Velvety green roses and lily-of-the-valley out of the bottle, soft in personal space for an hour, then sits with lime sherbet dust on the skin for a few more.
This one is the last of the newest TokyoMilk Dark set. I’m not so impressed with this release–First Base is good, but the other three seem weak in both performance and creativity.
*
Dreamy soft song…
The alarm goes off bright and early with vodka drizzled fresh fruit, then takes a shower with lily-of-the-valley body shampoo, and after that, the roses get pruned. The dishes are done before the laundry gets hung on the clothes line, and then comes the hardwood floor sanding, so the dust needs a wet mopping, and the musky rugs should be aired out while we’re at it–
I’ve only been wearing this two hours and I’m exhausted.
*
This is my kind of lazy Sunday morning.
Green pears and ginger musk with some synthetic rosebuds in between.
Shy inside personal space for a quiet morning and drifts down to wet woods on the skin.
Unassuming and uninspiring.
First Base is a much more intriguing woody pear.
*
It’s pouring out.
A headier, smoother version of the original Sì. The vanilla has been culled and the alcoholic woods replaced with benzoin, making the rose and currant syrupy and delicious–almost chocolaty–with a resinous base.
If the first version is meant to be worn on rosebud and champagne day dates, Intense is meant for falling petals and cream sherry evenings at home.
Lasts all night long, and forever on silk scarves.
*
A sultry silk scarf song.
(Happy Valentine’s Day to all those who participate. Love is cool, yeah?)
I absolutely bought this vintage beauty for the box, but the extrait inside is a walk through Borsari 1870’s magnificent flower garden.
Starts with jasmine, then moves to rose, next to lily-of-the-valley, then freesia, then violets, then narcissus, then, then, then–but each is separate and distinct, like a line of different soliflores–until we finally rest on a sandalwood bench.
All the flowers are are lovely–that’s Borsari’s thing, precise distinguishable florals–but what makes this so interesting is the timing of them all. Each bloom moves on to the next with no blurred edges, garden plots kept neatly bordered on a path.
The progression is kind of a technical masterpiece–I can’t imagine the expertise that must have taken to orchestrate.
*
A heart song. Sort of.
Oooh, this is heavenly.
Cinnamon and cedar and so warm, like standing before a brazier of burning hardwood, and sweet–but not cuddly, the honey is spread with a sharp rose knife.
I get a lot of Youth Dew vibes–that rich spicy heat–but Crimson Rocks is wilder, more elemental.
The lack of amber or balsamics on the bottom give an amazing desert mirage feel, elusive and light, like dusty spice in evening sun–
Lasts all night, growing sweeter and softer, just a breath on the skin left in the morning.
The guy said “You should get that,” and I might, when the price of eggs becomes reasonable again.
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I do love Joan Jett, but daaamn this is good.
Amouage’s take on Citizen Kane opens with sharp resins with melancholy undertones, then shifts to burning dried rosebuds (see what they did there?) and more aged frankincense.
Sadly, these heart notes leave one wanting more–the myrrh plot twist is so well known that there’s no surprise of cleverness to the sandalwood at the end–and the fleeting sweetness of vanilla at the bottom gives only the sense that love was never found.
*
“The Union Forever” is The White Stripes’ take on the same movie, but “The Same Boy You’ve Always Known” is my favorite song on that album at the moment. Here’s a live version-
Sad rose yogurt.
The citrus opens too tart–soured by the sandalwood, maybe–but then berries and a bit of spice get stirred in, sweetened with floral syrup.
The moody violet/cassis finish on the skin is nice, after the first disappointing hour–the start seems like something you’d taste in the dairy aisle at the happy-hippy food co-op, rather than a fragrance.
*
The most melancholy song ever–
A trumpet with a mute, playing jazzy raspberries in a roomful of roses that’s too small to contain them.
The red apple opening hits sharp, the petals fall flat, and the metallic musk bass line, though sweet, is way too brassy to wear indoors.
*
“You’d never know it, but buddy, I’m a kind of poet
And I’ve got a lot of things I’d like to say…”
Classic Lady Day, with Harry “Sweets” Edison on the trumpet.
Lyric opens with bright bergamot and sharp green cardamom that slowly relaxes over chai tea–cinnamon vanilla sweetened with ylang-ylang–and dark velvet roses, for two hours or so. A lemony herbal note from the geranium drifts in and out, keeping it refreshing.
Amouage’s usual incense is anchored by sandalwood on the bottom, holding it more to clothes than to the body, and under that, powdery orris made creamy by an almond-ish tonka on the skin.
Absolutely lovely, with capricious projection–sometimes a huge flourish of roses at arms length, sometimes just a hint of intimate spice–but might be too sultry for me.
This one requires the rubies and Arabian horses and smoking kohl eyeliner type, and I’m more of a garnet and beat up jeep and mismatched cat’s eye gal.
*
A sultry song.
kira a. gold 