Perfume Reviews by Flakonkrystal

L'Attesa by Masque

I first noticed the Masque Milano line when I did a search for Meo Fusciuni, and found that Giuseppe Imprezzabile had a fragrance for Masque, Luci Ed Ombra. (More on that elsewhere.) But what was this line, "Masque Milano"? I learned that it is a kind of Italian anthology of international perfumery, one scent per "nose," which made my heart surge. Italian perfumery has been my true love--for now; it could soon be Dior or Guerlain or Chanel again. I find it characterized by experimental uses of high quality raw ingredients, for a visceral encounter with plants translated through aromachemicals. Meo Fusciuni is the name of a Sicilian herbalist doctor who founded that house in 2010, and Imprezzabile's fragrances can indeed have a medicinal quality, especially in their opening. I love plants, and medicinal traditions. So I was fascinated to explore the creators Masque was drawing into its Milanese fold. The line was co-founded by Allessandro Brun, who passed away in Spring 2024. For whatever reason, the scents can be had for more lower prices these days than at their launch. A basenoter recently commented to the effect that Imprezzabile was a rank experimenter compared to Luca Maffei, whose creations I had never smelled, and so when I saw Maffei's L'Attesa at Masque Milano being sold in the $80 range, I had to splurge. More accurately, after reading Strangelight's 2023 review (below) of the 2016 fragrance, I felt intuitively that the perfume had been perfectly described, and that I could safely do a blind buy. In a sense, there is no reason for me to say more than "Read the review by Strangelight." But I can add a bit more. My first impression was that it was waxy; then citrussy, with some spice; but almost detergent-y in its complex earthy, powdery, medicinal kind of representation. I realized this was my first real encounter with the almost mythical earthy iris and iris root. I had sprayed it on my hand before bed, but it woke my senses rather than soothing them, and I got back out of bed, and sprayed more. The orris butter has an almost bourbon-like potency. There is a rough grassy floral greenness like an uncultivated summer field, with yeasty edges. But then a clear iris floral note, flanked by the sweetness of ylang ylang, emerges. The waxy, lipstick-like quality, which Masque describes as being like the vinyl of a record playing jazz, is now more of a leathery foundation for these other notes. I find it on the masculine side; for my husband, it was more feminine. This is a vigorous, shapeshifting fragrance that evokes a chance confluence of scents in gardening. My exploratory instincts are aroused and keep active. I do see a slight resemblance to Chanel's 31 Rue Cambon, but the latter, by contrast, seems censored into salon graciousness. The two perfumes L'Atessa most reminds me of, in terms of technique, are both Meo Fusciuni: Viole nere with its woody, parchmenty violet, and Odor 93 for a patchouli so earthy it comes across almost as sasparilla or spearmint on a first sniff. In any case, this is pretty deep experience in a bottle.

Varanasi by Meo Fusciuni

When I sprayed this, I imagined SNL's Father Guido Sarducci saying "Vara nasi" ("very nasty")... For me, it is similar to Bogue MAAI, but where I love the opening of that perfume (even if I have trouble tolerating it subsequently), this one is just a massive challenge, on the order of Areej Le Doré scents. To be worn by total he-men, who can dazzle over the alley cat scent, and even then it might best be sprayed lightly...

Les Heures de Parfum - II L'Heure Convoitée by Cartier

II L'Heure Convoitée (2011), the "anticipated" or "cherished" hour, does what perfume should: it makes one live acutely in an absorbing, searching, rewarding moment of time. Although I have loved L'Heure convoitée since I first received it, it still surprises me every time, because if I sniff the bottle, I'm not sure I want to proceed to spraying and the opening is too bright and fruity for me--a bit sweet. But then, within a minute or two, that deep green clove-y richness settles, and I breathe in deeply. In fact, I usually respray in one spot, like the back of one hand, to be able to maximize the encounter. This kind of spicy green carnation with a restrained violet, in an ambery base, is what I sought in Caron Belladogia but didn't actually find, perhaps due to deterioration of my vintage bottle. But I would say that Belladogia by Ernest Daltroff in 1927 is the model for this, or at least the point of reference, due to the green, spicy clove carnation, and the woody violet, against an ambery background which may be, according to the previous reviewer, Chestnut. This is one of the rare perfumes that I find addictive--once I remember it and spray it, dubiously, once, I am likely to return to it for days. It is, for me, a fortifying scent, like an excellent spicy tea. A favorite among Mathilde Laurent's palatable Proustian forays.

