This is lemon Italian ice, sold from a cheery street vendor in August.
Sugary citrus blooms, loud, with a wet floral that is supposed to be lotus, but seems more like yellow roses, with synthetic papery wooden notes underneath.
Citrine is sweet but safe, polite sillage that doesn’t overstay its welcome, no risks, no glory.
It needs layering with musk, or even a bite of something animalic to make it shine.
Bono channeling his inner Elton-Bowie-Elvis is amazing. Whether you grin or groan, you have to admit he took risks–and the music is great.
Bright wet loud green floral, but clumsy.
Lily-of-the-valley after they’ve been beaten rain storms, hothouse tropicals bruised by the automatic sprinkler–
But then it goes overboard, into silage territory: a florist’s trimmings bucket and watermelon rind compost and fermented cucumber pulp.
Doesn’t come out of clothing until washed in hot water.
If it were less heavy-handed I’d enjoy the weirdness of it, in an I Am Trash kind of way.
This Passiflora (a folk band out of Costa Rica) is not clumsy at all.
Grandma’s bath salts (which also had a fern on the bottle, I think–)
Opens with harsh herbal lime and pine pitch, then softens down to nice wet crushed bracken and soap suds.
Stays close to the body all day, and leaves green smelling stains on the clothes.
I’d enjoy this on a guy–the alpha male who scrubs up clean.
Here’s more of the same color.
This one comes across as timid to me–like it wants to be Enchanted Forest when it grows up, or maybe Euphoria, but it’s afraid of the trees.
Citrus and macerated fruit, dark purple jam that turns into green tea with a hit of spice and slowly fades to a musky aquatic note with a whisper-wish of woods.
It’s nice, but needs something to give it more backbone, more identity.
Maybe Indigo just needs more mood.
Opens with a big splash of blood orange juice that softens down to ginger-ale zing, then settles to soft wet musk on the skin for a few hours.
There’s a slight note of feet on the bottom that wants to be warm woods, but doesn’t have the right balance.
This one teeters between nice and meh for me–a sportsball guy could pull this off better than I could.
You can’t beat the original, but this cover of Sade’s Paradise roughs it up on the edges in a good way.
The opening of this one smells exactly like the Jewish bakery on Montague Street on Hanukkah, the windows fogged with the scent of chocolate and poppyseed hamantaschen, and red jelly donuts–
–but then the sequoia note pulls it out of feminine gourmand territory and gives it nice depth.
Good sillage, and the dry down is amazing–a masculine woody cocoa powder that lasts forever on clothes.
My new favorite of the Nest line.
Blue roses are a botanical impossibility, but if they did exist, they’d smell like this.
Nest’s Wisteria Blue opens with pretty wisteria in the rain, then big magical roses in full fantasy bloom–and stays there, just inside personal space, for hours.
A nice wet weather floral–brilliant for moody teens.
I love this gloomy day remake.