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.
Florence, of course.
Simple but quite nice.
Rosy peonies sweetened by lily-of-the-valley musk for a few hours, finishing to smoky tea on the skin.
This would make a lovely wedding scent for a sophisticated bride.
This isn’t exactly a proposal song, but it’s probably the prettiest cover of a Nirvana tune that I’ve ever heard.
Soapy dry rose that settles into a metallic musk that grows and grows and takes over my living room and puts its feet on my 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.
An interesting and invasive modern take on an old rose.
An 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.
Herbal-sweet and sheer, and comforting, without any overt invitation.
Opens with a taste of upscale hipster lavender vodka, then the neroli blooms, delicate and sugary with a faint twist of grapefruit zest.
Stays at elbow length for an hour, then settles to the skin with rainwater musk.
Too fragile for summer, but it would sparkle in the snow.
This cover is equally as delicate.
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.
A song with some carats.