Midnight Violet
Ava Luxe

Probably the crown jewel in my collection, this 15 ml sample I bought over a decade ago. It has sat in the closet a long time. I wear it once every couple of years.

Perhaps because I was early in my fragrance journey when I bought it - before I started disliking notes like violet and iris, disliking powderiness, gravity and weight, I have a deep affection for it.

This scent lasts two days on my skin, and several hours into the wearing, is when it truly starts to radiate with the luminous mystique other writers here refer to. Wearing this, I feel like I am buried up to my neck in damp earth surrounded by forest and rocks and branches, the landscape suffused in that divine ultraviolet moment of twilight

Midnight Violet is a unicorn scent – long discontinued due to the loss of a key component and rendered a real rarity in the stinkosphere as the result. What conversation does exist is mostly positive, and the scent's often name-dropped in “best of violet” lists with a sheepish “good luck finding any” disclaimer attached. Those who do own a bottle (or even a vial it seems) keep it well guarded, but a friend was kind enough to send me a couple of ml so I could sniff what is supposed to be the holy grail violet.

To cut to the chase, it is very good, but it's also very indie – meaning that it doesn't reflect some act of technical virtuosity. Furthermore, it's not a realistic depiction of violet, nor is the violet well lit. It is, however, a plush, ambery, earthy scent threaded through with a hyper-goth purple floral. There's a sharp green note up top, but it doesn't contribute much and appears to burn off right away. The “violet” doesn't smell like standard ionone-driven violets, leaning closer to chalky parma violets than anything cosmetic. I'd consider it more of a violet conceit – almost like a hushed version of Memoir Woman's floral incense. The accord is dark and durable, but it's hard to tell where the violet ends and the rest of the scent begins. What undergirds it is a base that hovers between an oriental and a vintage chypre – a lot of moss, quite a bit of pencil-cedar (that shows up on paper but not skin), and a subliminal amber that I suspect contains actual ambergris. While the moss, cedar, and amber components are synced, they smother the floral too forcefully. Therefore, I'm not inclined to say that the scent's well balanced, but I think any imbalance is intentional in that it's a dark, earthy take on a violet that's been buried six feet under. In that sense, it works very well.

But what stands out to me the most is the effect produced. The scent has a druggy, hypnotic feel to it – a visceral quality that most likely stems from components that caused the scent to disappear. I suspect that there's an authentic musk involved, some vanillic ambergris, or perhaps a generous dose of a heady, spendy floral fixatives. For as earthy as the moss spins it, the scent wears buoyantly and never feels oppressive. So, while I don't consider it to be the be-all end-all of violet perfumes simply because the violet is so muted, it's a delightfully histrionic affair – the kind of scent that should probably come with its own fainting couch. For anyone mourning its loss, I would turn to Neil Morris' Gotham (which is surprisingly similar in theme and effect) and Sonoma Scent Studio's Wood Violet (which, to me, smells like a rectified version of the same concept). What I love most about Midnight Violet is what I love most about well-done indie perfumery – the bridging of perfume history with an arty sensibility and the clever use of beautiful, rare components. Although it's unlikely that I'll find one, I'll be keeping my nose to the ground for a full bottle.

I grew up in south-central Minne"soe"ta, where the culture is heavily Scandinavian (as is my heritage). There we put our groceries in a 'bayg' and finish as many sentences as we can with 'you know'. For the most part we speak softly, and therefore there is a certain group of Americans whose speech we find rather 'grating'. I won't say who, but they tend to talk too loud, too much, and without properly pronunciating their 'R's'. Midnight Violet opens in a similar fashion-it's a little grating. It stays this way for over two hours before reluctantly settling down and becoming a better conversationalist. This is when I get the warmer, earthier woody tones, which to my nose smells like orris root. It seems like the more time you spend with this the better it gets (you could say it ‘wears' on you). The sharp, woody florals during the drydown are downright endearing; but it can't compensate for the persisten off-note that keeps this fragrance from finding its rhythm. This is not a bad violet; it's just not one I fell in love with. I think it would be better if the supporting notes were less loud, you know?

I agree with all reviews here that this is one of the best by Ava Luxe. I've never sampled a darker or more aggressive violet that this one. I think this would smell wonderful on anyone, it's a true unisex scent.

A complex ,balsamic dark perfume of violets and damp earth. The name is very fitting. This is beautiful in the extrait form and is tenacious. This is one of the most beautiful violet perfumes I have used. Gothically romantic and definitely unisex. A winner for Ava Luxe.

Earthy, complex, dark: a vision of black violets growing in a discarded rubber tire. It evokes a place from a strange dream. This is not a perfume for women only, it's very unisex. I think this is Ava Luxe's greatest achievement.