10edt by Bogue Profumo

Bogue fan here. In Bologna I picked up a bottle of "10"--not 10edt--which is likely a new release of the original limited release 10. The bottle is a bit different in its graphics than the one shown here. But this is a muguet-forward scent, with a lot of green, which make come from the listed notes of fig leaves, tagetes, or olibanum. In general, the whole composition specializes in green, bright, citrusy, geranium-sweet notes. It is the least animalic of any Bogue perfume I have smelled, with the civet mostly contributing a kind of dusty vegetal must. The citrus and ylang ylang and bourbon geranium lift up the aromatic and vanilla dimensions of the fragrance to give it an almost "eau fraîche" type summer freshness, even as it exudes a round and grassy calm and depth. Light, complex, noteworthy. Hard to know how it will play in other seasons, but I want all my pores to soak it in and remain imprinted with this sunny plant signature this summer day.

Pour Un Homme Parfum (2024 version) by Caron

There is a new 2024 Caron Pour un homme parfum... And it is spectacular, even as it breaks some implicit rules of perfumery to not overlap directly with aromatherapy. I am just regretting my investment in a small bottle of Jersey by Chanel, which offers a similar Abbaye de Senanque-type lavender field purple pollinating explosion in the opening notes, but then gets awfully sweet, and then fades. This new Pour un homme parfum comes on like the opening of Jersey or like the opening of the Pour un homme EdT, but it stays exactly there. It doesn't move with a thud to the heavy tonka vanilla ambery musk of the original Pour un homme. It barely moves to musk at all, although it does have notes of vanilla and musk (but not tonka or amber). This 2024 Pour un homme parfum by Jean Jacques is a remake of the limited edition 2017 Pour un Homme de Caron by Richard Fraysse. In a evergreen blue/green bottle, the 2024 Pour un homme is so pure on the lavender that it almost evokes a kind of sugar of Maine Pine--it goes a step beyond the intensification of lavender to something different. It is said to contain notes of wild lavender, lavender, and lavender extract. It adds styrax, oppoponax, and Turkish rose to the pared down 4 notes of the 2017 version: Lavendar, musk, vanilla, and amber. It is linear: it does what it does. I first smelled it when someone in the row behind me on a flight spritzed it on just before landing. I am pretty sure I heard the sprayer give a little sigh of pleasure. It struck me as "osé"--a little outrageous--at first because of that pure, almost sugar of lavender scent, and its impermeability, but I also immediately thought that I had to have it. Maybe it is a little outrageous. (I hope it would not give anyone a headache--lavender, like gardenia, is not for everyone, and this is so concentrated that I almost feel it in the back of my throat if I smell a sprayer too long.) It needs the diversity of human skin and endocrine response--I am eager to wear it while sweating, or in icy cold, to make it stir a bit, see if it will budge. It is delicious. Priced in the low 100 dollar range, I expect to smell this instantly recognizable scent frequently... And not just on my wrists and my pillow..

