From the 4711 Acqua Colonia line–
All the fruity citrus breakfast brunch drinks (garnished with parsley) in an instant spritz, and I love it.
The peach dries to powder in five minutes, and the green coriander lingers for another ten, and then it’s gone with no residue, leaving one refreshed in that magical burst that only 4711 has.
Beck is also magically refreshing.
Honeysuckle nectar and lilac and more honey, then a mouthful of cherry and lily-of-the-valley cream, but always the pervasive tropical green note that is the Zoologist trademark.
Sits a few inches above the skin for several hours, but it’s too sweet for me.
This cover of Leon Russell’s Hummingbird (made famous by BB King) is also sweet but much less flighty–
This one bombs an apple orchard with flowers–exploding petals everywhere–big fat magnolias, roses, white lilies, orange blossoms, ylang ylang, tons of neroli.
White musk takes over after fifteen minutes with a metallic edge that somehow cheapens the flowers, like a vase made from aluminum, then everything fades to a lick of ambergris on the skin.
I’d like it more as a candle.
I dreamed of a pilgrimage to Monet’s waterlily garden, like all impressionable teenage art students–
I got a sample set of 4711 Acqua Colonia and I’m having so much fun with these clever and quick little splashes–I grew up on the original.
This one is bright–a soap-bubble pop of herbal cleansing that finishes with brisk citrus.
The basil sticks pleasantly to cotton for several hours after the orange is long gone.
More Blood Orange pleasant herbal-pop cleverness–
The cedar and amber make for a very stony accord, and the nutmeg takes it even earthier, though in a very refined, almost preserved, way. (And it does last forever, a few inches above the skin.)
It’s not very exciting, but would pair well with a men’s blue suit.
Some more woodsy blues–
Opens feminine, ylang-ylang sweet prom corsage, then nutmeg and carnation bouquets–
–but after an hour it turns masculine. Pepper and cloves dirty up the soapy pinks and give it bite, close to the skin, for another hour.
It’s suave and sporty, in a summer afternoon crisp linen shirt kind of way.
I love this wistful summery afternoon song– this February has been dull and gray here.
TokyoMilk No. 33 opens with poisoned alcohol, that metallic knife edge of distillation fumes called “the angels’ share.”
Dusty bruised apples roll in fast, brown sugar and rose–nice, but on me soon get lost in the forest green notes–and end in bittersweet musk.
A fairy-tale step-mother perfume.
Movie soundtrack videos are usually kind of meh, but this one is fun.