How much do I love this?!
Starts out cool and syrupy, like raspberry sorbet, then slowly melts into gorgeous sugary rose–the kind they make Turkish delight from–with a woody base tempered with benzoin.
The rose and the woods are linear, but there’s a slow progression to the fruity notes. They start tart and crisp and fill-the-room gigantic, but they sweeten through the day, softening to arms’ length pink floral candy, and end in the evening with a marvelous berry flavored cola on the skin.
Definitely a shift from the iconic patchouli-chocolate-caramel of the past thirty years, but this New Angel and Eau Croisière is a refreshing direction, and I’m totally ready for it.
“I want to smell like tuna fish,” said no woman ever.
All power to those with the chemistry, confidence or Sponge-Bob Squarepants fetish that can pull off oceanic animalics this strong, but I’m not one of them.
Vague fruit and loud salt musk that projects a nautical mile and lasts a daylong clam dig.
Airport duty-free testers are disgusting–those germs have survived tropics and tundras from all over the world–but this one was well worth the risk.
Angel “Cruise” opens loud and proud with delicious fresh mango that lasted the trudge to my gate and through fancy class pre-boarding–I was worried I would be THAT seatmate, who gives everyone in the row a headache with their perfume–but it settled nicely to a few inches off the wrist with pink grapefruit ice by the time I managed to cram my bag into the overhead compartment.
Somewhere over Iceland the sorbet gave way to Angel’s signature caramel patchouli, without the amber musk that I usually find cloying.
It was gone when we landed, and my connection too short to hit the shops for a bottle of my own.
Next trip, maybe.
Here’s some nice light jazz that’s actually wonderfully filthy.
Opens with a big proud blast of Ocean Spray Cran-Raspberry frozen concentrate, then melts down to a puff of meringue and saucy caramel.
Dregs of vanilla extract sit on the skin, rubbed dry with sweet patchouli dust.
A bit mischievous–Pippi Longstocking with fake eyelashes and a pink sling-shot.
La Rose Angel smells like you’ve been heating cotton candy over a can of Sterno in the back of a florist’s shop.
Spun sugar and hothouse blooms, but dank in the shadows.
The bottle is gorgeous. I want it to hold all my secrets and mist me with strength and sex and knowledge.
Instead, I am sprayed with slush and rock-salt from a road plow, and pelted with rotting strawberries, and wow, does Thierry Mugler ever blow loud and long on that truck horn.
Whew. Not for me.
All the love for this woman–and I adore this salty song.
Thierry Mugler’s Eau de Star bottles up that summer you spent with the bleach blonde stoner cutie who carved a bong out of a watermelon.
Fresh and wet and high and unforgettable.
It was my favorite candy perfume until the guy said, “That reminds me of what (our hot European neighbor) wears.”
She’s ten years younger than me and a flight attendant.
I love this live version of Madonna’s Candy Perfume Girl, bitchy and hard and still sweet.