Pour Un Homme Parfum by Caron

There is a new 2024 Caron Pour un homme parfum... And it is spectacular, even as it breaks some implicit rules of perfumery to not overlap directly with aromatherapy. I am just regretting my investment in a small bottle of Jersey by Chanel, which offers a similar Abbaye de Senanque-type lavender field purple pollinating explosion in the opening notes, but then gets awfully sweet, and then fades. This new Pour un homme parfum comes on like the opening of Jersey or like the opening of the Pour un homme EdT, but it stays exactly there. It doesn't move with a thud to the heavy tonka vanilla ambery musk of the original Pour un homme. It barely moves to musk at all, although it does have notes of vanilla and musk (but not tonka or amber). This 2024 Pour un homme parfum by Jean Jacques is a remake of the limited edition 2017 Pour un Homme de Caron by Richard Fraysse. In a evergreen blue/green bottle, the 2024 Pour un homme is so pure on the lavender than it almost evokes a kind of sugar of Maine Pine--it goes a step beyond the intensification of lavender to something different. It is said to contain notes of wild lavender, lavender, and lavender extract. It adds styrax, oppoponax, and Turkish rose to the pared down 4 notes of the 2017 version: Lavendar, musk, vanilla, and amber. It is linear: it does what it does. I first smelled it when someone in the row behind me on a flight spritzed it on just before landing. I am pretty sure I heard the sprayer give a little sigh of pleasure. It struck me as "osé"--a little outrageous--at first because of that pure, almost sugar of lavender scent, and its impermeability, but I also immediately thought that I had to have it. Maybe it is a little outrageous. (I hope it would not give anyone a headache--lavender, like gardenia, is not for everyone, and this is so concentrated that I almost feel it in the back of my throat if I smell a sprayer too long.) It needs the diversity of human skin and endocrine response--I am eager to wear it while sweating, or in icy cold, to make it stir a bit, see if it will budge. It is delicious. Priced in the low 100 dollar range, I expect to smell this instantly recognizable scent frequently... And not just on my wrists and my pillow...

Derwish by Aquaflor

Sileno Cheloni joins the realms of incense spiritualists in this lovely, subtle perfume. The advertising copy for Derwish in the Nobili collection is actually right on target: "Soft mandarin, sacred fumes of incense and myrrh rotate with the profane iris in a whirling dance, in a continuous quest for the Absolute. Vanilla and musk envelop the base notes in a white robe. Derwish is a pure perfume, light as a puff." The idea of motion, the whirling dervish, has a certain plausibility in that, especially at the opening, one does inhale the beauty of the different notes, the churchy incense and resinous smoke, and the serene beauty of the vanilla musk and mandarin, in whirls. Like Pathos by Aquaflor, to which Derwish could be a sibling, Derwish is exceptionally wearable. It is not a skin scent, but could, to people around you, smell like the utterly appealing scent of your own clean skin.

Sogni by Meo Fusciuni

2023 was a big year for Giuseppe Imprezzabile at Meo Fusciuni, with Sogni and Viole Neri, both of which are standouts of innovation. Sogni, which means "Dreams" (compare "Sueño"), is such a pleasant and wearable scent that I misinterpreted it as ordinary and made the mistake of not buying it at a perfume store in Bologna, going instead for the more arresting Odor 93. But I got a sample of Sogni, applied it before a long and hellacious travel day, and Sogni proved to be one of the best perfume experiences of my life. (Longevity is impressive; sillage is not "in your face," but is quite active; projection is potent in the first minutes and then becomes "just right.") I couldn't identify the slightly sweet top notes, which act like florals, but are predominantly rice, tatami, and pine. (There is peony, the lone floral in this woody, grainy, amber.) I could say that it smells like a dream of Japan, but although I do have nostalgic memories of Japan, I don't think I can quite say that, although the rice and tatami notes are becoming more palpable to me with each wearing. To me, Sogni is a velvety breath of fresh forest air, and a kind of royal translation of florals into other notes of the sweetness of the world, of living. It is just exactly right--it nails it--for the world's inherent sweetness to accompany in my journey, right on my skin. A room where one might sleep, with that animal gift for circadian activity and stillness alike, which the weft of the tatami might illustrate. Green tea that one might pour and offer. Pines that might breathe with us, and add their architecture to the roofline. So many woods one could lose oneself in their grains and hues. The incense of silence. The salesman in Italy presented this and Odor 93 as "pensivo," pensive scents. The vetiver and tobacco create the slightest boundary to the dream. It just smells so good; it is a touchstone.

Miss Dior (2024 version) by Christian Dior

P.S. I got a used 2005 bottle of Miss Dior Chérie, and was very surprised to find that it is remarkably similar to 2024 Miss Dior. Slightly less sweet and humid, but otherwise, Miss Dior Chérie could have been the MFK prototype for a little tweak. So I had to kind of eat my words in my review--there is a clear genealogy with a respected fruity floral Miss Dior flanker.

