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.
Might be the nicest amber musk I’ve ever tried, but I think I’d need to be a bit less girly-girl to pull it off properly–this one falls more into the laid-back dude territory of unisex.
At first, plums–not the pale juicy kind, the dark prune ones, with that blue rime on the thick skin–drink smoky black currant tea with honey, while wild roses bloom in the distance. Then the amber kicks in with masculine wood, warming up some musky benzoin for several hours.
Quite nice, and projects louder and longer than any other Fort & Manle I’ve tested so far.
A mellow 311 cover–
Vanilla musk on the skin that turns into really enjoyable leather and peaches, hot nutmeg and herbal incense–
This Le Soft is perfectly soft butch–sweet and rough, spice and smoke–held close.
I like her quiet confidence.
Pair with a watch or wallet chain and other marvelous cliches.
Here’s my other favorite gender-bendy-Frenchie at the moment–
Opens with a faceful of white flowers, and I’m suddenly claustrophobic–have I been trapped in a hot elevator with this, when I was a child?
(When did this come out, anyway?)
Slowly drifts into soapy milk suds for a while, then settles down with jasmine and woodsy amber a foot off the skin–and stays there all day long.
Complicated–there’s a trace bit of musk that cuts through the sweetness and ages it up. This would be a great Boss-Lady-shows-her-soft-side perfume, in an up-do and day-to-evening shoes.
Fragonard opened in 1926. That same year Carl Nielson’s flute concerto opened in Paris to huge success.
A twist of green sappy resin, then the cinnamon hits soft and heavy, and spreads with amber over dried apples and warm mulled cider. Fades in half an hour to sandalwood and shadows of roses on benzoin skin.
Brief, but gorgeous.
I recently discovered the Turkish group Taksim Trio–a bit new age, a bit traditional.
Hüzün means sadness, google translate tells me.
Starts harsh but finishes mellow.
Cardamom bombs the opening, the same throat closing assault when entering any truck stop store outside Paris, Appalachia–menthol cigarette ash and candy bars–but then it slowly melts into the skin with tobacco and vanilla a la Tom Ford.
Not many people realize Tom Waits actually wrote this one–also harsh and mellow.
Opens with incense and intrigue, and a sweet, spicy neroli rose that blooms a yard off the wrist.
Soon melts down to rich amber resin and sandalwood and lingers on the skin for an hour.
Lovely and mysterious, but I wish the honey notes lasted longer–and that price is not a steal.
This song effectively ended the eighties, and confused a hella lot of us about fashion, gender norms, and which ends of our cutoff jeans we were supposed to wear where.
Damn, I miss Prince.
This is one of those fancy organic sodas from the health food store with the artsy label–that’s totally worth the ridiculous price.
Uncaps to smoky root beer, then settles into Sprite and an aldehydic seltzer. Lasts a good two hours a foot off the wrist and leaves a pleasant malty sweet amber on the skin the whole afternoon.
Perfect for a sushi lunch date.
I played second flute for an excruciating season of junior high band–The Eye of the Tiger was our big number. I like Katrine Ottosen’s cover. (Her Tiny Desk Concert is over here.)
kira a. gold 