A powder burst opening, chalk clouds of green violet and a mimosa pollen bomb, that slowly settles to social distance with brassy cedar sawdust. Orris drifts in with smooth musk–Insolence‘s iris grown out of her silly fruity sweetness–and hovers a foot off the skin all day long.
Leans to the well-groomed boss end of the spectrum.
Inspired by jazz saxophone notes and Chris Collins’ father’s violet colognes. I get the “Blue” in the name, but I have no idea what Tokyo has to do with any of it–but I’ve never been there.
Not badly priced for a well-performing niche fragrance.
Wayne Shorter died the other day. He played sax on a lot of amazing stuff–including my junior high personal anthem by Joni Mitchell, Be Cool.
The almond turns into nutty field grains and the cotton into cardboard–exactly like the bottom of a can of Old Fashioned Oats. The label touts the word “Comforting” in several languages–and a nice bowl of oatmeal with brown sugar and cinnamon is a lovely comfort food–but sadly this has none of that indulgence.
Scintillating strawberry baby powder. Brilliant, with a delicate dissonance that shifts between sparkling floral dust and sweet berry syrup, for hours and hours. Chaotic, with the lure of a candy shaped bar of soap, and easily worn by anyone from age 9 to 90–
–unless if you happened to be in elementary school in 1980. Because this smells exactly like Strawberry Shortcake doll hair.
Here’s another dissonant Insolence that works well:
Bel Rebel’s interpretation opens with a tutti-fruity candy coated gum ball, loud and boisterous, the kind that clatters down the clear spiral base to ding the silver door of the coin machine. I get the orange flavored one, citrus tart and sweet. Sadly, the trace amounts of cloves aren’t enough to elevate it out of the candy dish–more sweet spice is needed to blend the fruit sours into that truly iconic bubblegum flavor. I’m reminded of Fruitchouli Flash, an earthier distant cousin, maybe.
Settles down to elbow length after half an hour, with a dusting of chalk powder and the faintest hint of mint. (I got sneezy for a minute, but perhaps not the fragrance’s fault? Cold-season and all.) (It’s 23 eff degrees outside, right now.) Nice, and sniffy–I’m aware of it as I type–but I wish the heart had a bit of L’Interdit‘s tuberose or jasmine to cream it up and give the opaqueness that the bottle suggests. Bubblegum isn’t clear–
Lasts half the day, slowly fading to lighthearted patchouli on the bottom, with some super soft musk, an inch above the skin through the evening. I like it. For the price, I’d hoped to love it.
I needed a bit of sun today, and this little beauty gives big powdery vanilla amber warmth with just one drop. (Really, just one–this stuff gives off melting honey rose trails a mile long.)
Sandalwood and cinnamon on the bottom keeps the marzipan-ish heliotrope from getting sticky, and adds some maturity to the vanilla. Lasts all afternoon and through the night on clothes, leaving sweet spice dust behind like footprints in the snow.
Such a fun surprise! I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this clever little multi-faceted cassis that shifts to vanilla leather and jasmine incense then powdery tonka musk and back again.
Bergamot makes for a fresh opening, with ylang-ylang and lily-of-the-valley keeping it sweet and licorice-ish for a good half hour. Then the florals get complicated and ever changing–a bit of suede from the marigold, rose tinged sandalwood, creamy orris dust–held to personal space for half the day by the black currant jam.
Unisex, cheerful, and very high end. There’s a Guerlain vibe to the airy sweetness, yet the base is grounded with an earthy Chanel weight–and it’s all combined with a quirky hit of Lolita Lempicka gourmand. I can’t help but love it.
Elsa Schiaparelli–a French designer who worked with surrealist artists Marcel Vertes and Salvador Dali–put this out in the 1940’s (though I’ve seen it cited 1937, too) as the bottom half to Shocking’s torso. It was re-released in the late nineties, and is apparently out of production, but unopened boxes are still available at reasonable prices. I may have to get a big bottle.
An opalescent woody musk–there’s a lovey creamy yet multifaceted quality about it–and blatantly rich. Starts out with a splash of Shalimar cola, then dusts up with earthy mineral powder made carnal and soft by gardenia. A bit of rose grows up a few hours in, wild, dry and thorny over the cedars, staying in personal space all day.
Marketed to women, but would be absolutely lethal on masculine types, in a sulking prince way.
Benjamin Haycock is a singer/rapper/songwriter out of the UK–I love the percussive techniques he uses on the guitar.
Greener on skin than on clothing, and makes rough cotton feel like fine spun cashmere. High end prices, but big boss performance–two small sprays fill social distance and beyond with trailers that last all day.
The first whiff is a slippery murky green note that reminds me of okra. Thankfully, that soon slides away, washed off by fancy French laundry powder–the lavender and violets dried out by iris.
Then comes a round of decongestants in the form of minted tea, an odd sinus clearing smoke under the florals, giving everything a cool blue vibe that I sort of like, for about three hours in intimate space.