Fruity, but hard and cold like all the Omnias–mashed berries on ice that melt in an hour into a pretty floral garnish. The cedar musk lasts longest, sweet and dry on the skin overnight.
I wish the pomegranate and hibiscus were noticeable beyond the initial juicy tartness. I just get an upscale red Kool-aid, and it’s refreshing, but I like a stronger summertime drink.
Apropos. (Wasn’t that one of the Three Musketeers?)
Opens aquatic, sea-breeze shower fresh, with some transparent grapefruit-y citrus. Tropical sweetness ripens from underneath–passion flower and and passion fruit–but it’s glittery rather than juicy, with that faceted cut of all the Omnia line.
Settles comfortably into personal space for the afternoon, and leaves a woody residue on cuffs.
Fun fact: Brazilian Paraiba tourmalines get their gorgeous aquamarine color from copper.
This smells like everything else at Macy’s, but with a glass of red wine rather than a caramel frappe or a peach smoothie.
Bergamot and black berries on the top, jasmine and tuberose in the middle, musky patchy vetiver at the bottom.
This song came out in 2017 in Italy, same as.
Ginger and peppercorns that sweeten to ground spices, powdered cardamom and nutmeg, drier than dry toast, to the point that it makes me thirsty–almost itchy.
Half an hour in, the almonds warm up, and it gets creamier. A bit of floral musk makes it more palatable, and then the dry down is lovely, sandalwood with a hint of sweetness.
Stays politely in personal space for most of the day. Pair with a two liter drinking bottle.
Well made, but buttoned up as tight as an adjunct professor at Brigham Young.
Nice not quite ripe pear on top, pale floral musk and modesty on the bottom, with yards of projection for two hours.
Sadly, I get none of the tea or bamboo that would give it depth or interest.
This young woman is both talented and interesting.
Squirts sharp orange out of the bottle–then sniffs some happy springtime flowers that haven’t realized they will be cut for a funeral arrangement.
Later, a furtive pistachio hides in white musk.
Over-designed, like a lovely semi-precious stone turned cheap and sad by a clumsy electroplate setting.
*
Another chain link.
Refreshing grapefruit tea, at the edge of a swamp.
Edit – 1/20/23
Found a solid of this and am enjoying it much more than the spray tester I wrote off years ago–the cedar musk is cleaner, the almond topping less muddy–much more pretty marshland than bog.
I’ve seen a few comparisons to Un Jardin Sur Le Nil, and while I get a bit of that sunny water garden vibe, this one is more crystalline.
Collector prices are fairly steep, so snag it quick if it’s within the budget. Or just get a bottle of Guerlain’s Pamplelune, if you want a slice of grapefruit.
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I’ve been stuck on this song lately.
“Lemon leather,” “vanilla vinyl,” “rubber baby powder flowers,” and “amber sandalwood,” are all tongue twisters.
Black is equally confounding, made up of all those seemingly discordant syllables, yet somehow is absolutely marvelous.
Yes, it smells like WD-40* and tires–but they’re not Goodyear treads baking in the summer sun at a smoky track, they’re Victorian bicycle tyres ridden by gentlefolk on jasmine lined lanes in the spring.
And no, I’m not going to wear it–but I’ve read quite a few romances that feature a mechanic who cleans up nice, and in my head they smell just like this.
* (Have you ever looked at the ingredients list on the can? There’s a hefty gob of vanillin in that silicone oil.)
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kira a. gold 