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.
“Nice flowers,” she said, batting her lashes. “Juicy, too.” “Rosy citrus,” came the reply, with a knowing smile. “A sweet bottom, too,” she teased back. She didn’t bring up the feminine wood–they were already gone.
Flirtatious, but not much more. Stays at elbow length for an hour, then fades to the skin for another two.
Uninspired pink lemonade and pale florals (that try really hard to be roses and lily of the valley) at first, but soon turns into a nice citrus musk with a cool metallic edge–a bit like Nestea iced tea in a can.
Young and safe–a good first date scent. Stays in personal space for an hour, then drifts down to the skin over the next two. Gone by curfew.
This update of Anita Ward’s disco hit is NOT appropriate for a first date.
There’s a very surreal vegetarian tea-party thing going on with Liliana.
Opens with pretty peaches and juicy florals, then turns to watermelon curry. After an hour or so, settles to woods and canned spinach liquid in personal space, and leaves a smudge lemon curd on the skin the next morning.
The vibe actually works, in a foodie in Fluevog witch boots kind of way.
Pop-goth strings crack me up–here’s one for a garden party, Bridgerton style.
A bite of bergamot and green apples, then huge gardenias, the kind my grandmother used to grow, big waxy white flowers with shiny green leaves that took over her living room.
Florence grows that big–one roll on the wrist and it’s all through the house.
I like it better after an hour, when it settles down to light woodsy musk on the skin.