Contrary to numerous online reviews to the effect that this mass market designer perfume is not just a mass market designer perfume, and that smart international professional women are fighting over who gets to show it off as their signature scent, Miss Dior 2024 does have the character of a mass market designer perfume. It is moderately gourmand, fruity (strawberry, apricot, mandarin, and peach), with an undercurrent of amberwood that saves it from smelling like lipgloss. It is a balanced, synthetic, fruity-floral amber. It is, for me, more pleasant than some J'adore flankers, and probably smells pretty good when smelled next to the average mass market fruit-laden restrained gourmand scent, which is why I am giving it a neutral, while laughing bitterly inside. I personally cannot trace the slightest genealogical link to earlier versions of the chypre Miss Dior, although technically "Moss" is a basenote here. It has been compared to Absolutely Blooming, Coco Mademoiselle, and Burberry Black, as well as to MFK hairspray. I retested this before showering.

Jersey Eau de Parfum by Chanel

When I first tried Jersey, at the Marais Chanel boutique in Paris, I found it a bit insipid, and passed on it without hesitation. Then I fell for the opening notes, which reminded me of the fabulous opening notes of Caron "Pour un homme." After a comparison of the two, I realized that Jersey was far smoother, with quite an array of diverse notes, but no jarring edges. I bought it when I realized that for me there is a peppery green note--perhaps what is listed as "grass"?--and also that it shares a couple qualities with Guerlain's L'Heure bleue. As with L'Heure bleue, I get a slight, pleasing/perplexing playdough savoryness, and also the comfort of a baking scent. The lavender in Jersey is quite caramelized. I suspect that this scent benefits hugely from being worn in summer. I will have no problem with that! It works well for me to spray it a couple times in the same spots for depth, to avoid having it dissipate into a cashmere calm.

À Fleur de Pêche by L'Artisan Parfumeur

This 2023 L'Artisan Parfumeur scent by Antoine Maisondieu reflects the side of that house that I like the most, although it is not common across its offerings: deep, unctuous scents. I thought at first that A Fleur de pêche was also from the Explosion d'émotions line, in which I love "Rappelle-toi"--a woody musk featuring tropical gardenia+, wears like the musky hug of a fresh tropical bouquet--but it is not. Rappelle-toi is by Bernard Duchaufour. A Fleur de pêche by Maisondieu is also notably unisex, through the patchouli / jasmin accord. The name of the perfume is a pun on the expression "A fleur de peau," "sensitive," or even "thin-skinned," but the "peau" is replaced with "peach," so perhaps suggesting the thin skin of a peach, with all the fragrance lurking below. But the peach here is a topnote, and it is subtle--thoroughly mediated by the jasmin and patchouli. It is the opposite of a skin scent--there is a melodious, almost clairion quality. Yet it is kind of like peach being actively erased by contrasting notes, you never get it directly, the skin of the peach doesn't open. I really wanted peach in this scent, that it why I ordered the decant, but now I can't stop sniffing. Elegant, reserved, but smoothly shining, deep. It gives me a lot of curiosity about the work of Antoine Maisondieu.

Gold Watan by Anfass

First of all, there are two minimally different varieties of Watan by Anfas: Watan, and Gold Watan. The bottle of Watan is clear in color (and of a magnificent shape and heaviness), and the bottle of Gold Watan is ornately gilded or painted in different gold hues and shapes. I have compared the two pretty extensively, through a store testing and a sample of Watan, and a decant of Watan Gold. For me, Watan is preferable: I find that it is milder on a first spray, but it then blooms with more potency, a sequence which is subtly reversed with Gold Watan. Mostly though, Gold Watan is to my nose a bit more masculine, for reasons I have trouble identifying, except for a slightly rough quality. This is why I chose to purchase Watan, and I am very happy with my choice: but the difference is subtle. This 2019 fragrance by Asim Al Qassim is top heavy with Agarwood and Labdanum: there is a delectably deep whiff of non-synthetic oud on the opening, with a sweetness that comes from the stink, if you will forgive the expression. The scent is non-linear, a shape shifter. A woody, leathery, toasty, earthy, peppery warmth emerges, apparently from Nagarmotha, with a slight hint of cinnamon bark. It continues to hit ever more dulcet notes, and there is a third phase that I don't love because it smells more classically gourmand. But subsequently, the sweetness fades and the oud is unveiled again. The gourmand quality is often described as being caramelly, but it is more organic, spicy, and strange than caramel. One of the few gourmands I want to keep smelling: there is so much to smell! I have worn this to the gym and enjoyed slight whiffs of this complicated sweetness, which I hope means that this will also be pretty wearable in summer.

