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.
There’s kind of an Alice-in-Wonderland trippy flower vibe with this one.
A huge puff of powdery heliotrope clouds, with a wisp of Amouage’s signature rose incense–that settles into a gorgeous neon lilac for a half hour.
If it stayed there, this might be my favorite of the Secret Garden collection, but the lilacs are overtaken by the iris-patchouli-tonka of every Lolita Lempicka flanker in existence, almost jeeringly loud, until that too fades into vanilla tea.
The base is an enjoyable purplish sweet sandalwood that lingers a few feet from the skin most of the day. I like it, but it’s not as special as Love Tuberose.
Opens bright, with fresh lavender and herbs, held together with Amouage’s signature spicy rose incense. After thirty minutes or so, soft animalics drift in with dried sweet everlasting flowers and seashell ambergris, and stay in personal space for hours. Rich salty resin sticks to the skin most of the day, and patchy cardamom on clothes forever.
One of my most beloved songs. Adele turns it even angstier than the original by the Cure.
Marvelous retro ’60’s incense rose that starts out loud and aldehyde-soapy out of the bottle, then gets animalic–but it’s a purring kitty, rather than a hissing one–a few feet off the wrist, accompanied by a sneezing fit or two. After several hours the blooms fade to a lovely woody benzoin on the skin for the rest of the day.
Recommended to anyone who enjoys the classy pin-up mystique of Rive Gauche and Climat, and to cats–mine found the civet intriguing.
Love Mimosa is almost sporty in its freshness out of the bottle–but the orris gives it a nice luxe creaminess that keeps it from being overtly chemical. Loud at the start, then settles down to arms length sunny florals and laundry softener for most of the day.