Portos Balenciaga-Review

I have written, re-written, deleted, and started over this review so many times I've lost count. How can I be expected to describe a cologne that captures everything I ever wanted in a fragrance, and then throws in a healthy dose of leather and beaver glands-just because? I could describe the notes, but it wouldn't come close to evoking what Portos does on the body. If you were looking for a classic example of something that doesn't sound appealing on paper but is mind blowing in person, this is it.

Just look at the marketing in the advertisement above. Even in 1980 he'd have looked like a complete twat. I might be projecting because I grew up around people like that (Thanks, Highland Park!) but I know if I'd seen the ad before buying the bottle, I might not have. I guess it was just lucky that I blind bought it without any preconceptions.

Oh what a bottle of magic this is. There's leather, and then there's, Leather. This is the latter. The magic is how it starts off biker jacket and finishes Hermes handbag, or at least what I imagine an Hermes handbag smells like because they don't let people like me shove their noses inside expensive handbags. Maybe an Hermes handbag that carries around a pet beaver instead of one of those fashionable teacup Chihuahuas. Yeah, that's probably closer because as great as the leather notes in Portos are, there's no getting around the beaver in the room handbag. I appreciate that castoreum is divisive for both ethical and olfactory reasons, and perhaps that's what killed Portos as it is long discontinued*. More likely it was just too much of everything for most people. I'm not most people.

Portos was launched in 1980 but if you're expecting Kouros or similar, forget it. Portos would be better classed with the 1970s. Despite the heavy-hitting notes like leather, castoreum and patchouli, there's enough vetiver, carnation and cedar to keep it elegant. By the 80s that sort of finesse gave way to throwing everything in the lab at a perfume. Portos is intense in the first few minutes, but it settles in and becomes better behaved, though don't expect it to go anywhere. At a minimum this one is sticking around for 8 hours-days if you sprayed it on clothing. Sprayed it on synthetic material? You'll be smelling it through several washes. I have a vintage silky men's Dior dressing gown (bought it for Danny but he said he wouldn't be caught dead in it, so I kept it) that positively reeks in Portos now as it is my evening fragrance of choice. I'm guessing no amount of laundering will ever liberate it from the fibres and that seems appropriate.

A little goes a very long way, kids. I'm not kidding. Don't even think  of wearing this splashed on your palms and applied like an aftershave. Really, don't. If you think a teenaged boy over-applying Axe/Lynx is the worst possible thing you could endure, Portos can go from magical to maniacal in one drop too many. Treat it cautiously, and you'll be rewarded with one of the greatest fragrances ever created. I warned you.

I understand why Portos was marketed as a men's fragrance, but I do think today it is perfectly unisex, provided you're not a fan of sweet, fruity, candy floss fragrances. If you wear La Vie est Belle, Portos isn't going to be something you'll enjoy. If you like Bandit, Cabochard, or Azuree, it will be a better match. Again, apply it lightly the first time as it is hard to scrub off. What kind of man could wear Portos? Probably every single one except Hamptons Hal in the ad who would probably want something more expensive to impress people.

Notes according to Fragrantica:
Galbanum, artesmisia, coriander, bergamot, caraway, vetiver, carnation, jasmine, geranium, cedar, patchouli, labdanum, musk, oakmoss, incense, myrhh, castoreum, and leather.

Notes according to Goody:
Studio 54, Expensive handbag, large dam-building rodent, and my rodeo-loving uncle (whose cowboy boots were always peeking out from under his judge's robes)- I'm pretty sure he didn't wear Portos, but could have.

As it is now discontinued and difficult to find, I would encourage you to get a decant before spending a small fortune on it as there's a good chance you might find it too strong. For me, Portos was instant love, and is easily one of a handful of fragrances I couldn't bear the thought of being without. I wish they'd bring it back, but I know it will never happen.

* Castoreum is used to scent tobacco, and is also found in artificial flavourings like vanillan and strawberry. It is often listed as, "Natural flavouring" for obvious reasons. We're all probably consuming beaver glands without knowing it. Makes drinking a coffee brewed from civet shit a lot less awful sounding. Well, maybe not.

Aquarius by Max Factor-Review

This is the dawning of the age of asparagus, age of asparagus, asparagussssss....

I've had my eye on this fragrance since the early 70's, but only recently got round to purchasing a bottle. I won it for three dollars on ebay, which was quite the deal given the crazy amounts of cash people will part with for this not terribly exciting fragrance. Never underestimate the power of nostalgia, I guess. Aquarius launched in the 60's, as did I! And I'm an Aquarius. Obviously, I needed it. I'm sort of amazed no one bought me a bottle when it was current, as I pretty much drove every member of my family mad playing the soundtrack from Hair, over and over.

"Hey baby, what's your sign?"
"No loitering, so piss off."

I have so much astrology crap from my youth, the strangest being a gigantic glass bearing my zodiac sign. Somewhere, I still have a 60's beach towel with the water bearer on it. It was never my thing, but that didn't stop people buying them for me. How Aquarius perfume slipped by, I'll never know.

It smells like the late 60's. Oh, I know that isn't helpful to anyone young, and I'll elaborate on the notes in a bit, but I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't set the scene. If you're expecting Woodstock, I can't help you. My strongest memory from that time isn't riots, or trials, or Yippies. Mention the late 60's/early 70's to me and the first thing I think is, Shear Genius-the beauty shop in Skokie, Illinois where my mother spent a good chunk of her life until the late 70's. To me, the 60's  and early 70's smell like aldehydes from hairspray, henna, and nail polish remover. It smells like My Sin on old women, the youthful perfumes like Azuree on the shampoo ladies, and permanent wave developer.  It smells like cigarettes because no one gave a thought to lighting up around all those flammable solvents, and it smells like fumes from leaded gasoline wafting in from Dempster street every time the door opened. America was so polluted then. I'd blow my nose, and half the city's exhaust would come out in my hankie. I suppose we'll be heading back to that soon enough, given the current mood about regulations.

Quick story about one of the shampoo ladies at Shear Genius. Her name was Poppy and she wore those fabric poppies they hand out for Remembrance Day/Armistice Day/Veterans Day in her gigantic henna tinted hair. Everyone loved Poppy, and she was the best part of being stuck at a beauty shop for hours while my mum had another layer of lacquer applied to her roller set. I stayed in back keeping Poppy and  the other shampoo ladies company. Once, I think I was about 10, I lifted my head from one of the magazines I'd been reading and asked loudly across the room, "Hey Poppy? What's a rubber?"  Continuing to wash the clients hair, she turned up the water and replied, "You need to ask your mother about that."* I hated that beauty shop, but I loved Poppy.

Aquarius is a patchouli bomb, so don't say I didn't warn you. There's a good dose of amber in there smoothing it out, but if you don't fancy patchouli, nothing else in the notes is going to make Aquarius wearable for you. It is...powerful. Even the vintage bottle I have, which has lost some notes over the years is the sort of thing that elicits a, "Whoa baby, that's some perfume" from someone like myself that lives for this sort of thing. Rounding out the Holy Hippie Trinity, the patchouli is kept company by some sandalwood and vetiver. But really, patchouli.

There's a leather note in Aquarius that comes and goes in between gasps of the patchouli that is very enjoyable-a bit like Cabochard but only for a moment or two. I find myself wishing for more of it, but then the patchouli comes back and kicks me in the head. I've seen florals like jasmine, orris, and lily of the valley mentioned in various reviews but honestly, I don't detect anything even remotely floral here. I get woods, aldehydes, vetiver, and the patch. If there was any bergamot or lemon in the top notes they are long gone in my bottle-it might have been a completely different fragrance with some bright citrus cutting through.

Notes from what I could find online:
Bergamot, Aldehydes, lemon, Jasmine, Orris, LOTV, oakmoss, vetiver, labdanum, vanilla, and a shit tonne of patchouli. But really, Patchouli.

I have no idea where I could possibly wear Aquarius. This isn't a polite fragrance, and though I harbour quite a lot of contempt for the world, I'm not sure it rises to the level of exposing anyone to Max Factror's idea of the Woodstock generation. Oh, I know it got worse a few years later when that hideous green apple perfume was launched, but Aquarius is one hell of a foray into youthful scents. Strangely enough, it would probably be considered "Old Lady" perfume today. I'm an old lady...I should love it✌

File this one under, "Interesting time-specific fragrance" but slap a label on it warning, "Wear at your own risk."