Les Rivières de Cartier - Luxuriance by Cartier

Luxuriance, in the "Rivières" series by Mathilde Laurent at Cartier, is, to my nose, a singular fragrance, simultaneously appealing and disturbing. Technically a fougère, I think, due to the fern note, the green notes and citrus bloom powerfully on first application. But then, I swear to god, I get a whiff of salty fried shrimp. This is obviously an idiosyncratic association, but I have tried two samples and one travel spray, and the experience has been remarkably uniform each time. For me, then, unless one is talking about the Mississippi, this would more accurately be a "Port" scent--a rocky coast with ferns, moss, spicy shrubs, and a seafood shack on the dock, with that slight salty fried shrimp smell carried on the breeze. Waves lap softly near the mounds of ropy nets and the tarry ground around the mooring bollards. Piles of seaweed are partly submerged, partly baking, around the rocks to the side of the nearby sandy inlet. What is creating this olfactory scene in my mind? Mastic (or lentisque), a fresh balsamic note with turpentine nuances; geranium, rosemary, oak, and, of all things, pistachio, round out this odd bouquet. But I love perfumes that perform rather than adorn. I am luxuriating in this oddness.

Madame Rochas (original) by Rochas

If Rochas Femme and Mitsouko were singing in a chorus, Rochas Femme would be alto, and Mitsouko would be mezzo-soprano. (And by contrast, Chanel N 19 would be soprano tessitura.) The apricot, plum, and immortelle bring out the smoothness of honey in the ylang ylang in Rochas Femme, while Mitsouko's bergamot and labdanum bring out a highly articulated resinous green structure. Both unite that damp mossy chypre with clove and the heartbreaking, juicy, open vulnerability of peach. There are moments where Rochas Femme seems to me to go a bit modest, to play a supporting role, where Mitsouko aspires to solo prominence. But in the vintage parfum de toilette format, there is significant harmony between Femme and Mitsouko. I suspect that Femme would be easier to wear in the close seating of an audience. For me, Femme has a certain kindred relation to my best vintage of Guerlain Vol de nuit, also, in a certain quality I think of as "nutty." Thrillingly beautiful. Please note that I may have this review in the wrong category: this may be a contemporary Parfum de toilette of Rochas Femme, as I see it sold at minimal prices at online stores--if so, amazing contemporary version of a classic.

Mayotte / Mahora by Guerlain

I have always liked Mahora, especially in the drydown. I think it is the only perfume I have where a slight coconut roundness overlaps with orris butter and ylang ylang to create a soft cloud. The frangipani and tuberose marry beautifully, but what I love is the sense of timelessness in that softness, like an exotic flower blooming far from human eyes, far from harvests.

Les Épures de Parfum - Pure Rose by Cartier

The 2021 "Rose pure" by Mathilde Laurent is a fragrance that I would rather spray on a tester strip than on my skin, because the opening is so stunning that I want to make it happen again and again. The greenness is a force field, twirling in space as one wonders, green grass? Rain on grass? Pollen-soaked earth after a spring rain? Fallen fruit fermenting on the wet ground? That greenness, vaguely sour, set in a sunny warmth, with the deep geranium-tilted rose, perfectly mimics for me the experience of stopping on the sidewalk to smell a neighbor's rose bush on a day of ecstatic spring. One suspends thought to simply breathe in the gift of the moment, of spring as fertility, as plant invitations to amorous exchange.
Subsequently, it becomes a bit too much, well, pure rose, for me, reminding me of rose perfumes I smelled on older relatives or neighbors as a child. I suspect the sillage would be outstanding, however, because when I wave the tester strip, the whole olfactory plunge into the sunny dew on the small leaves of the rose bush as the ground heats up begins anew. It almost makes one wonder, "Why bother with perfume, when there are roses?"

