A powder burst opening, chalk clouds of green violet and a mimosa pollen bomb, that slowly settles to social distance with brassy cedar sawdust. Orris drifts in with smooth musk–Insolence‘s iris grown out of her silly fruity sweetness–and hovers a foot off the skin all day long.
Leans to the well-groomed boss end of the spectrum.
Inspired by jazz saxophone notes and Chris Collins’ father’s violet colognes. I get the “Blue” in the name, but I have no idea what Tokyo has to do with any of it–but I’ve never been there.
Not badly priced for a well-performing niche fragrance.
Wayne Shorter died the other day. He played sax on a lot of amazing stuff–including my junior high personal anthem by Joni Mitchell, Be Cool.
A splash of milky Earl Grey bergamot with a bit of fresh fruit on the side–a flirty opening that quickly gets shy, retreating to a hand-span off the skin, cologne weight–but it lasts for over half the day with a constant tease of voluptuous florals and bit of wood inside clothing.
There’s a brilliant stilted sexiness to it that’s hard to explain, kind of like art house porn that’s been edited to a PG-13 rating.
A dentist’s office–kid’s fruity toothpaste, floral hand sanitizer, fish tank salt, vague panic and rubber soled shoes. Gets a bit into the face and lasts as long as that smooth feeling on the incisors after a polishing.
This is the second time I’ve thought, “Maybe I won’t bother trying the new Nest when it comes out.”
(Happy Valentine’s Day to all those who participate. Love is cool, yeah?)
I absolutely bought this vintage beauty for the box, but the extrait inside is a walk through Borsari 1870’s magnificent flower garden.
Starts with jasmine, then moves to rose, next to lily-of-the-valley, then freesia, then violets, then narcissus, then, then, then–but each is separate and distinct, like a line of different soliflores–until we finally rest on a sandalwood bench.
All the flowers are are lovely–that’s Borsari’s thing, precise distinguishable florals–but what makes this so interesting is the timing of them all. Each bloom moves on to the next with no blurred edges, garden plots kept neatly bordered on a path. The progression is kind of a technical masterpiece–I can’t imagine the expertise that must have taken to orchestrate.
Lanvin Me seems to have simple ingredients, but the blueberries juxtaposed with licorice is almost dissonant, and the sandalwood–which makes an evocative smudge of smoke–is surprisingly alluring. The bit of tuberose sweetening and roses keep it pretty, but they’re unanchored and a little wistful– And somehow, it absolutely works.
There’s an unexpected cleverness that elevates it out of fashion/pop-star fruity-floral territory and makes it unique–a multifaceted aspect that includes all four seasons: spring blooms, summer berries, autumn campfires, winter spice.
Lasts a nice six hours in personal space, and another six on clothing, and can easily be worn any day of the year. Affordable and accessible online–definitely one I’ll recommend.
Lolita Lempicka shimmering powder. I fully own up to buying this for the bottle.
There’s something dreamy and cutely sinister about it–the sweetness doesn’t come through as much as in a liquid formula, so the licorice and and almond cyanide are really carried in the musk.
Leans unisex in a sleepy morning skull-print pajama bottoms way.
Alabama 3 (or A3 in the U.S. because copyright shenanigans) came on everyone’s radar with the theme song to the Sopranos. They’ve got a crazy acid house country blues sound that I love–here’s one of my favorites.
And the “handcreme”, though nice and rich, smells even more deliberately boring. I’m not one for lotions, but I’ve been gardening today–my neighbor (who probably wore some slinky Chanel back in the day, but doesn’t bother with all that silliness now) gave me a Dior sized heap of lily-of-the-valley bulbs–so my knuckles are thirstier than a pumice stone.
I have no idea why Margot Elena thought anyone would want to smell like this. Lollia This Moment is a much better choice–not weird or fusty at all–and the bottle is cuter.
A nice clean herbal, but almost too soapy to wear on the skin–I feel itchy in it, like I haven’t rinsed enough. This one stays in the laundry room, to spritz on wet towels before they go into the dryer. (Did you know fabric softener sheets make your towels less absorbent?) Doesn’t last long, even on cotton, but the folding is more fun.
Scintillating strawberry baby powder. Brilliant, with a delicate dissonance that shifts between sparkling floral dust and sweet berry syrup, for hours and hours. Chaotic, with the lure of a candy shaped bar of soap, and easily worn by anyone from age 9 to 90–
–unless if you happened to be in elementary school in 1980. Because this smells exactly like Strawberry Shortcake doll hair.
Here’s another dissonant Insolence that works well: