This scent is strangely enveloping, just like an Issey Miyake coat, the fabric overwhelming in its comfort.
L’Eau Majeure drowns you after a squeeze of grapefruit to clarify the water, and a sprig of mint to make it even fresher.
At the bottom is a shipwreck–sea eroded pine beams–in the softest sand.
Trendy and fun.
This was the trendiest song of 2017. It’s fun and comfortable, I suppose.
This could be this decade’s Drakkar Noir–a new definition of masculinity for these semi-enlightened times. Sophisticated and clever–strength and ego coming with style and smarts rather than brawn–this man might not have the classic pretty face but his shirt is nicely tailored and he plays cards well–he’s interesting.
Opens with icy lemonade, then smoky ginger, and lays two inches above the skin with amber, mint and sandalwood all evening long.
I wish it had more sweetness.
Edit – 6/24/21
I sniffed a bottle in the men’s department–and I got a drop on my nose.
(…sad whine…)
The world did not get any sexier, but I did have a sudden craving for lemon sweets.
When I got home the guy said I smelled like one of his golf buddies–the smart one.
*
Peter Gabriel always seems to carry an air of cerebral masculinity.
(The live version with The Blind Boys of Alabama is even better but there’s an ad break in the middle that’s jarring.)
A priest on vacation in the tropics.
Out of the bottle–beaches and mild fruit cocktails with coconut water.
It quickly turns to soap, some kind of retro ’70’s bar of herbal glycerine that takes over the whole tiki bar.
There’s some patchouli and musk at the bottom, like a feeble attempt to dirty it up, but it’s just too clean.
Perfect on Sunday.
My favorite bar song.
Aptly named.
A walk through the produce aisle in sexy shoes that only come in European sizes.
Byredo’s Pulp is lush fruit rind you want to press your thumb into to check for ripeness. Tart currants spill onto a heap of figs, then there’s a nuttiness, a bite of candy bar like a bawdy pick-up line, funny rather than insulting.
Drunk apples sit on the skin for several hours, waiting for elegant lipstick bites, then they fade to a woody stem.
I bought the biggest bottle I could legally take on the airplane.
*
Saw her live, ages ago–so good. This one is a bit bawdy, too.
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.
A beach wedding.
Opens with grapefruit, sugar and a silver spoon, then the frangipani* kicks in.
Waxy flower leis, festoons of them everywhere, sweet and heavy, lovely, but overdone.
The bride carries orchids, but you can’t smell them.
Hours later there’s breezy musk on dunes, and driftwood drying in the sun. The next day, an odd amber citrus still clings to the skin, like sand in unexpected places.
*(Does anyone else think “fancy-panties” when they read the word frangipani?)
(Only me?)
(This is awkward now.)
*
This is NOT a wedding song, even with the deceptively easy beach vibe–
So apparently Edward Scissorhands smells like sawdust and lemon meringue pie–or maybe it’s sugared furniture polish?
There’s some old spice cabinet and an amber musk that is apropos to the aging pirate mystique, and a wave of evil English wizard lavender wand.
I like it, even though I don’t want to.
Edit–2/19/2021
I eventually did test this from a bottle.
Ad peelies have improved greatly over the years, but usually only hold the top and middle notes well. You can get more of the bottom notes if you stick the test strip in your pocket, to warm it up to body temperature.
In person, Sauvage has more of a labdanum campfire-creosote base, which gives confusing burnt pizza gourmand vibes.
This song from the same year has some pretty savage guitar.
Fresh, just out of the hotel room shower, squeaky-clean, man.
Big handsy citrus, a rub of green herbs, a switch of summer pine.
No personality whatsoever, but that isn’t what you hired him for.
Versace came out with Eau Fraiche in 2006. This song–“Stop. Forget it.”–was the hit in Italy then.
The first bite is delicious sugar cookie made with vanilla and almonds, the center filled with lemon drop hard candy.
There’s a sudden hit of seltzer-water fizz, a loud ginger finger-bang, and then it settles down to D&G’s Light Blue amber musk…
And stays there.
For two days.
It’s kind of amazing.
*
More fire:
An orange Dreamsicle and beachcombing date on Fire Island.
A drag queen in a glittering sherbet gown gets her train caught on a boardwalk nail, spilling sequins and she chooses to laugh, because it’s too nice an evening for swearing, isn’t it, darling?
Much later, sweet spicy comforting chocolate and cinnamon and flirty caramel musk, reggae night at the Latin bear club across from the Sandcastle–all the fabulous mustaches–and someone brought a marshmallow gun.
Miles of sillage.
I’m talking on the other end of the ferry on the way to the Pines. Against the headwind. They can smell clementines and vanilla before the boat has left Bayshore.
This stuff gets under the skin, deep into the hypodermis layer, untouched by ocean, shower or chlorinated hot tub–lingering tangerine peel and nutmeg and cream soda dum-dum pops–for days.
You find a glittering spangle in the sand when you come back next weekend, and it still smells like Myrrh Maid’s citrus spice smirk. She’s got a regular show in Cherry Grove serving sea-witch realness. Come see me, darling.
*
Hedda Lettuce is my favorite.
(NSFW!)
kira a. gold 