Les Heures Voyageuses - Oud & Ambre by Cartier

I don't find Oud & Ambre very similar to Grand soir, with its outreach to the contemporary craving for quick gourmand enchantment, but rather to Chanel's moody Le Lion. But where Le Lion roars a bit, this lion rests with paws crossed by the gnarled tree with its precious rot, the last rays of sun illuminating its anomalously splendid mane. Oud & Ambre reads to me as very masculine for the first half hour, before a gorgeous buttery, almost boozy wood surfaces. If this were cuisine, we would be stirring intensely reduced stock in a large copper pot, seeing it coat the spoon with dark velvet, before pouring some into a small pot to add cognac, butter, cream, and salt. The oud is unmistakably present, with a hint of ambergris, but the emergence of a savory buttery aura is remarkable. I wasn't immediately sure about this for my own wardrobe, but the longer it sits, the more I can't resist smelling my hand.
A puzzle: Why are so many oud perfumes named as just a list of ingredients? The ampersand in Oud & Ambre, and the other names in the "Les Heures voyageuses" series, simply makes them harder to type into search fields. Without adding the name "Cartier," the series is difficult to locate. This is much more than the sum of these two parts, oud and amber.

Dior Dior by Christian Dior

My visceral response to heavy aldehydes is often a cringing "Don't hurt me." In the most egregious cases of aldehyde offense strategy in perfumery, I get a momentary sharp feeling in my teeth. It has always struck me as odd that aldehydes and florals together get coded as "grandmother" perfumes. Would that be the wolf-grandmother in Little Red Riding Hood? I could swear that 20th century perfumery was influenced by Freud's ideas of the Oedipus complex, and the castrating woman, who smells, erotically, sharp as the blade of a knife. But in the 1976 Dior Dior, I go over the aldehyde cliff into a waterfall down which I slide into a honeyed pool, surrounded by flinty mica-shining rocks, padded moss-covered ground, and the secret scents of the sun-filtered dense forest and forest floor. My senses both relax and keen for more. It is a small miracle that jasmin binds here to the softer floral scents and creates a halo of sharp gold. It's like the scene in "O Brother, Where Art Thou" where the sirens sing of "Honey in the rock and the sugar don't stop" as they wring out filmy white laundry in the bubbly spring. "You and me and the devil makes three.... Go to sleepy little baby..."

MAAI by Bogue Profumo

Dancing closely with a lithe, muscular man, who knew how to make every movement guided and sensual, lightly touching his cheek against mine, under the deco glass and metal roof of a turn of the century dance hall in the Caribbean. One could easily mistake the suspension of time in that absolutely nurtured, followed, tender alignment of movement for a coup de foudre, quickening against the throbbing of the music, the warming of our skin. The dance partner's clean, comforting scent, with vivid, almost sour elements of green, and an edge of civety, incensey musk, makes you lean closer to his neck. You don't need to dance at all, he dances to make your latent rhythm come to life. But this is too close. The gleam of his eyes looking questioningly into yours is both hypnotic and alarming. You need to breathe. You laugh, and slow, and thank him as you break away from that masterful, graceful embrace. I couldn't believe, on sniffing Maai on a test strip, that one of the most intimate if fleeting moments of my life was unfurling like a film from the notes.

Noir Exquis by L'Artisan Parfumeur

I found my travel spray of Noir exquis at the bottom of a work drawer in my office. Obviously, if you are scrambling for a scent experience to brighten the afternoon and you find a slim tube of amber gourmand with coffee notes that you bought in Paris, you are going to give it a huge amount of extra credit. Eureka... However, I will note that this scent does not present as original. It is beautifully agreeable, but a bit more like an A+ from an advanced perfumery course (as I imagine it) than as a work of genius. It is a cozy, melded scent, and has been compared to "By the Fireside" and to scented candles (although it is not a waxy scent). To me it overlaps just a bit with Mugler Angel. There are no jarring notes as in the coffee-inspired Angel Men. It is a bit difficult to discern individual notes of orange, chestnut, etc. here. But it is delightful...

