The copy on the sample card is ridiculous–springtime on the Champs-Elysees does not awaken the spirit of love, unless you are turned on by sour sycamore trees, car exhaust and urine. Also, African Violets have no fragrance.
Violette opens leafy green, with some sharp spice in a dinner salad gourmandish way, and a hint of black currant, (so perhaps they got the Paris pee right.) The ginger gets powdery sweet on the skin, with an odd note of pine tree, then it all disappears after 20 minutes.
If you’re collecting Tocca bottles (which are rather adorable), go for it, but don’t bother hunting this one down for the scent. LUSH’s Kerbside Violet has ten times the urban violet vibe for the same price, and any of Marc Jacob’s Daisies are sweeter and longer lasting.
Paisley Park produced J.J.’s first album–Prince’s stamp is all over this song.
TokyoMilk No. 4 lists “Crisp Apples, Peaches, Violets, Roses” on the bottle, which adds up oddly to fruity jelly slices, but the cheap kind, that taste a bit plasticky under the sugar.
Then we go to the spa, where powdery cosmetic florals puff up and take over, soapy enough to strip away the gourmand sweetness, floating within social distance all day, like a hair product from getting done at the salon, that you can’t escape.
Weird and a little headache inducing.
The TokyoMilk Lost in Atlantis soap line has the same note profile, and it’s amazing. The plastic note becomes creamy, and the powder turns to sweet lather. Reasonably priced on the Margot Elena website, too.
The perfume was actually named after this song. Here’s a weird version, but with less headache.
Starts with big creamy-yet-spicy florals, a hit of 80’s soapy peaches and a squirt of 70’s disco rose pee, then gets powdery with late 90’s iris. Finishes up with a light sunny musk that’s brilliant on scarves.
For the woman who celebrates her laugh lines.
A melancholy sun. She sang this tribute five days after Chris Cornell’s death.
Proceed with caution– One light spritz gets you powder and cute plastic toys and baby hair–sweet with innocent violets and melting ice cream–all day long. Two full sprays gets you a spanking by sticky artificial vanillin, itchy rubber pants, and a bath.
I adore this sweet little tune, off a children’s album by the same guy who did Lump and Peaches–
This one is gorgeous: beeswax comb filled with vanilla and flower nectar and a bit of tonka that manages to come across as animalic, and so incredibly sweet you expect it to be sticky on the skin. The heliotrope–which I’ve not been a fan of lately–gives nice structure to the benzoin, and a lovely powder dryness to the honey-syrup.
There’s a brilliant smudge of labdanum on the bottom, a perfect hint of beekeeper’s smoke. Fills the room like a summer swarm and lasts forever.
I loved it passionately until the guy said it reminds him of that scented toilet paper from the ’70’s and now that’s all I smell and I’m so sad about it.
Opens with a breath of citrus and wet green, but then gets cool and clear the way that all the Omnias do, this time with powdery iris that blooms for a hour, and heliotrope at the bottom that lasts all morning.
Some faint woods close to the skin give it a pretty solidity, like a crystal vase with a heavy base.
There’s an interesting fragile-but-strong vibe to it.
Love Mimosa is almost sporty in its freshness out of the bottle–but the orris gives it a nice luxe creaminess that keeps it from being overtly chemical. Loud at the start, then settles down to arms length sunny florals and laundry softener for most of the day.
The peelie advertises pear, iris, leather and patchouli, but all I get is baked vinyl car seats, hot tires and a melting popsicle.
Perhaps the “New Gentle Man” needs to park his convertible in the shade?
Edit – 5/12/21 In the store the pear came through, but with more plastic fruit than juicy crispness. The iris and patchouli make a nice powder somewhere between baby talc and sawdust, but I’m still not convinced.