Big generic vanilla that chews up all the almonds and covers up the floral tonka mush. Grubby amber on the bottom makes it stiff and unyielding.
Dido’s White Flag came out in 2003–another female English hit, but with better staying power and more sweetness.
Unisex, because air has no gender, and water is aromantic.
The ambroxan shifts back and forth between cedar, amber and lemon all day long.
Icy clean, yet interesting.
This one would be a lovely cool splash in the summer, but sharp as knives in the winter.
Some more Air:
I loved the rich fruity floral scent on the peelie, but when I tried it on in the store the amber punched me in the stomach and the patchouli hit me on the head with a hammer.
I got two compliments during my rush to the bathroom to scrub it off, and the guy said “ooh, nice,” when I got home–my shirt cuffs actually smelled wonderfully of peachy rose jam.
So I wouldn’t turn down a mini of this, to save for scarves, but not one for my skin.
This haunting sweet cover by SHEL is another one not to turn down.
The cedar and amber make for a very stony accord, and the nutmeg takes it even earthier, though in a very 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–
Vanilla amber and marshmallow-y musk.
Maybe there’s some almonds in there, too.
It’s okay, but not anything that can’t be found at Victoria’s Secret or Bath and Body Works.
I’ve sort of fallen in love with Pomplamoose. They’re a husband and wife team who’ve made a name for their transparent (what you see is what you get–no post production mixing) cover works online. Here’s another less quiet Another Day.
Soapy dry rose that settles into a metallic musk that grows and grows and takes over my living room and puts its feet on my furniture.
The vanilla shows up briefly a half an hour in, but can’t compete with the ambroxan-patchouli that sits like a penny in the mouth.
An interesting and invasive modern take on an old rose.
An Ella style take of the best revenge song ever:
There’s a pun here, because it opens with a breath of incense, like a burning vanilla bean–
Then it settles to the skin with a sheer dry cedar-y vanilla warmed by amber, and slowly fades to nothing.
I wish it had better performance–I’d love it on the artist with rough hands who eats from bowls they’ve made and has a houseful of rescue dogs.
Here’s more Vanille, with Follow the Sun.
I keep trying Euphoria, because it’s made with so many things I love–pomegranate, passionfruit, patchouli and violet, mahogany–but they’re all swallowed up by the amber and musk in a way that sours my throat.
I liked the candle in the store, but at home it haunted my house and made me edgy.
Sweet Euphoria is the one song on Chris Cornell’s solo album Euphoria Morning (Mourning) that I’ve never really enjoyed. Pillow of Your Bones is better:
Cream soda cocktails at a retro ’90’s New Year’s Eve party.
She shows up to the festivities with bourbon fumes and bubblegum on her breath, then dances with sparkling rose geranium over vanilla amber. Fades to a sweet kiss of powdery patchouli for the Bare Naked Ladies’ cover of Auld Lang Syne.
Here is said cover.
Have you ever opened a box of old vintage sewing patterns at a rummage sale, and gotten transported back in time–before you were born, even–just from the smell?
Sortilège whispers vintage lily-of-the-valley out of the bottle, then powdery peachy aldehydes a la Chanel No. 5 trample the flowers to dust.
More try to bloom, some feeble jasmine, whimpering mimosa–the rose survives, bolstered by iris, but then they are bowled over by great gobs of amber with vetiver musk in the wake.
This makes me want a wasp-waisted dress with piping and a built-in crinoline, and wrist gloves with matching bows.
Le Galion released Sortilège in 1937, when Fred Astaire was hanging out at The Stork Club, famous for singing Gershwin. I prefer Lady Day’s cover.