Lavande de Mury by Mury

The perfume house Mury in France originated, according to an article on Cleopatra's Boudoir, in a North African essential oils company, Henri Muraour, dating as far back as 1789. The house of Mury, at 17 rue du Rocher in the 8th arrondissement of Paris, was founded in 1917, with other branches in Algiers (Algeria), and Grasse, France. The Mury line with its distinctive slim octagonal glass bottles was listed as going out of business in 1930, although it continued as on offshoot of Muraour Freres and Parfums Nissery. The Lavender perfume, called Lavande de Mury, dates to 1920. Other perfumes produced by Mury include Patricia, Notturno, Rose de Mae, and Narcisse Blue. Lavande is a true unicorn. My bottle contains a dark brown liquid, with a short-lived rich, concentrated lavender with hints of what to my nose could be plum and cocoa, but are most likely the effects of time. It is difficult to achieve a rich lavender, and difficult to distinguish that scent from time itself.

Genghis Khan by Marc de la Morandiere

My husband initially savored the notes of Gengis Khan with keen interest, but after wearing it to work, said it was too much like something a teen would wear in the 70s or 80s. It is, as others have remarked, a familiar though niche scent. I find it clear as a bell, to an unusual extent, with citrus and absinthe and juniper and sandalwood pealing like churchbells. As a woman, I would happily wear it on a hot and sticky day (of which we have many where I live), but for the moment, in more chilly weather, I am doing something I rarely do and using it as a layer over "flavored" or gourmand scents. It blends pretty seamlessly and makes something like Akro Awake, with its stubborn and stale deep coffee scent, kind of lift off. I only did that on my left wrist, and that one is elegant, with a hint of gourmand that makes one sniff more deeply, while my right wrist is just that adorable/objectionable Akro coffee all the way. As I sniff the layering of Gengis Khan on my left, I'm cognizant that Creed Original Santal, for which I have a weakness, has a faint echo in the beautiful, more subtle sandalwood in Genis Khan. This stubby black urn is going on my vanity.

Aziyadé by Parfum d'Empire

I get a powerful hay (Chergui-like) and fresh spice accord in Aziyadé. Apparently this perfume is named after the eponymous heroine of Pierre Loti's novel Aziyadé. The novel is set mostly in a harem at the end of the Ottomon Empire, and the heroine Aziyadé is initially a hero--so this is a gender-bending historical romance in which the spice trail, tropical fruits, amber, vanilla, and musk create an effect of daring, subversive intimacy and decadence. At the same time, however, like other Marc-Antoine Corticchiato scents, it has a light quality, and is not completely unified as a composition, which can feel playful, or non-linear, or not quite cooked as a composition. I like it!

Timbuktu by L'Artisan Parfumeur

First off, that karo karounde flower is overpowering. Only kidding, I have no idea what part of this scent equation is represented by that note. What I do smell in L'Artisan parfumeur Timbuktu is dusty red earth, dried reed-like grasses, scrubby trees with fragrant needles, and incense drifting from the wooden entrance to a mud brick building. I smell something in between parchment and the low fire burning under skins hung to dry. I "smell" the deepest indigo blue worn by the Tuareg in Gao, not too far from Timbuktu, a place I had the immense privilege to visit on a work trip. I will never forget the triangles of faces with dramatic eyes, sometimes clear blue, between the deep blue turbans and robes. I was not familiar with the tradition of "Wusulan" that inspired Bertrand Duchaufour in his own travels to Mali, secrets of perfumery passed from mother to daughter for seduction and true love. Wusulan, made from vetiver, frankincense, and jacaranda among other ingredients is used primarily as incense to keep love focused on the home. For me, this "green" perfume is the hem of an indigo robe floating just over the terra cotta dust under a sky so blue it shouts, and people stay mute.