Big generic vanilla that chews up all the almonds and covers up the floral tonka mush. Grubby amber on the bottom makes it stiff and unyielding.
Dido’s White Flag came out in 2003–another female English hit, but with better staying power and more sweetness.
A blast of sweet powder out of the bottle, with a bit of white flower–what I imagine vanilla orchids smell like.
Then marzipan–the strong stuff that reminds you of cherry stones and the secret hole-in-the-wall bakery with the amazing almond danishes.
It morphs back to powder an hour later, with huge sillage that lasts forever.
The Cookies backed up Little Eva and Ray Charles, but had several hits of their own, including this one.
This one is a little bit genius.
First breath is sangria and smoke, a quick break between acts on the side door sidewalk of the theater, then sticky honey sweets to soothe the throat as the lights flicker–Places, please!–and meanders back to leather and walnut-wood seats and gaslight.
Stays close, and lasts on the skin with benzoin and incense for ages.
This is one of my favorite interludes-
Lighthearted and young.
This girl wears bright sundresses and statement shoes and laughs at everything.
A joyful projection of watermelon taffy with a toasted coconut accord close to the skin.
There’s a champagne feel, too–a sparkle in the gourmand sweetness–that’s quite charming, like an innocent twist on Mugler’s Eau de Star.
This song makes me happy.
A hard liquor splash of orange flower water spiked with amaretto, made clever with oriental spice, then a dump of vanilla sugar heavy enough to hurt the head.
This smells like that sassy chef at the corner bakery who drinks on the job and sets aside cupcakes for the cops who give her a ride home.
(This is what happens when you watch that Baking Show while testing House of Sillage.)
This is a good tune for mixing batter–debuted in 2012, same as Benevolence.
Well named–there’s absolutely nothing virginal about this stuff.
Maraschino stem teasing over a powder puff of musk, cyanide sweet foreplay for hours, ending in a melting dish of Ben&Jerry’s Cherry Garcia ice cream.
This song is also pure sex.
Velvet takes the roughest wool sweater and turns it into the smoothest silk.
Opens with almond, coconut and clove, but immediately blends into hot chocolate, with a faint whiff of patchouli rising with the steam.
Half an hour in, rose blooms with an intriguing hit of root beer. Eventually settles into vanilla and sweet woods, with a cool blue ambroxy undertone, and the most comfortable sillage ever.
So well named, and perfectly unisex. This stuff could turn alpha stock market bulls into teddy bears, and the sharpest battle-axes into kittens.
With emphasis on girl.
One to wear with pigtails and a mini-skirt.
Opens with a juicy slice of pear, and soft citrus, and as it warms, a lovely pistachio.
Orange flower water pushes through, then almond marzipan.
In half an hour it developed to syrupy tonka bean and heavy artificial amber, a foot off the wrist, and made my ears ring and my teeth hurt with how sweet it is.
The guy said it smelled like a very young girl’s perfume and made him feel a bit creepy.
A tea party with all the old dollies, the ones that that have grown sticky-sweet as their painted plastic faces break down with age. Real almond cake petits-fours, with orange flower icing, but the teacups are made of Play-Doh.
A must-have for quirky Lolita goth girls.
A breakfast salad in a garden.
I get cantaloupe and delicate flowers, and honey. The finish is a musky trail of almonds that lingers six inches above the skin for an hour.
It’s too pretty for me.
Here’s a pretty tune from Blind Melon.