisex.
I like it. A smart “no-nonsense” professor vibe, and a nice change from the lush, fleshy petal fruit preserves everywhere. (Sadly, at this price our prof needs tenure at an Ivy League school.)
TokyoMilk No. 13 opens with big white flowers, in a packed hot church kind of way–and even gets a bit sweaty a few minutes in. The gardenia takes up a lot of elbow room, then slowly settles to a foot off the body with sticky amber that smells like the soap in the bathroom of a mortuary.
Lasts through the burial and the wake, and haunts your clothes for a week after.
Sky–the super-group that you’ve never heard of–included the classical guitarist John Williams, the bassist Herbie Flowers and percussionist Tristan Fry, (who both did session work with everyone from the Beatles to Lou Reed to Elton John.) Bach’s Toccata and Fugue is easily the most famous song in D minor ever.
The latest Nest is a big splash of generic herbal tea at the beginning, then gets greasy with coconut oil and milky white flowers for two hours. (Hibiscus is in the Malvaceae family, a kind of mallow, like ambrette–which explains the musky weight of the florals.) The bottom is actually a bit nice, amber making a long lasting Nutella accord on the skin, perhaps a nod to the warm Cocoa Woods, which I liked very much.
I imagine it’s better in high summer than early spring, but I’ll likely pass it along to someone who enjoys suntan lotion scents before then.
Love this cover, which has a certain weight, too. Last summer was cruel, but a lot of artists have produced some neat stuff during the quarantine.
Seems like every design house is desperately churning out their version of a citrus-berry-rose, as if fruit sorbet is the must-have wardrobe staple now that COVID-19 has made hard pants a thing of the past.
This one should have been named TRULYsprite. Kate Spade New York is nice, bright strawberries with lemon-lime zest opening, rosy refreshing middle and a mineral chrome shine at the base. It’s fun and bubbly, but it’s a bit brief, and a bit simple. Pair with stretch leggings.
This is likely the first fragrance that Kate Spade herself didn’t have a hand in producing, on some level. Do most legacy houses take the safe route after their creator has recently passed? I hope they find their way back to her iconic cuteness-as-an-artform aesthetic.
Terry Gilliam took Kate Bush and Donald Sutherland to a new level of cute in her “Cloudbusting” video.
L’Air des Alpes Suisses is chilly and gorgeous, and stays that way. The ambergris is a gust of cold wind carrying snow and pine, with a weirdly enjoyable sweet whiff of gasoline–and it echoes. The camphor in the woods somehow resonates, the way a struck bell vibrates the air in the room, with a slow two hour fade to the skin.
The linear sound wave quality is very cool, a good example of synesthesia in perfumery, though I keep wondering if it will resolve at the end. (Is there a tease of warmth and chocolate in there, or is that my own wishful thinking?)
I like it very much, but I bet it’s a completely different scent in August.
An electro-pop dance hit out of Zurich that’s oddly soothing, with a gorgeous little video.
Arielle smells like peaches in the hot sun, when the fruit stands are full and ripe and steamy and the day lilies are blooming in full force. Amber and sandalwood dry up the sweetness after an hour, making it almost civet-sour-soapy, that Atlanta highway air freshener and funky sweat that sticks to skin and clothes, until it slowly eases back to evening breeze and sweet peach tea.