*I don't remember if I asked mum but if I did she probably told me it was an eraser😮

The Reek-O Award for the Worst Perfume I've Smelled in Years

...and the winner is, Vera Bradley Appleberry Champagne.

I thought nothing could smell worse than Celine Dion's namesake fragrance. I was mistaken. Meet Vera Bradley's Appleberry Champagne. Appleberry isn't a word, and this fragrance doesn't smell of champagne. It doesn't even smell of bargain Cold Duck. It smells like Boone's Farm, but only after a teenager has barfed it all over your lawn on their way home from a night of underage drinking at someone's house while their parents were out of town, 

I'd rather splash on some Boone's Farm than risk inhaling the caustic mess that is Vera Bradley Appleberry Champagne. I knew in the first five seconds after spraying it would be a scrubber, but I wanted to do a fair review so I resisted. I made it all of ten minutes, but by then my lungs were burning, and I thought I might need to avail myself of a few puffs off an Albuterol inhaler. I have seasonal allergies that can very rarely escalate to breathing problems, but no pollen has ever triggered such a rapid onset of wheezing as this shit did. I did one small spray on my wrist. One. It took several lathers with Pears soap (my secret weapon for neutralising terrible perfume) before it was (mostly) gone. Oh my god, I don't possess the vocabulary to articulate how thoroughly disgusting this fragrance is. What's worse, it is also available as a scented candle. I've stopped asking myself, "Why?" long ago with respect to fragrances, but this one really confuses me. How it ever escaped the lab, much less made it to market where people handed over honest-to-god-real money for it...well I'm sorry, I can't comprehend it. Burn this noxious shit as a candle, in a closed space? Perhaps if you were training for the Special Forces and wanted to acclimate your lungs to chemical warfare. It occurs to me that Appleberry Champagne would make one hell of an effective self-defence spray. Mace and pepper spray got nothin' on Appleberry Champagne. 

Notes? Are you serious? There's a fake, chemical green apple note followed by cheap alcohol and something woody-probably the pencil shavings the school janitor would toss down on the ground when he'd be called to sweep up vomit in the classroom after Billy got sick from the bus ride to school. The effect is sharp, piercingly so. There's nothing pleasant here, only pain and suffering. Vera Bradley Appleberry (not a word) Champagne isn't even trying to be good or at the very least wearable. No, this is the worst thing I've smelled in years-possibly ever.

The bottle is pretty though, like a quilted Vera Bradley handbag. So why the hell would you fill it with THIS?!

Sorry, lost my composure there for a moment. I can't imagine any circumstances where I'd be willing to spray this awful stuff on my person ever again. As I don't want to expose any other unsuspecting person to Appleberry Champagne, I'm binning it. I have a feeling even the landfill will reject the unholy substance, and as the saying goes, the Devil won't have it in hell for fear it will take over. 

Wear at your own risk-I warned you. 

Fragrance Review-Love2Love Fresh Rose and Peach

Love2Love Fresh Rose+Peach was a $5.99 blind-buy at Marshalls last winter that I've just started wearing with the warmer weather. I cannot stop spraying myself (and everything from my linens to my shoes) with this easy-to-wear rose scent. I'm starting to worry this scent might have been a gamble that Coty discontinues before it ever becomes established, and I shall be stockpiling accordingly. My gym shoes never smelled so good.

Bulgarian rose and peach sound heavy on paper, but combined in Love2Love, they're quite light-almost too light and I find myself wishing it had a bit more ooomph. I realise that's asking a lot for $5.99. I apply generously, and re-apply after an hour which isn't something I'd ordinarily do, but that rose note is so delicious I have to keep reviving it rather than let the fragrance unfold and fade as intended. When left alone after one application, I get about four hours, but it is very faint after about three. There's a musk note at the base, but it doesn't stick around in a noticeable way. That's all for the good as Love2Love really doesn't need it.

There's a barely there geranium note which is so rose-like I can barely detect it apart from the Bulgarian rose. I have that trouble with geranium, at least in combination with rose notes. My own geranium plants don't smell of anything in the flowers, but rubbing the petals between my fingers I get a hint of what distilled geranium is like. Still, I have a hard time picking it out here other than to say it somewhat lightens the Bulgarian rose-if that makes any sense.

The peach in Love2Love is bright and floral avoiding that dead smell somewhere between unwashed hair and roadkill peach can sometimes develop. I'm not saying that's a bad thing-it has a place in perfumery (I'm looking at you, Mitsouko) but combined with Bulgarian rose and litchi, it might be, as my husband is fond of saying, "A bit much." Love2Love never approaches even a tiny "bit much."

I'm surprised I'm enjoying Love2Love so much. I don't typically like light fragrances of this sort, and litchi will always smell unpleasant to me, like a bottle of cheap, turned wine you wouldn't even cook with. Here, it just smells a tiny bit grape-like without the smell of grape chewing gum and cider vinegar. That said, around the second hour it does develop a slightly sharp note that I suspect is the litchi wearing off and the orris root taking over. The exchange is interesting-almost metallic. It doesn't last long, and this is generally the point where I get out the bottle and re-apply. The rose completely disappears, and without re-spraying you're left with a bowl of fruit sitting on the kitchen table with a slight scent of kitchen cleanser. Not a bad smell exactly, but I find myself missing the rose.

The nose behind Love2Love Fresh Rose+Peach is Calice Becker, best known (to me) for the re-launched version of Vent Vert in the 90's, and Tommy Girl. I despise Tommy Girl, but I thought the 90's Vent Vert was rather nice-so I'll call it 50/50 for me personally on Becker. J'Adore was also a Becker creation which I don't personally like on my skin, but find lovely on others. What I'm getting at is, Love2Love wasn't thrown together by an amateur.  At $5.99 you're getting the work of an experienced nose for one hell of a bargain. Do I wish the quality of the ingredients matched the skill of the nose? Sure, but again, it is so cheap you can re-apply as needed. A nice spray every couple of hours does seem to lift my mood.

Let's talk about the horrible bottle for a moment. The cap isn't a cap at all, but a silly design feature that leaves the sprayer open to the air. That's bad. Worse, the silly plastic "hat" if you will (as it reminds me of a sun visor) comes off easily when lifting the bottle sending it crashing into other items on the perfume tray. I really hate that. Either make a proper, secure cap, or don't make one at all. To have something that serves no purpose other than to annoy seems a waste. I'm starting to become irritated by bottles that don't play nice on the perfume tray, or take up unnecessary space with odd shapes.

What's in Love2Love Fresh Rose and Peach? Not all that much, actually.
Peach, litchi, Bulgarian rose, geranium, musk, currant buds, and orris root.

That might be the shortest list of notes I've typed out in some time. Interesting to me is the absence of citrus notes. I'd swear there was a Mandarin note in there, but I haven't found it listed anywhere. I wonder if that's my nose, or my brain thinking it ought to be there. Spend enough years thinking about perfume and sometimes your brain takes over your nose.

I haven't tried any of the other fragrances in the range, but they sound interesting. Bluebell+White Tea, Freesia+Violet Petals, Jasmine+Sparkling Mimosa, and Orange Blossom+White Musk. They're such inexpensive fragrances I can't see any reason to skip them other than the increasingly troublesome lack of storage space for my collection. At worst, they can be deployed around the house as air freshener. I'm not the only runner in this family with stinky shoes.

JLove by Jennifer Lopez-Fragrance Review

After Christmas, I purchased a bargain set of Jennifer Lopez fragrances for a few dollars at K Mart. I didn't expect much, but I've learned to keep an open mind. I'm glad I waited until the warm weather arrived to try out JLove, as I know it wouldn't have done much for me in December. With temperatures in the upper 90's, it seemed like an opportune time to try out this fruity, floral fragrance. First impression? 

Remember when, "Push-Up" didn't refer to a style of bra? 

So yeah, JLove's top notes remind me of fake orange ice cream on a stick. That's not a bad thing, as I have fond memories of reaching into the freezer case at the neighbourhood Rexall drugstore, grabbing one from the very bottom of the box (where they'd be coldest), handing over my .35 cents and racing over to the park to eat it on the bench next to the rocket ship jungle gym. They cost more than a Hershey Bar (.25 cents) but less than an ice cream Klondike Bar which was .45 cents. So overall, a good value...sort of like JLove. 

