Lots of wet citrus in the beginning, loud and bright and cheerful.
Orange–the fresh first pull of peel–slowly settles down to bergamot tea, poured over ice.
An hour later there’s some woods with a hit of salt, like driftwood in the sun. Patchouli comes in at the bottom, a bit of smoke over water on the skin, and lingers for the afternoon.
This one is young at heart, but she’s got grace.
Hermès used a snippet of this audio art in the ad–but the whole thing deserves a listen.
Sweet soapy sandalwood and senior English Lit class, prom carnations and packed bleacher musk.
I wore this at seventeen, with pleated stonewashed jeans and my grandfather’s Stetson Stratoliner à la Molly Ringwald.
Three decades later and it still holds up, an affordable and cheerful Chanel knock-off with riper peaches at the end.
Guitars, Cadillacs, Etc., Etc. came out the same year, in 1986, and we all swooned over the album cover. Here’s a great cover of my favorite Dwight Yoakam tune, that came out almost ten years later.
A messy bouquet of flowers, the kind you’d hand pick as a child and bring home to your mum. Wildflowers crowd in with lilies, spills of wisteria, a stray carnation, a random rose from the neighbor’s yard, yet vague–no single bloom stands out as the star.
Awkwardly maternal, in a “Very nice, dear,” kind of way.
Another awkwardly maternal one that came out in 1984. I remember desperately wanting that silver and black dress.
Capucine means nasturtium in French–I grew them in my little garden when I was a girl–and there’s a hit of that weird woody spice note at the opening.
Mostly though, I get fancy tea-shop–jasmine oolong and marzipan cakes–and dusty bakery musk in the air, with fresh roses on the cafe tables.
The dry-down lasts close to the skin all afternoon, a gorgeous elusive vanilla, with an Alice-in-Wonderland vibe–ruffles and cookies and riddles.
This sweet little song was a huge chart topper in France the same year.
I like blood oranges, and this is a nice ripe one.
Opens with a bright hit of sweet juice then settles to peel, with a breath of green underneath. Sits two inches above the wrist for an hour or two, then fades to candied citron and sandalwood on the skin.
It’s a little pricey for the lack of longevity and projection, but maybe not for a citrus aficionado.
Blood Orange is amazing and this video is a giggle. The costumes are brilliant–I keep wondering what scents they all might be wearing–
TokyoMilk #06
The blackest richest dirt, and polished exotic coffin woods, vanilla sweet flowers to cover the scent of death—-but then it lingers for a while at a distance, ethereal with a breath of incense ash and mystery.
My not-so-inner goth-girl finds this utterly lovely.
How sweet is this song?!
“Fresh and sensual” according to the tagline, but I get grapefruit pith and greenhouse at first spray, then it settles into vetiver an inch or two above the skin for an hour.
Oddly dated, but pleasant–it’s how I’d imagine the interior of an old VW bug that’s been decomposing in a retired philosophy professor’s back yard would smell like–full of weeds and nostalgia.
This scent was supposed to be inspired by Haiti. I don’t really feel that, but the closest I’ve been was Jamaica, and it smelled like bus fumes and curry.
Twa Fey (Three Leaves) is a very special Haitian folk song–this is a gorgeous version by Emeline Michel.
This one should come with a warning: a little bit goes a loooong way.
Miles.
Leagues.
Frothy aldehydic opening, mimosa sweet–the whole blooming tree, not just one flower. Then the cat spray hits–make that three cats, two toms fighting over a queen–though the roses and patchouli do their best to drown them out.
After a few hours, moss creeps in and covers everything under the roses–everything–your skin, your house, your neighborhood–turning them into herbal topiary sculptures that cast weird spicy green rose-shaped shadows until the sun goes down.
Except they’re there the next day. And the next. You can’t outrun this stuff. It laughs at hot showers, goes swimming in the laundry, dances under the garden hose.
Please send help.
Knowing came out in 1988, along with Enya’s Orinoco Flow. A little of that goes a long way, too. Here’s the shortest cover I could find.
Classy soap powder.
Aldehydes and lilac with some sweetness, settling into soft floral sandalwood that lasts all day long, just within personal space.
There’s a retro middle-class “cleanliness is next to godliness” vibe to it, laundered and starched and proper.
Sometimes I put a drop on the dryer sheet when I wash bedding.
Dog and Butterfly first came out in 1978, too.
A long sweet lemony opening, with black currant herb tea, and then birch bark. The pine needles develop an hour later, woodsy green but sugary, the way a forest smells after snow.
Lasts the morning on the wrist, and on the cuffs all day.
It’s swanky, in an understated way–clean projection but mouth watering up close–and makes me look forward to winter.
Måns Zelmerlöw, of Swedish Eurovision fame, released this cheerful tune in 2016, too.
kira a. gold 