This one bombs an apple orchard with flowers–exploding petals everywhere–big fat magnolias, roses, white lilies, orange blossoms, ylang ylang, tons of neroli.
White musk takes over after fifteen minutes with a metallic edge that somehow cheapens the flowers, like a vase made from aluminum, then everything fades to a lick of ambergris on the skin.
I’d like it more as a candle.
I dreamed of a pilgrimage to Monet’s waterlily garden, like all impressionable teenage art students–
A bite of bergamot and green apples, then huge gardenias, the kind my grandmother used to grow, big waxy white flowers with shiny green leaves that took over her living room.
Florence grows that big–one roll on the wrist and it’s all through the house.
I like it better after an hour, when it settles down to light woodsy musk on the skin.
Soapy dry rose that settles into a metallic musk that grows and grows and takes over living rooms and puts its feet on the furniture.
The vanilla shows up briefly a half an hour in, but can’t compete with the ambroxan-patchouli that sits like a penny in the mouth and puts Black Sabbath tunes in the head all day.
An awesome and invasive modern take on an old rose.
Rob Zombie’s Dragula might be my favorite metal song, but today I’m feeling this Ella style take of the best revenge song ever:
This is what you wind up smelling like when you’ve been attacked in Bath & BodyWorks by the associate wielding Warm Vanilla Sugar, and you try to wash it off in their dinky sink with something that promises to be perfume-free but isn’t.
Here’s another “Skin.” Much sweeter, and twice as sultry.
This smells like the hand sanitizer in an outdoor wedding port-a-potty. It’s been monogrammed with the bride and groom’s initials and sports a real rosebud with a ribbon bow–but still leaves one desperate to wash the hands properly.
Pink florals on top, white musk and miniature bubble wands on the bottom.