There's coconut and pineapple listed in the notes, but I don't detect either. That's strange as they're both notes with a tendency to overwhelm, It is almost a relief as I struggle to enjoy coconut in fragrances, and pineapple often turns unpleasant on my skin. But no such issues here-orange, vanilla, and a little muskiness later on to keep it from being too sweet. The only thing missing, keeping this from being the perfect childhood summer evoking fragrance is the smell of a heavily chlorinated pool, and cigarette smoke because everyone smoked everywhere when I was young, and the smell lingered all the more in the hot, humid climate of Chicago.

There's nothing sophisticated about JLove. It isn't remarkable in any way, it isn't innovative, and the bottle is cheap looking. That said, there isn't anything wrong with the fragrance either. It is light, sweet without being too sweet, perfectly appropriate for an office or public transport, and generally cheerful. I can't really ask much more from a three dollar bottle of perfume. The longevity isn't bad, considering the price, and you don't need to apply a giant cloud of it to get a good effect. The silage is moderate, but in a polite way. I wouldn't want to wear JLove regularly, but on a very hot day when almost everything seems like too much, it is a nice, refreshing scent that will make you crave orange sherbet. Not much to fault in that.

Notes according to Fragrantica:
Raspberry, pink grapefruit, pineapple, tangerine, orchid, water lily, coconut, vanilla, white wood, musk, tiare flower, and sorbet.

I like to think I have a rather skilled nose, but I don't get the raspberry either and the tangerine smells more orange to me. There is a sharpness to JLove, but it isn't the sort of simulated tartness you'd expect from tangerine, grapefruit or pineapple. I'm not certain where it is coming from, but it definitely leans more industrial chemical, than zesty fruit. Again, that's not as bad as it sounds.

Overall, I enjoyed JLove for the bright, summery fragrance that stops short of being fruit cocktail doused in condensed milk (as so many fruity, sweet fragrances are). Do I sound less than enthusiastic about JLove? I suppose that's a fair assessment but only because I have so many things I would rather wear instead. Absent the assortment of perfumes, I might reach for JLove more often for a nice burst of  fresh sweetness on a summer day, though probably not in the evening. This is a pre-sundown sort of scent.

Just a quick mention in passing-Jennifer Lopez Glow isn't a terrible fragrance for the money either, though the rose and tuberose fight it out with the amber for dominance. Not my kind of thing, but if you like sweet florals it is worth a try. Longevity is about half an hour, though what do you want for that price? They should have stuck the coconut and pineapple in Glo instead of JLove-that would have been a nice fragrance!

Fragrance Review-Estee Lauder Knowing (Vintage Formulation)

My introduction to Knowing was shortly after it was introduced in the late 80's. My mum wanted the large Christmas set that was, "Free" with a fragrance purchase, so she gifted me a bottle of Knowing. For a woman that got it so wrong, so often in nearly every aspect of parenting, she'd somehow managed to select a fragrance that was at least in the spirit of something I'd wear. I never bothered with a second bottle, and didn't think about it until I was in New Life Thrift and found a half-filled bottle for around two dollars. "Why not?" I thought. I brought it home, put it away and forgot about it all winter.

A few weeks ago I came across the bottle and decided it was now or never. I always thought of Knowing as a cold weather fragrance-boy, was I wrong! Thanks to our wild weather that has fluctuated between frost and 90 degrees, I've been proving everything I thought about Knowing wrong (I imagine an ad campaign;"You don't know Knowing"). This is a wonderful late Spring fragrance-after the lily of the valley scents get old, but it is too early for gardenias.

Knowing is a chypre, but I hesitate to mention that for fear of scaring off the oakmoss and civet shy. Yes, those notes are there, but so are melon, plum, aldehydes, cedar, and the most glorious rose. On paper it sounds like someone let a ten year old loose in a lab, but after that initial suffocating blast of aldehydes (and it is strong) Knowing settles down and spends the next several hours compelling you to sniff your wrist. Bay leaf, cardamom, coriander-the spice notes in Knowing never veer into smelling like a kitchen cabinet-rather they're more like an herb garden warmed by the sun.

To my nose, Knowing isn't a typical 80's fragrance. Perhaps it is the aldehydes, or the civet but there's something old fashioned about it-my grandmother wouldn't have found it too different from the perfume bottles on her own tray (even if she only ever wore Lentheric Tweed to the annoyance of my mother). I won't say Knowing has some sort of old fashioned glamour, as I think people often associate anything old fashioned with the version of the past they get from movies. Rather, Knowing is reminiscent of an era where you wouldn't go to the dentist wearing yoga pants. Dressed, rather than dressed-up.

Knowing isn't a powerhouse, but the first few minutes of aldehyde cloud can be a bit strong. It does settle down, but I wouldn't spray myself head-to-toe all at once unless I was particularly skilled at holding my breath. Only you know your lung capacity, and your aldehyde endurance, so spray lightly until you know your limit. The longevity is good, but a second application mid-day isn't an outrageous indulgence.

What's interesting to me is the absence of any citrus notes in Knowing's opening. There's such a tendency to throw a bit of bergamot or orange at a woody chypre, that it is almost daring to omit it. There's orange blossom later on, but that's different of course. I suppose it would get lost in the aldehydes anyway.

So what's in Knowing?

Aldehydes, mimosa, coriander, orange blossom, melon, plum, green notes, rose, tuberose, bay leaf, patchouli, orris root, jasmine, lily of the valley, cedar, cardamom, sandalwood, amber, musk, civet, oakmoss and vetiver.

Knowing gets compared to Paloma Picasso, and that's not an unfair comparison. I find Knowing a bit nicer in the second and third hour where the second and third hour of Picasso makes me think I should wash it off and try something else. I like both fragrances for their own qualities but if I had to choose, I'd take Knowing without much deliberation.

I have issues with the Lauder fragrances. Actually, that's not fair. I have issues with my mother and sister who were loyal consumers of Lauder fragrances until my sister mercifully discovered Chanel No. 19 in the late 70's. Until then, it was a cloud of Aliage, Youth Dew, Estee, and White Linen. I can enjoy vintage Azuree in the right mood, but even the later fragrances like Cinnabar, Pleasures, Private Collection, and the like really churn my stomach. Today's Estee Lauder fragrances are tamer, but they still don't do much for me. That said, I will always turn my head to figure out who is wearing Aramis in a room, even when I know it will be a 70 year old gentleman that started wearing it when the fragrance was new. Every house has at least one good fragrance, and as far as I'm concerned Aramis is it-it is a stronger version of Azuree adding in what was missing (probably a shit-load of cumin).

I haven't tried the newer version of Knowing. The oakmoss is such an important note in the original I'd be curious how they've managed to duplicate it. Synthetic civet to my nose works well in most things (hell, it turns Jicky into something I'd actually consider wearing) and I don't imagine it could go too wrong in Knowing-but I've been wrong before. Hopefully the fragrance hasn't been gutted in reformulation as so m any others have been.

If you like woody chypres like Paloma Picasso, a vintage bottle of Knowing might be something you'd enjoy. Just beware the aldehydes. Really, I'm not exaggerating.

Bebe Perfume-Review

I've never shopped at Bebe, so I can't say much about the brand other than I already loathed their ad campaign. I bought a tiny bottle at Marshalls for five bucks and figured if it was terrible, at least I'd get a cute bottle out of the deal.

The bottle, is impossible to manage with arthritis. Perhaps the spray bottle is easier to grip and remove the cap, but I've been fearful of dousing myself each time I attempt to open it-not that a dousing would be a big deal as Bebe has a microsecond of longevity. They call it a "perfume" but to my mind this is a cologne.

Bebe isn't terrible. It isn't anything special either, but for a perfume in the cheap end of bargain, it really isn't bad. I like the cedar and sandalwood notes that dominate the opening, and the sweet pea and rose that follow. There's a troublesome mango note that is somewhere between 90's hairspray, and a fresh bottle of multi-vitamins. The perfume would have been better off without mango, though I understand perfumes need fruit notes to have mass-appeal with today's youth market. Plum might have been better-mango and musk in perfume can come across slightly rank (and not in an interesting way).

I wouldn't say Bebe is without any positive qualities, though it honestly isn't a perfume to my general taste. I like the tuberose here (instead of being suffocating it smells like a plastic makeup bag that's picked up a lipstick and powder smell over the years) and the peony is a nice inclusion I wouldn't have expected. I'm certain from looking at the ad campaign, I'm not the demographic Bebe is trying to market a perfume to.

Notes according to Fragrantica:
Sandalwood, cedar, mango, tuberose, rose, peony, sweet pea, jasmine and musk.

