Big generic vanilla that chews up all the almonds and covers up the floral tonka mush. Grubby amber on the bottom makes it stiff and unyielding.
Dido’s White Flag came out in 2003–another female English hit, but with better staying power and more sweetness.
Manly herbaceous man who fashionably needs to shave goes on a date, and he cleans up rather nice in his vanilla dress shirt.
Lavender and good manners on top, apple wood and patchouli on the bottom.
Still not over it.
Berries, licorice, patchouli and vanilla.
This is DKNY’s version of Angel Eau Sucree, sadly without the tawdry lace underwear.
It’s too clean, too cute–stripped of the dirty punchline it just giggles rather than giving a seductive wink.
Sticks to the skin for the first half of the evening, but not the clothes.
Be Tempted can only wish it were this tempting.
The peelie gives me vanilla plums and creamy coffee, with some purple flowers tucked in there.
I’d look for a bottle, but I’ve still got half a Midnight Fantasy left, a few samples of Moonlight, minis of Black Tulip and Belle de Nuit to finish and a fresh J’adore, and maybe I’m a bit tired of the steady diet of prunes, y’know?
Here’s another Fever, without plums.
I’m horribly intimidated by people who worship at the altar of Guerlain.
They say, “Mitsuoko, a classic of the genre,” and “L’Heure Bleue is my universal reference,” in reverent tones. I nod silently and try to look discerning while hoping my Lolita Lempicka or LUSH holds against my nervous sweat.
I keep trying Shalimar–vintage bottles and new–and sometimes it’s cedar sawdust and vanilla powder, and sometimes it’s leathery old lemons and oddly sweet turpentine.
I’ve just never gotten a “feel” for the stuff. It lasts forever on the skin, projects like mad, and reminds everybody else of somewhere, some time, or someone, but I’ve never understood the magic.
Everything wonderful is in there–a citrus opening, earthy rose and patchy iris in the middle, smoke and civet and balsam on the bottom–but there’s never that gestalt moment when the scent becomes more than the sum of its parts.
So I keep sniffing it, hoping for the a-ha understanding, when my novice schnozz graduates to full-on fragonista, capital-N-Nose, and maybe I will see the light that is Guerlain.
Shalimar was introduced in 1925, when Paris was overrun with American jazz and the années folles of art and entertainment following the Great War.
Gershwin hit Europe with Rhapsody in Blue that same year.
This father-son duo do a great piano arrangement.
Toasted caramel, baked berries and vanilla cream. A hit of roses keeps it from being too cloying.
It’s a step above a Yankee Candle Bakewell Tart, but one I’d put in the Scentsy warmer rather than wear.
Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab blends are hit or miss for me–but the quality of the oils is always good.
Vanilla amber and marshmallow-y musk.
Maybe there’s some almonds in there, too.
It’s okay, but not anything that can’t be found at Victoria’s Secret or Bath and Body Works.
I’ve sort of fallen in love with Pomplamoose. They’re a husband and wife team who’ve made a name for their transparent (what you see is what you get–no post production mixing) cover works online. Here’s another less quiet Another Day.
Soooo much better than the first draft.
The sad Earl Grey sachet is now bright bergamot zest, the pale cream made into sweet vanilla custard, and the rose is a full bouquet of long stemmed high teas.
Sandalwood and tonka add warmth and spice, and if the musk were a little more sheer, I’d buy it by the quart.
(The backup ladies absolutely steal this cover!)
There’s a pun here, because it opens with a breath of incense, like a burning vanilla bean–
Then it settles to the skin with a sheer dry cedar-y vanilla warmed by amber, and slowly fades to nothing.
I wish it had better performance–I’d love it on the artist with rough hands who eats from bowls they’ve made and has a houseful of rescue dogs.
Here’s more Vanille, with Follow the Sun.
This is what you wind up smelling like when you’ve been attacked in Bath & BodyWorks by the associate wielding Warm Vanilla Sugar, and you try to wash it off in their dinky sink with something that promises to be perfume-free but isn’t.
Here’s another “Skin.” Much sweeter, and twice as sultry.