Oooh, this is heavenly. Cinnamon and cedar and so warm, like standing before a brazier of burning hardwood, and sweet–but not cuddly, the honey is spread with a sharp rose knife.
I get a lot of Youth Dew vibes–that rich spicy heat–but Crimson Rocks is wilder, more elemental. The lack of amber or balsamics on the bottom give an amazing desert mirage feel, elusive and light, like dusty spice in evening sun–
Lasts all night, growing sweeter and softer, just a breath on the skin left in the morning.
The guy said “You should get that,” and I might, when the price of eggs becomes reasonable again.
Amouage’s take on Citizen Kane opens with sharp resins with melancholy undertones, then shifts to burning dried rosebuds (see what they did there?) and more aged frankincense.
Sadly, these heart notes leave one wanting more–the myrrh plot twist is so well known that there’s no surprise of cleverness to the sandalwood at the end–and the fleeting sweetness of vanilla at the bottom gives only the sense that love was never found.
“The Union Forever” is The White Stripes’ take on the same movie, but “The Same Boy You’ve Always Known” is my favorite song on that album at the moment. Here’s a live version-
Lyric opens with bright bergamot and sharp green cardamom that slowly relaxes over chai tea–cinnamon vanilla sweetened with ylang-ylang–and dark velvet roses, for two hours or so. A lemony herbal note from the geranium drifts in and out, keeping it refreshing. Amouage’s usual incense is anchored by sandalwood on the bottom, holding it more to clothes than to the body, and under that, powdery orris made creamy by an almond-ish tonka on the skin.
Absolutely lovely, with capricious projection–sometimes a huge flourish of roses at arms length, sometimes just a hint of intimate spice–but might be too sultry for me. This one requires the rubies and Arabian horses and smoking kohl eyeliner type, and I’m more of a garnet and beat up jeep and mismatched cat’s eye gal.
Nice at first– Starts with spiced whipped cream-y jasmine in personal space that slowly drifts to a hand-span off the wrist as the cardamom ripens–then it takes an odd turn as curried raw salmon for a few hours. The rose sticks to clothes more than skin, with sweet resins that last most of the day.
I’d enjoy it more without the fish course.
This song has absolutely nothing to do with the ocean and has no sushi.
Big sweet spice and roses, soured up nicely with lemony geranium tea. There’s some creamy orris powder underneath, with frankincense and vanilla to turn it luxe, but the woods on the bottom keep it grounded, so it doesn’t turn into a cinnamon roll.
Elegant and gorgeous, but also weighty–Epic kind of makes me nervous, like I’d be expected to dance the tango at a moment’s notice, or that dressing in anything but silk brocade would be a disappointment, while wearing this. (Maybe I’d prefer the cinnamon roll?)
Pleasant white flowers at first, not a lot of personality, but sweet–then after a few minutes the tuberose and the carnation pick up the spicy notes and turn more interesting. There’s a delicate watery feel under the florals–more morning garden dew than rainy lotus pond–that might come from the lily-of-the-valley and rhubarb; green, a little earthy. Some resinous stuff on the bottom gives texture and holds the gardenia in personal space the whole day long.
I get a maternal vibe, in a young expectant mother way–pretty, but not for me.
Opens with opulent spiced honey mead and elegant jasmine, then slices fresh apricots and sprinkles them with a bit of pollen dust. But Journey isn’t delicate–there’s a solidity on the bottom, like sturdy hospital clogs, leather and wood and rubber soles–that keeps her from being frivolous.
The dichotomy reminds me of my grandmother, who loved rich and exotic things, but didn’t hesitate to tie on a smock when nurses aides were needed during the war.
Stays within personal space for most of the day, then fades to the skin with sweet tobacco musk for the evening. I like it–though my wallet is a little too lighthearted for this kind of gravitas.
Really feeling for healthcare workers right now. May their shoes never, never, never let them down.
Ciel seems to be trying to compose solar and aquatic vibes out of flowers–sun-showers, maybe?
Opens slightly spicy and green, and soon turns watery but oddly creamy, with a lot of jasmine. Then the bottom makes it really weird, soapy woods-musk, with some Amouage brand incense muddled in, polluting the whole sky with floral acid rain.
Love Tuberose is a huge ice cream cake cuddle of a scent, and became my favorite comfort fragrance at first sniff.
Starts with a bouquet of white flowers sculpted from sugar paste, with milky sweet notes that slide tropical and faintly fruity–I get a breath of apricot that is most likely me imagining things–so pretty and feminine and uplifting. A half hour later the fun happens. Puffs of whipped vanilla rise from the tuberose, with the creamy lightness you’d expect from jasmine, but they’re pure bubblegum, flirty sass with a hint of powder–if a scent could sound like laughter, this one does. The sandalwood on the bottom keeps it from being too young and giggly. The wood notes are a support for the flowers, giving them strength without taking over, and are more apparent on cotton than silk.
Lasts a good three hours in personal space, then sleeps on the skin with a smile.
All Amouage perfumes are expensive–high end top-shelf bottles with quality ingredients and master blending–but for me, this one is a self-care mood-lifting therapy session with each spray, and worth the cost of a big bottle.
Carnation smoke and green kid gloves, with retro tailoring.
Fills the room with sharp with incense-y labdanum and chrysanthemum florals out of the bottle, then settles to a bright spicy clove. 1970’s Estee Lauder moss soon creeps in over 80’s Drakkar Noir leather, but manages to stay delicate, the whole day long. There’s a nice witchy “cool aunt” vintage vibe to it.
Sweeter on clothes than on the skin.
This B-side came out in 1980, and layers strung out funk with a bit of new age synth.