Sometimes I review a fragrance and don't have much feeling about it either way. Bebe is pleasant enough, inexpensive, and largely inoffensive. The silage isn't much, and the longevity is crap, but for five bucks, I can't really complain. Yes, the florals are on the synthetic side (I'm not opposed to synthetic materials, I'd just prefer it a bit less raw around the edges) and it could have been better balanced between the woods and florals, but that feels like struggling to find something worth complaining about. Bebe might not be for me, but there honestly isn't anything wrong with it. I'll probably pass it along to a young person (this would be great for a teenager) and consider it an interesting but ultimately not-for-me perfume.

I wonder if this is the shortest fragrance review I've written?

Eau de Givenchy-Review

When Eau de Givenchy was a fairly new fragrance in the early 80's, I thought it was too, "old" for me. Today, it strikes me as being on the youthful side-funny how that happens. That hasn't stopped me splashing it on, but it does make me wish I hadn't wasted so many years thinking it wasn't for me. I'm having a difficult time imagining anyone it wouldn't be lovely on, particularly in hot weather.

When the weather turns hot and muggy, I look for fragrances with a substantial amount of lily of the valley as I like the way it smells fresh without smelling artificially, "Clean." EdG combines the lily of the valley with honeysuckle, which are brilliant together (I don't know why this isn't a more common combination). Where EdG gets unique is the addition of oak moss. Bright, sweet, green-EdG is like a Monet, decanted. There's mist, and water lilies, and moss-pale colours and just a whiff of showing off. EdG has a very limited silage, but it is a delight for the wearer (this wearer, anyway).

For the longest time, there was a note I couldn't identify in Eau de Givenchy. The harder I'd try to identify it, the more my nose betrayed my efforts. I finally looked up the notes and immediately understood-mint! My brain couldn't process the idea of mint in this fragrance as it seems so out of place, and that's exactly why it works so well. The mint is strange-not a spearmint, and definitely not a peppermint, I wonder if the note is synthetic as it suggests mint more than it demonstrates it. Let's call it a, "Watery mint."  Ordinarily, I can't stand orris root, but combined with mint it takes the medicinal, antiseptic edge away and lets the more metallic aspect come through. I finally, "get" orris root-at least used the way it is in EdG.

Once the lighter top notes fade (and they do, a bit too quickly for my liking) the rose and tuberose emerge in a cloud of musk and sandalwood. I know that sounds terrible on paper-how can tuberose and musk smell light? I suppose that's the artistry of the perfumer, because EdG never becomes close, or heavy, or anything near suffocating. The tuberose and rose give the fragrance depth, and the musk gives it personality-not too much, mind, but enough to keep you from losing interest.

Of course, finding EdG in the vintage formulation is getting harder as with most fragrances. I suggest grabbing what you can, as there are still affordable bottles out there. My bottle is from the late 80's, and it hasn't lost the top notes though as I say, they don't have much longevity on my skin. There's nothing like a good oakmoss (provided you're not allergic to it) and it makes me a bit sad to think what's out there to be purchased is it. I understand the regulations, etc. but I still mourn for the classic chypres. EdG isn't fully a chypre, but it is close enough that I feel confident recommending it to someone that category of fragrance. EdG is pretty, without being cute.

Notes:
Bergamot, grapefruit, mandarin orange, fruit, mint, cyclamen, honeysuckle, tuberose, orris, jasmine, ylang, lily of the valley, narcissus, rose, sandalwood, musk, vetiver, cedar.

If Givenchy would go back to making fragrances like Eau de Givenchy instead of imposing the Dahlia line on the world, I'd hold the company in higher esteem. Don't even get me started on  Pi and the subsequent flankers. I have two letters to sum up my feelings about that-P & U. More isn't always merrier.

Strangely, the nose behind Eau de Givenchy, Daniel Moliere is also responsible for another of my favourite 80's perfumes, Balahe. I say, "Strangely" as Eau de Givenchy shares absolutely nothing with the powerful, rich notes of Balahe. Had I not looked it up, I'd have never guessed we were talking about the same perfumer's creations. What the perfumes share, I suppose is the use of unexpected notes in combination-mint and honeysuckle, for EdG, pineapple and civet for Balahe. Neither should work, and yet...

This has been a strange summer in Nebraska. We always get heat, but this year the dew points have been so high, the air and earth themselves project noticeable odours-and they aren't terribly pleasant! Wet, mouldy hay. Decomposing wood mulch. Fungus. Algae covered ponds. Sulfur.  Fumes from idling traffic. Damp cement. It ain't pretty out there (though if Demeter bottled it and called it, Nebraska Summer" I'm sure people would buy it). Tailoring fragrances to my surroundings has been a bit more challenging this year. Eau de Givenchy has been a lifesaver in these conditions. Sure, when summer rolls around I want to break out the tropical scents and douse myself in gardenias an coconut but that's not going to happen this summer, even poolside. If there was ever a time and place for unscented sunscreen-this is it! Classic Coppertone would be gagging.

I don't want to leave you with the impression that Eau de Givenchy is strictly a summer fragrance, as it also works beautifully in the dead of winter. I'm having a difficult time imagining a situation where it would be out of place. I won't go as far as calling EdG a, "Perfect" perfume, but honestly, it is pretty damn close. For me, Eau de Givenchy has become a default scent. Don't know what to wear? Grab the bottle of EdG. We all need that sort of thing in a perfume wardrobe, particularly when the climate decides to throw the worst of everything at you. If your surroundings insist on smelling like a trash heap, Eau de Givenchy can ensure that at least you won't. Hard to ask for more.

Rochas, Femme EDT-Review (Post 1989 version)

I didn't expect much when I purchased the gigantic bottle of reformulated Femme, and figured I would end up making a gift of it to someone. It was a bargain at the thrift store, and the bottle (though missing the box) was from what I could tell, used perhaps once. For years I'd been reading that it was a, "Cumin bomb" with a huge hit of plums, and peaches. I'd met cumin/fruit combination perfumes in the 80's, and we didn't get on well. I don't mind cumin notes in perfume (Cabochard, Aramis, Azuree) but plum will almost always send me running. Poison? Jean Paul Gaultier?  No thank you. About the only fragrance I enjoy with a plum note is Sofia Vergara, and the plum is muted against wood notes. So not a fan of plum. Happily, the plum in Femme is not the plum of Poison, a point I'll return to in a moment.

I'll say one thing for Rochas-they know how to do an impractical bottle that's hard to grip, and sprays out far more fragrance than you can comfortably wear. My experiences with Rochas perfumes have either been memorable for possessing infuriatingly clunky bottles with bad sprayers, or for being unable to smell them due to heavy concentrations of jasmine. Unlike the mammoth bottle of Byzance I once owned, I can smell femme-and she's as strange as the listed notes make her sound.

I've read reviews of Femme that talk about the perfume's sexiness. That happens quite a bit when perfumes have a noticeable cumin note, but I don't read that as "sex" in Femme. If there's civet in there (as the listed notes suggest) it has been neutered beyond recognition. Cumin+ civet ought to equal, "Sex" but here, (and I know I will get an earful for saying this) it smells like a cheeky smooch and a grope in the retirement home after a game of shuffleboard. Femme smells like elderly sex. I'm getting the horrible mental image of Jerry Hall and Rupert Murdoch. Sorry. You can scrunch up your face and say, "Ewwwww" if it helps. Now that I'm getting along in age I can say that isn't a bad thing (the elderly sex, not the Jerry/Rupert marriage) but it does alter the idea of sexiness as typically approached in perfumery. Femme isn't a youthful perfume. That's not to say a young person couldn't wear it, but it does project maturity in a similar way Mitsouko does. I wore Mitsouko through my twenties and thirties, and I suspect had I been aware of Femme, I'd have worn it as well, but be warned, it isn't a "romantic" fragrance in the sweet/floral way we have come to think of them.  Femme isn't a perfume  that makes me think of hot, sweaty, sexy dancing and clubbing. Femme is a perfume to wear to the library book club if you're hoping to get some afternoon action with the widower in the tweed jacket, and an early dinner at the country club followed by a nap (not sex) before drinks. You know, your desire for sex might not change with age, but the amount of work you're willing to do getting there does. Femme doesn't have time for the angsty bullshit-it just wants to get naked and be home in time to watch reruns of Matlock. Perhaps it is appropriate that the plum note comes across as a newly opened box of prunes. Ah...Sunsweet.


Rochas Femme isn't described as a chypre, but the hallmarks are there. Along with the plum/prune note there's a whole hell of a lot of oakmoss. A whole hell of a lot. I like oakmoss, and I particularly like the way it is used in Femme-massive quantities that last from start to finish. This moss clings on for dear life-it is the Roundup-resistant weed of the perfume world. No level of scrubbing will fade Femme's moss attack until it is damn well ready to wear off. Longevity on my skin was over ten hours-about two days on clothing. Don't say I didn't warn you. Femme is for serious "Moss Heads" only and heaven help you if you're one of the people that are allergic to it. Thankfully, that's one allergy I missed.


Half an hour into Femme there was a note I couldn't quite place that bothered me. It wasn't cedar or pine, but more common and it drove me half mad trying to pin it down as some vague "herbs crossed with pepper" note. Eventually I worked out it was a combination of rosemary and carnation playing with my nose-imagine wearing L'Air du Temps and chopping up fresh rosemary, whilst drinking mulled cider. I'm still not certain I like it, in isolation anyway, but in the overall composition it isn't bothersome.

Longtime readers will know that I don't care for noticeable cinnamon or cloves in perfume. Mix them with patchouli as in a perfume like Tabu, and I get an instant headache. Femme has both the spices and patchouli but it is so subtly done it appears almost as an afterthought Against all that oakmoss and plum, the spices didn't stand a chance-a positive to my mind (and nose). I keep making comparisons to Mitsouko, and I will make one more relating to the careful, measured use of cinnamon and peach with oakmoss-but be aware that Femme is a much different fragrance than Mitsouko, they simply share some skilled arrangement of notes. .

So what's in Femme? I'm glad you asked.

According to Fragrantica:

Bergamot, peach, cinnamon, plum, apricot, lemon, rosewood, rosemary, carnation, iris, jasmine, cloves, ylang ylang, rose, leather, amber, patchoiuli, musk, benzoin, vanilla, oakmoss.

Not listed but certainly there:
Civet, musk, cumin, aldehydes,

Half of what's listed can't be picked out in isolation which to me is a mark of quality. I don't like one particular note to scream, "Look at me!" and then hit me over the head for an hour. Even typically hard-to-ignore notes like iris and rose seem well behaved in Femme. The exception of course is the oakmoss-you'll smell (and smell, and smell) the oakmoss. Not a terrible thing in my book, but something to keep in mind.

I have to admit I'm delighted with Femme, and I will be keeping and using the lifetime supply sized bottle I found at Goodwill. I won't however be wearing it to the library lest I stir up some old geezer looking for a minute and a half of passion.

Agustin Reyes Royal Violets (Baby) Cologne-Review

It seemed appropriate to review a Cuban perfume on this day that sees the first US president in 88 years visiting the nation of Cuba. I never thought I'd live to see the presidents of Cuba and the US enjoying a baseball game together. 

If you've been to Miami, you've smelled Royal Violets-on everyone, from babies to old ladies. I should say from the outset that "Baby Perfume" isn't a strange concept to me. In the United States, our baby perfume comes in the form of scented baby shampoo, lotion, and powder, but there is a distinctive smell to it that is associated with infant products. Part of the reason Love's Baby Soft did so well was it echoed those products, while still managing a bit of depth. I never used baby perfume on Danny, and his bath products were limited because of eczma, so my experience of "Smells like a baby" is limited to puke, which he covered everything in for the first year of his life. If I could have doused him in Royal Violets, I would have. 

The company has an interesting history, which you can read a bit about HERE . 

So what does it smell like? Violets. That's about it, to my nose. Some people detect an almond note (I don't) and others smell powder independent of the powdery scent of violets-I don't. I get violets. I've paid a lot more than $3.99 for a single note violet fragrance. The longevity isn't much, but hey, at that price, you can just keep re-applying (it comes in a huge bottle). I have a glass splash bottle, but I've noticed the company now sells Royal Violets in a spray bottle, which I need to get my hands on. Musty cupboard? Car starting to stink? I can think of a million ways to use Royal Violets in a spray bottle. 

Longevity is poor, and the silage is rather close to the skin, which makes sense for a baby fragrance.There aren't really notes to speak of beyond violets though if you sniff really hard and use some imagination there *might* be some iris in there-but I wouldn't swear to it. 

Royal Violets is widely available in the US (and everywhere in Florida and Texas) and I've heard it turns up at the Family Dollar from time to time. Bottles run anywhere from $3.99-$12.00 depending on size and packaging. You can't really go wrong with this one, if you enjoy a soft violet perfume. 

Here's to a happy future and friendship with our neighbours in Cuba. 

Houbigant Demi-Jour -Review

I was recently gifted a decant of vintage formulation Demi Jour from the years when Houbigant still manufactured it. These days, it is being made ruined by Dana. If you try to track this one down, and I certainly recommend you do, make certain it says, "Houbigant" on the bottle or box. Mine is from the 80's, but the perfume has been around since the 30's like the bottle in this ad. I have no idea what that version smells like (but if anyone has some and wants to help me find out, I'd be happy to test it out).

I was a bit worried I might not be able to smell anything as I am unable to smell Houbigant's Quelque Fleurs due to the jasmine. Demi Jour also has jasmine, but hapily not the same sort, or in enough quantity to kick my anosmia into gear. I'm happy about that because Demi Jour would be a shame to miss out on.

I have a difficult time wearing over-the-top florals (hasn't stopped me trying though), but Demi Jour stops just in time. There's enough oakmoss and wood notes to keep it from smelling too sweet, and the aldehydes, which I am learning to tolerate better do give Demi Jour a certain punch. Against all my reasons to think this wouldn't work for me, it does. Beautifully.

I'm not a heliotrope fan in large quantity. Demi Jour doesn't have any vanilla for sweetness, instead getting the vanilla/marzipan notes from a floral note. That's clever chemistry, and I'm certain that's what keeps Demi Jour from turning into some sort of gag-inducing candy-sweet floral nightmare. If only that were true today. There's no candy floss in Demi Jour.

Think about the florals in use here-rose, violet, heliotrope, lily of the valley-until you get to jasmine and ylang ylang, there's nothing here that would keep it out of the men's cologne category. The addition of musk, oakmoss, sandalwood, and cedar really could work on a man. It is much less sweet than Boucheron pour homme.

I don't get, "Big 80's floral" from Demi Jour, at all. I know some people do, and they find it much sweeter than I do, but that's the beauty of fragrances-we all experience them differently.

Notes From Fragrantica:
Rose, violets, ylang ylang, orris, heliotrope, aldehydes, sandalwood, musk, oakmoss, bergamot, lily of the valley, cedar and jasmine.

To my nose, the aldehydes, rose and violets dominate this perfume, but the oakmoss is there, but it isn't apparent until after the aldehydes blow away.

I honestly didn't think I would enjoy Demi Jour, which is one of the best things my perfume habit has brought me-an open mind (and nose).

Ivoire de Balmain (Vintage Formulation) Review

" Arg, geez...is that smell me?! Well, you look alright...maybe no one will notice you forgot to wash."

The first few minutes of Ivoire will have you wondering what the hell you just did to yourself, and questioning what sort of masochism compels you to keep doing it. Then, it settles down a bit, giving you time to grab the inhaler to deal with the perfume induced wheezing. Albuterol-an asthmatic perfume lover's best friend. So I'm fine(ish) and Ivoire is clearing out the aldehydes to drag me through a forest of oakmoss. I do love a good romp through the oakmoss. 

I haven't smelled Ivoire since the very early 80's, when as a favour to our next-door neighbour I house-sat so her estranged husband couldn't empty the house of belongings when she was at work. My neighbour wore Ivoire, and even with her gone the scent lingered in every room of the house. It was a large house, which leads me to think she must have worn it by the gallon. A little Ivoire goes a long way-no need to over-apply. 

Having such a strong association with my neighbour, I never found myself interested enough to wear Ivoire. In my mind, I associated it with a forty year old woman in the throes of a divorce-hardly the sort of thing I'd have been looking for in 1980. Besides, I'd often pick up the smell on my clothes just from spending time over there, and it lasted for days. The thing is, Ivoire smells so much better on a person than hanging in a room. It was only after wearing it myself that I understood I hadn't really experienced Ivoire. 

You know I love a good oakmoss perfume, and Ivoire has tonnes of it. To me, Ivoire is intensely green and herbal with only the slightest bit of sweetness from vanilla and tonka bean. That said, Ivoire doesn't feel sharp to me as some green perfumes can (Yendi, Ma Griffe, etc.). After the initial irritation, Ivoire becomes softer with iris dusting everything with the finest layer of expensive talc that mentally slides over your skin as though the world's largest, softest powder puff just shook out its contents like a windless snowfall. Cool, soft, powdery without too much sweetness-it is all so beautiful until the asafoetida shows up needing a shower. Whoa, someone hasn't washed her sister* in a very long time. Or is that the musk? Sometimes I can't tell. 

So we're all grown up here, and we can manage perfumes that smell like you've just had a vigourous roll in the hay (or the oakmoss), I have to say that I appreciate the unwashed notes a bit more in Ivoire than in the cumin/coriander based perfumes that really make you smell like an overdressed Victorian in the tropics. This seems like very refined stink, besides it isn't dominant and you only catch whiffs of it from time to time which helps to cut through some of the very clean and green notes. Marigold can be almost antiseptic unless it sits alongside something bodily. It is a difficult balance to get right, but when it works-as it does here, the results are so damn enjoyable. Yes, Ivoire gets off to a dramatic (and lung irritating) start, but if you can bear it (and catch your breath) the end result is a quite beautiful perfume.  

I get a very strong pepper note in Ivoire, but I'm sensitive to pepper and can tell if someone is shaking it on their food from a room away. It isn't my favourite note in perfumery, and I've smelled so much of it over the last decade in every imaginable form (pink, black, green, white) that it seems almost too common. In 1980, it would have been a strange note, particularly for something so green and chypre-ish. I like it here, which surprises me. 

If I had to find fault with Ivoire (which I'm finding difficult to do) it would be with the incense notes of patchouli and sandalwood. They don't play well with the cinnamon and nutmeg. I get an immediate psychedelic soundtrack going in my head that ruins any sophistication Ivoire spent so much time establishing." Shapes of things before my eyes..." or my nose, or whatever.  From a perfumery standpoint, I understand the reason so many perfumes rely on patchouli and sandalwood at the base...but that doesn't mean I have to like it. It isn't overwhelming here, though combined with cinnamon and nutmeg it always has the risk of straying into Tabu territory, which mercifully it does not. 

The truth? I still can't see myself wearing Ivoire. Yes, it is a beautiful green chypre, but there are many other beautiful green chypres in my collection that I prefer to Ivoire. When you're a perfume collector, there's only so many perfumes you can wear, and I tend to be selective. After 35 years, it still evokes my neighbour and her sad, angry divorce with me dragged in to guard the sterile, perfectly, professionally, decorated house and contents. Perfume has the ability to transport a person to all sorts of places-who the hell wants to go to Highland Park, Illinois in 1982? 

Reader Grayspoole has a review of Ivoire at Fragrantica that isn't laden with personal memories that might give you a better idea what you're in for with this scent HERE.  

So what's in this shit? 

Aldehydes, asthma oakmoss, chamomile, marigold, galbanum, orris, artemisia, vetiver, carnation, asafoetida, nutmeg, incense, sandalwood, narcissus, ylang ylang, Turkish rose, pepper, patchouli, jasmine, lily of the valley, bergamot, lemon, iris, labdanum, musk, violet, tonka, neroli, amber, cinnamon, vanilla, raspberry, Mandarin orange, and vanilla. 

Yeah, I know. Fortunately, you really only smell about half of it, and for the life of me I couldn't detect any raspberry or orange which can only be a good thing (they sound so terribly wrong here). 

Ivoire is a genuinely beautiful perfume in a style we don't smell much these days. It isn't dated, or old fashioned, but rather a bit out of favour. Even if you could make an exact chemical substitute for oakmoss (and some of them are really quite close) I'm not convinced it would have a market outside of a group of  perfume enthusiasts. As a niche perfume? Sure. For a mainstream 2016 perfume-buying public? Dunno. I haven't smelled the reformulated Ivoire, but I'm guessing it is better behaved and that the tonka, vanilla, and raspberry notes have been increased. That isn't a critique-people should wear what they enjoy, and today's perfume buyers aren't going to wait two hours for a scent to develop and change (or put up with a blast of Aldehydes by way of introduction). 

I'm not sure what I'll do with 1/4 ounce of this stuff, but I'm happy to have it as a reference in my perfume collection. Maybe I can find my old neighbour and see if she wants it though I'd guess she moved on from Ivoire the same way she moved on from her first husband. I wonder if she still has the big-screen TV and the Jaguar? 

*I worked with a woman with very little "filter" who was known to remark in a low voice, "I don't think she washes her sister" about another co-worker. 

This might be the first time I've written a glowing review of something I don't wish to wear, personally. I don't want to leave you with the idea that this is an inferior perfume, as it is not. If you like oakmoss, vetiver, and marigold this might be your new (old) favourite fragrance. Just remember- apply sparingly. 

Bijan for Women-Review

I spotted the bottle of Bijan for sale, and for the life of me couldn't remember what it smelled like. I knew it was strong (that much I could remember) but the details were lost in a cloud of other big, 80's fragrances. I remember my mother had a bottle, but smelling it now (and I am smelling quite a lot of it because I cannot stop spraying myself with it) I'm not sure she ever wore it-surely I would have remembered it-Bijan wants to be noticed. 

I'm wary of spices in perfumes thanks mostly to perfumes like Tabu and Cinnabar.  But Bijan is not a clove-studded pomador, or a cup of Constant Comment tea. Bijan is a sweet, floral, spicy, musky beauty covered in a blanket of glorious oakmoss. This perfume is so damn beautiful, I can't believe I haven't been dousing myself in it for the last 30 years. 

The opening of Bijan is a lovely dose of orange blossom and bergamot that lasts but a moment before the carnation and tuberose break through. There's something interesting that happens here-the perfume goes from being bright and citrusy to deeply floral, and then it suddenly turns sweet-I mean really sweet like you finished a box of Turkish Delight and then went back and licked all the cornflour/icing sugar off the cardboard box. It is the sugary/floral combination that in any other perfume would send me running, but in Bijan it just floats effortlessly to the next set of notes, sweeping it all together into a cloud of loveliness. But Bijan is no gentle cloud. Bijan's notes jump back and forth like cloud-to-cloud lightning, striking, then retreating. The overall experience is so exhilarating it might well be the perfume equivalent of severe weather.  

The amber and musk emerge with a heavy dose of honey that would be suffocating except that it is met with an abundance of oakmoss. Cedar and sandalwood create a warm base that gives an impression of spiciness without any actual spices. Bijan has no cinnamon, cloves,or ginger-but you'd swear it was there. I think that's the magic of Bijan-you get warmth and spice without the harshness of cinnamon or the dentist's office smell of clove. 

Bijan has a massive silage-you get your money's worth. This is a positive, because unlike so many perfumes that take a bit to really kick into gear, Bijan is glorious from the first spray to the waning hours of its longevity. I can honestly say, I adore Bijan start-to-finish, which isn't something I can say of many perfumes. 

Notes According to Fragrantica:

Honey, benzoin, ylang ylang, sandalwood, musk, amber, carnation, jasmine, tuberose, vanilla, tonka bean, narcissus, orange blossom, oakmoss, heliotrope, neroli, Bulgarian rose, lily of the valley, cedar, patchouli, bergamot, basil, orris root. 

Bijan gets described as, "exotic", which is fair enough though by today's standards it would hardly be,   compared to some of the oudh-based perfumes. If there's anything exotic about Bijan, it is the way the perfume is composed, mixing herbs like basil with the sweet notes of honey. The  real exotic nature of Bijan is in the perfumer's artistry-this is a gorgeous composition. 

Did I mention Bijan is strong? Oh, yes it is. If you're at all worried about reaction from people being choked out around you...well, screw 'em. You're entitled to be fabulous. But supposing you're a considerate person, you may wish to go very light with your first couple applications, particularly if you work in a closed space. Bijan isn't a perfume that goes unnoticed, so use your discretion. I wouldn't describe Bijan as a good office scent unless you can get into a time machine, go back to 1986, and then Bijan will be a welcome change from all the other things people were dousing themselves with in the 80's.  

I seem to have 80's perfumes on the brain of late. Recently I've revisited:

Samsara

Knowing

Sung

Eau de Cartier

Eau de Givenchy

Oscar de la Renta Ruffles

Bill Blass Woman

Oleg Cassini for Women

In Love Again (early 90's, but still in the same vein)

Revlon Fire and Ice

And a few others that are slipping my mind at the moment. I can't say this is my favourite era for perfume, but there were some gems in there, like Bijan. Sometimes it is good to re-try things you didn't care for at the time. I know as I've aged my nose has changed along with my tastes. One 1980's fragrance I'd like to get my hands on is Alyssa Ashley Gardenia. I loved it (and the talc and matching body lotion) but never see it turn up. Being such a cheap fragrance it might not have held up all that well. There was a lilac version to the line as well, and something else I can't remember. Rose perhaps? 

My only issue with Bijan is that in the first few minutes of wear, it makes me a bit sneezy/wheezy. It goes away quickly without turning onto a full-blown allergy, but there's something there giving me a mild reaction. As it goes away as quickly as it arrives, I've been ignoring it, but I would be curious to know what the problem is. Looking at the notes, there's nothing there I would react to. There's perfumes worth suffering for, and Bijan is one of them. Good heavens, I'm completely enchanted by this stuff. 

Bijan is inexpensive and easily found at discounters like Marshall's for little more than pocket change. I'd probably spray the house with it, but Danny loathes anything with noticeable oak moss and reacts like some sort of demon being splashed with Holy Water in the movies. He might as well be hissing, "It burns! It burns!" for all the dramatics, so I largely avoid wearing anything too heavy on the oakmoss if we'll be riding in a car together. If I used Bijan as air freshener, He'd run away from home.  

I own a lot of perfume, and I can find something positive to say about most of them, even if I don't chose to wear them (there are of course exceptions). I rarely get excited over a new (to me) perfume, but Bijan blew me away. That it cost six dollars a bottle makes it all the better. I have no idea how it will work in the warmer weather, but I can see Bijan falling into regular rotation on my perfume tray. This perfume is so close to perfect, I feel like I've found a fragrance soul-mate. Bijan is so far outside the sort of notes I typically like, it makes me wonder about all the other fragrances I overlooked thinking I wouldn't like them. 

I was looking for perfume in all the wrong places, looking for perfume in too many bottles of expensive shit from department stores....(la la la I can't come up with words) ...but now that I've found you, I can smell good whenever I need to...(la la la). 

(With apologies to Johnny Lee).

Keora Jean Couturier-Vintage Formulation Review

Not that much of an exaggeration.

I was given a decant of vintage Keora over a year ago, but first got around to trying it out this week. I'll be honest-I expected to hate it. I've had a love/hate relationship with Coriandre for years, and I expected Keora to be much the same. I knew it wasn't a green fragrance (people compare it to Shalimar for heaven's sake) but I was still bracing for...something that required bracing. Keora water is similar to rosewater, so really, how bad could it be?

Keora was a lovely surprise. Launched in 1983, it has elements of other floral oriental fragrances of the day-but Keora is not Opium. It is miles better. Keora isn't spicy to my nose (other people smell cardamom and cloves, I don't), but rather rich with amber and non-sweet florals. I smell carnation (though it isn't listed in the notes) and roses, and possibly some lavender. The comparison to Shalimar isn't that much of a stretch, though it lacks the citrus and the vanilla is much different. The musk notes in Keora are absolutely incredible, and that comes from someone that wouldn't go out of the way to buy a musky perfume. This stuff is sex in a bottle. No one (under eighty) would say that of Shalimar. If I ever start a line of perfume I'm calling it, "Sex Powder." What can I say? I like powdery notes.

I shouldn't have waited so long to give Keora a try, but I'm glad I got to it in the winter. I suspect this would be a difficult fragrance to pull off in the hot, humid, Nebraska summer though it might work in a hot dry climate. I have to wonder why it isn't more popular-a perfume like this should be flying off the shelves. Could it be the curse of Coriandre creating a bias for wary perfume shoppers? Intellectually I know it isn't right to judge a house by one fragrance but I can't help it. I'm glad I decided to prove myself wrong, because this is a beautiful perfume.

I'm not sure how well Keora has fared under reformulation, so of course I cannot comment on the current perfume. I'm not sure what the source of the musk note is (floral, synthetic, animal?) but it smells expensive. We've all smelled cheap musk (I'm looking at you Jovan White Musk) and Keora is most definitely not that. This isn't fabric softener.  No one will run from the room when you enter-but they will smell you. Keora is not shy. Keora wants to get laid. The silage is huge, and the longevity is practically forever, at least on clothing. Keora is the Energizer Bunny of perfumery, "Still going...still going..." You'll get your money's worth out of a bottle of Keora. Whether it gets you laid, is up to you, because clearly Keora is doing its part.

The listed notes are rather vague: Floral notes, fruit notes, amber, musk, vanilla.

What I smell: Rose, rosewood, lavender, carnation, vanilla, maybe some overripe peach,  possibly civet, ambergris, sandalwood, and perhaps some lily of the valley.

Overall, I basically went wild for Keora. This has led to hunting down vintage bottles online, which isn't all that difficult at the moment. Bargains are still to be found, so if this sounds like your sort of thing, this might be an opportune time to stock-up. What a beautiful fragrance from a period when perfumery was getting away from elegant and sensual, to hitting you over the head with everything in the lab. It hardly stood a chance at the time, I suppose but all these years later, I can see Keora appealing to people seeking out a perfume that isn't all fruit and fabric softener.

Alfred Sung For Women-Review 1986 Vintage Formulation

Do you remember 1986? OK, do you remember what it smelled like?  I do, because as soon as Sung for women hit the market everyone from teenagers to pensioners moved about in vast clouds of it. Some perfumes encourage generous application-Sung is not one of them. Carefully applied it can be pleasant-but beware! This is not a perfume for dousing, even if it is as cheap as water. 

By 1986, I was settled with wearing Mitsouko and Shalimar exclusively. I mean, you find what works for you, why mess with perfection? That sort of thinking in 1986 made sense too- people had their, "Signature" perfume that they wore most days.  Sung never appealed to me, and if I'm honest, I probably had a bit of a bias towards Canadian perfume. I know better now, but my younger self was...younger. 

I'm not going to lie-Sung still smells like a cheap perfume to me. That isn't always a bad thing, and heaven knows I can enjoy a bottle of Emeraude or Sophia as much as anything on the high end. It has to be the hyacinths ruining Sung for me. I like just about everything else in it (oakmoss, vetiver, bergamot) so I'm blaming the one note that seems to dominate Sung from start to finish, and makes me think it is being used to hide something-the stench of a dead body, perhaps. 

I never did smell the oakmoss or vetiver, and had only the briefest whiff of the bergamot. Lily of the valley is there, which I typically like but here it isn't fresh so much as sterile. It smells freshly cleaned. Scoured, even. Maybe the lily of the valley knows where the body's hidden. 

I found the body! It's the orchids and musk. I knew it. Someone ring Angela Lansbury, this perfume has Murder She Wrote all over it. It smells like something a middle class woman from Maine would wear. With loafers, and a nice polo neck. 

I must note that Sung for women smells exactly as I remember it on other people (I shared a small office with someone that wore it) which is interesting as I often can't trust my scent memories. I can't vouch for the newer formulations (I'd guess the oakmoss is either gone or replaced with something inferior) but this old bottle of the original formulation is as monstrously floral as I remember. It aged well, though when I first opened it I thought something was very wrong. It does take a few moments to burn off the chemical/nail polish smell, but after that it is good, old, Sung. If you loved it, it will still love you back. 

I seem to be on a quest to prove I really don't like this sort of thing. Last week, it was Bill Blass, this morning it was Eau de Givenchy. Why not buy a big bottle of Anais Anais and get it the hell over with? I understand what people see in Sung, and why they enjoy wearing it. Me? No. It took willpower to keep from scrubbing it off in the first five minutes (and every hour after that because Sung lacks nothing in longevity). 

OK, so here's the official list though all you really need to know is, Hyacinths and lily of the valley. 

Orange, mandarin, galbanum, HYACINTHS, ylang ylang, bergamot, lemon, osmanthus, jasmine, lily of the valley, iris, carnation, orchid, rose, amber, sandalwood, orange blossom, musk, vetiver, oakmoss, vanilla, HYACINTHS, HYACINTHS, and HYACINTHS. You get the idea. Near the end it does get sweeter (the amber, perhaps?) but basically this is a bright fragrance. 

The strange thing about Sung is that everyone around me likes it. Not just generally, but on me. It makes sense because we all have an idea of what we think we smell like, naturally and with fragrance. I know that when I select a fragrance to wear it is much more than how it smells driving my decisions. Someone smelling a fragrance on another person is relieved of all that intellectual wrangling and can just approach it from, "You smell good." 

Is Sung a bad perfume? No, in fact for the money it is a really good perfume, it just doesn't happen to be my style. If you like heavy-hitting white florals, Sung might be the best ten bucks you can spend at Marshalls. 

Frederic Malle, The Night-Review

What does an $800.00 USD bottle of perfume smell like (besides pretension)? In my world, $800 bucks gets you a used car-a really nice one like a Pontiac Sunbird or a Ford Tempo. Thank goodness for decants. For ten dollars I was able to experience The Night without feeling obligated to use every last precious drop whether I liked it or not. If you're considering this one, I really encourage you to try it out in a decant first-you don't want to be looking at the bottle on your perfume tray and find yourself thinking, "I could have bought a 25 year old Ford Tempo." Call me old fashioned but for that kind of dough, I'd like a nicer bottle as well.

My son Danny's observation was so accurate I feel it merits mention. Upon trying The Night, he looked puzzled for a moment before declaring, "It smells like rubber and motor oil. They should have called it, The Night Mechanic."

I will forever think of this perfume as, The Night Mechanic, and wish there were a series of pulp detective novels of the same name. "The Night Mechanic: he repairs your reputation, fixes your car, and brings you roses. Turkish roses."

Personally, I detect more plastic in The Night, like a vinyl shower curtain. A rose scented shower curtain. I don't want to give the impression this is a bad thing-I sort of like that aspect of oud, but if you don't then this probably isn't a perfume you will enjoy because it is not subtle. A little goes a very long way, so at least if you do splash out on a full bottle it will probably be a lifetime supply.

I thought it was interesting that The Night doesn't really have any note pyramid-it all hits at once, and fades more or less the same. That's an accomplishment for a rose note to fight it out to the bitter end, particularly when faced with oud. If I could find one thing to complain about (other than the price tag) it would be the amber. Whatever sort of amber was used, it isn't a good fit with the oud and rose. It is sweet without the depth a good amber should have. Granted, it has the oud and the rose for company but it is too sweet, and subtle for the notes it is blended with. On paper, amber ought to work here, but it smells a little out of place to me.

I've read the reviews (and enjoyed some laughs at the comparisons to hay and horseshit) but I think it would be unfair to call The Night, disgusting. It isn't. You may be disgusted by it, but the composition is acceptable, and other than the amount of real oud that went into it (lots!) there's nothing terribly inaccessible here.  You might not enjoy it, but the quality of the ingredients is quite good. $800 USD good? Well no, of course not.

There are so many good quality oud perfumes out there for a fraction of The Night that the only reason I can see for spending that sort of money is to make a statement. I wouldn't be impressed by a gift of The Night, but I'm also not the target audience for this sort of thing. If you wanted to display wealth, The Night is your perfume. If I were out to impress on a budget, I might go for Creed Royal Oud which is still pricey but not insane, and is a bit less likely to get compared to rose scented shower curtains. It is an oud for beginners.

The notes? Oud, rose and amber. That's about it. Not much of a chemistry lesson.

I didn't hate, The Night but it wasn't all flutters in my heart, and swooning either. I'm a little disappointed because who wouldn't want to be swept off their feet? Still, I'll wear the sample I have and keep a bit for comparing to other oud based fragrances. I'm glad to have a small vial of it, and to have the opportunity to wear it, but thankfully, it isn't love. I'm relieved it isn't.

                                          "Ugh, what's that smell?"
                                          " That's just The Night (garden)."
                                         

                                         
                                           

Serge Lutens Santal de Mysore-Review

Let's get something out of the way before I launch into a review of Serge Lutens Santal de Mysore-it does smell a bit of some spices that typically show up in Indian curries. That said, to my nose anyway, it does not smell, "Exactly like curry" as many reviews have stated. If you want to smell something loaded with methe leaves, coriander, and turmeric, give Djedi a try. That's a curry scented perfume! Santal de Mysore just has a heavy dose of cumin and caraway at the opening. If anything, I thought it was a tad on the medicinal side in the first thirty minutes.

I admit it, sandalwood was never my favourite note until I ran across Guerlain Santal Royal and promptly fell in love. Oh, I know the reviews were terrible, but when it comes to love you shouldn't pay any attention to what others think-you're the one that has to live with it and thankfully perfume won't leave the toilet seat up or expect you to remember to pay the insurance bill. So screw what your friends think and wear what you love. After Santal Royal, I became a bit more open minded about the note I so strongly associate with incense, hippies, and attempts at covering the smell of pot smoking (Note to pot smokers-it doesn't work). Sure, if I could travel back in time to 1969 and walk into a record store/head shop and the smell of sandalwood hit me, I'd probably be amused and take in the nostalgia. In 2016, it is a bit harder to get away with heavy doses of the stuff unless it is done with a great deal of skill and imagination. I had to try Santal de Mysore.

The opening was a surprise. Styrax, and lots of it! I guess that's the medicinal bit I caught at the start, but in a nice way-like Fisherman's Friend cough drops. Styrax shows up in so many perfumes, but it typically isn't quite so present from the get-go. It does settle down after a bit, but it never quite goes away, which I do think is a positive. To my nose it compliments the spices, but it is that medicinal quality that can make the spices seem curry-like. Cumin, caraway, and styrax standing -in for the other strongly medicinal smelling spice, turmeric can start to evoke dinner if your only associations with those notes come from cooking. I don't think it is crazy to make the curry observation about Santal de Mysore, I can understand it, though I personally don't experience it. To me, SdM smells rich, heavy and outright majestic.

Once the styrax and spices come together the perfume gets a beautiful, deep scent of vanilla. It isn't vanilla according to the notes, but vanilla's dupe, benzoin which can sometimes have a perfumed richness vanilla can't quite achieve without becoming too much. The magic of this combination is how it barely seems sweet at all, but still manages to feel completely indulgent. If you're shaking your head at the thought of cough drops, caraway rye bread, and vanilla custard I'll understand. It really shouldn't work, and for many people it doesn't. I'm considering myself incredibly fortunate to be among those who are able to enjoy it-and what an enjoyment it is! No tie-dyed Deadheads burning incense here-Santal de Mysore is adorned with silks and jewels.

The sandalwood is so beautiful-strong and present, but not overpowering. This has to be the most nuanced sandalwood I've ever run across-it has dimensions. There's a dryness to it-I can almost feel it in my mind, but there's a brightness too, and at various points as the base came through, I could swear I was smelling a faint citrus-not the juice, but the peel, and possibly the pith.

Santal de Mysore works so well on me, it comes as a shock. I have to be careful with cumin notes as they can sometimes turn awful on me, going from slightly dirty to never washed. The cumin in Santal de Mysore is subtle. I have read reviews where people have experienced it as the dominant note, and I believe them, but for me it all came together in a way that didn't feel like any one facet was drowning the rest out. The styrax is loud at the start, but it settles in and behaves nicely for me after the first half hour. At the very end of the wear-an incredible 10 hours for me, the styrax makes a reappearance, or everything else has faded away and it is once more noticeable. Whatever the reason, it arrives to finish things off like the fragrant puff of smoke when a candle extinguishes.

I shouldn't like this perfume, but I do. None of my favourite notes are there, many of my less favourite are. The perfume is expensive, the bottle uninteresting, and the hype mildly irritating. Clearly, I've been seduced by something and my best guess is skilled chemistry. Styrax with sandalwood and caraway? It shouldn't work, but oh...it does. For me. This is such a beautiful perfume, and though I can't say it would ever replace Santal Royal for me as they are quite different, but it is a whole hell of a lot easier to get hold of, and in larger quantities. Santal Royal is breaking my heart and my pocketbook. Santal de Mysore is no bargain, but it seems like one in comparison.

I can't drive this home enough-reviews are subjective. There are more reviewers out there that were repulsed by Santal de Mysore than loved it. I can't know what your scent associations are, or what sort of spices spell curry to you. As this isn't an inexpensive perfume, I encourage you to order yourself a decant first. Don't be intimidated by the reviews-dab a generous amount on yourself and give it a chance to develop before rushing to wash it off (which won't be easy because this stuff has incredible longevity). Try it on your skin, because I suspect much of the way it develops will depend on you. On my clothes, it is a much less exciting scent.

The official notes are short and sweet on this one:
Sandalwood, spices, styrax, benzoin, and caraway.

I'm really happy to have found this one, and it will be interesting to see how it works on my skin in warm weather. If I had to rate it? 9/10, and only because perfection is reserved for a few precious loves. To quote Herman's Hermits, "Something tells me I'm into something good." Daaaaaam, Santal de Mysore, you smell good.


Coming Soon(ish) -a review of Lutens Ambre Sultan