SOTD: Parfum d'Empire Tabac Tabou

Tabac Tabou. Good name.

I dug through the subset of samples that live in the Tightly Sealed Metal Canister, and this one had by far the most interesting name. I tried to find something else, because it was in one of those pop-top 1ml vials, but nothing else intrigued.

So, after struggling with thumb and fingertips and fingernails and a butterknife over the sink, I finally got it open.  By then the excitement had faded, because the wet traces on the edge of the cap and on my fingernails didn't really smell all that interesting. But I smeared just a little on my wrist, and...

Ooh.

The opening was a civet-forward "what have I done?" moment, a shout of "I'm going to be really dirty!" A blast of animalic and dark-spicy notes that I couldn't quite put my finger on. Then the civet apparently shrugged and wandered off, and for the next few minutes I smelled moderately aggressive leather, progressing from well-worn and slightly sweaty to new and clean, a new belt emerging from tissue paper. It was accompanied by a little tobacco, quiet and retiring.

Then...

What is that? There's still an echo of leather and pipe smoke, but the main body of the scent has a powdery and faintly creamy vibe. It makes me think tea, not tobacco, but tea with a texture like buttercream cupcake frosting, with a faint crunch of sugar crystals now and then. 

And now I finally look at the notes--I try to force myself to experience at least a few minutes of a scent without looking. Luckyscent says "immortelle, tobacco, narcissus, honey, grass, musk". I'm guessing that the tobacco-tea-cupcake is coming from the honey and immortelle. The honey grows as time passes, with no hint of that urinous thing. I love beeswax, and this is close enough to be pleasing.

By the way, I'm not getting narcissus. At all. Not a hint. 

At this point, the scent also feels vintage. Some scents do a sort of deja vu thing on me, where a new scent announces itself as familiar. My brain is trying to say, "Oh, that smells just like Aunt Amelia always used to smell..." even though there never was an Aunt Amelia. 

I like it. So far I like it a lot. I actually tried it yesterday (SOTY?) but I can still smell it on my wrist if I put my nose up to the skin. I want to buy some, but a bottle would be madness--based on the projection and longevity I got just from that tiny smear, I suspect that the 1ml vial alone would last me a dozen or more wearings. So, a decant. I think. Though we might be at Scent Bar later this year...

(Temptation!)

That is all.

Review Roundup: Fragrantica and Now Smell This (from whom I realize that, yes! that scent I can't put my finger on does have a vibe of horse) and Kafkaesque and colognoisseur and Scent For Thought and memoryofscent and FragranceGeek and A Bottled Rose.

Image: By Dino Giordano.  Wikimedia Commons.

SOTD: Sonoma Scent Studio Yin and Ylang

This one isn't weird, either. But I like it. It's a comfort scent, both woody and floral, and with a sense of creamy chewy edibleness without any actual food scent. I keep wanting a little more of one note or another--a little more oak moss, or a little more sandalwood, or a little more of that edible vibe. I tend to assume that that stretching for a little more is a sign of a well-balanced scent, because surely if I had all I wanted of a note, I would soon be tired of it.

Want. I want De Bachmakov, too. My interest in perfume may be increasing again. That could be expensive.

Review Roundup: Now Smell This and Fragrantica and Cafleurebon. And surely someone else has reviewed this?

Image: Wikimedia Commons

SOTD: The Different Company De Bachmakov

(Actually, the scent of the weekend. We went to Portland Feast. We're fatter. Yay!)

It's been a while since I liked a new-to-me perfume this much. It's catering to my current preferences--I perceive it as silky, rather than fuzzy or dusty or scratchy. It's not too sweet or too sour. It announces itself proudly for several minutes after wearing, and just when I might feel a little too perfume-soaked it backs off and settles for sending out an occasional welcome puff if scent.

So what does it actually smell like? According to LuckyScent, "cedar wood, bergamot, shiso leaves, nutmeg, coriander leaves, white freesia, soft chalk accord." And they talk a lot about melting snow. According to me? Lemon, an idealized lemon that leans toward the floral. I assume that the lemon comes from the bergamot and the floral comes from, well, the flowers. I'm not sure what "soft chalk accord" is, but I think that it's what's making me feel "silky" rather than liquid.

This has me eyeing my credit cards. I've been wanting the perfect lemon for a while. Fresh Lemon Sugar has too much candy. Din Dan...well, I love Din Dan, and maybe this is just new and shiny, but I think I love it more.

My only concern is that it's not weird. It's pretty. It's feminine. It's not the least, tiniest little bit offensive on any level. This worries me a little.

Image: Wikimedia Commons.

SOTD: Tauer Carillon Pour un Ange, and relinquishing the meh

(And this was really the SOTD on Wednesday. Me pre-writing posts? What's with that?)

I bought it too fast.

I loved the sample. Falling-down, won't risk it going away, love. Bought it. Didn't like the first wearing. Went into denial and put it away. A year later, I'm trying it again.

Nope.

Wearing it gives me the same feeling as a glass of iced tea with too much lemon and not enough sugar. I'm not saying that there's any actual lemon--just that there's a sharpness that could be lovely and refreshing if there were enough sugar.

Maybe it's my skin chemistry.

I think that for the next attempt, I'll decant a little into a splash bottle. I tested it unsprayed, after all, so maybe...

I doubt it. The next solution is to give or swap it away, maybe with a few more just-accept-reality bottles. Swapping or selling is, of course thwarted by my Postal Regulation Phobia, so unless I coordinate with a perfume freak to meet in Portland on one of our lately-not-infrequent trips there, it's not all that workable.

I eye the collection for more of those accept-reality bottles. I'm always worried that someday I'll fall in love with something that I've given away. But there's no logic in that; it's a hoarderesque mindset. For one thing I use perfume so lightly that a 5ml decant would last me years, even in the regular rotation.

And, really, it's unlikely that I'll ever fall in love with a perfume for which my reaction is "meh." The ones worth keeping an eye on are the "Oh, my God, does it smell that way on purpose?" bottles.  Those are usually blind buys, which a light sprinkling of classics threatened by reformulation or discontinuation. (My Mitsouko, for example, and No. 5 before I started to appreciate it a little.) The blind buys were either rock-bottom-price discounter products, or things from indie houses that I respect. If I panic and buy something on the verge of discontinuation from an indie house, I figure that even if I don't like it, my money went to someone worthwhile.

Today's additions to the Out box:

Creed's Original Vetiver: Perfectly Nice. A gateway vetiver. Friendly. Nonthreatening. Cuddly. I'm past it. I might have an occasional craving, but I have four (four) (FOUR) ounces in one of those big Creed bottles from a discounter. I'll take a 5ml decant and give the rest away.

Alfred Sung's Sung: This is in the difficult "aldehydic meh" category. Someday I may learn to love aldehydes, and until that day, it's hard to predict which ones I might love. But there are a lot of likelier candidates--No. 5, Climat...OK, my mind blocks memory of aldehydes, but I know there are others. I'm going to let this one go.

Serge Lutens Bas de Soie: Pretty. Also, pretty. Perfectly Nice. And pretty. If Lutens has to produce the occasional Perfectly Pretty Pretty Nice fragrance in order to make enough money needed to bottle the weird, fine. But I'm going to let someone else appreciate it.

Lancome Mille et Une Roses: I have this because I bought that little set of classics, including the aforementioned Climat. I don't like this one, and I have never yet learned to love a rose fragrance that I didn't like at first sniff. It's odd, because I love roses, but maybe that's what makes it not-odd. It's like fried chicken; I'm so attached to the "right" fried chicken that I have no tolerance for the "wrong", the kind with too much pepper or other transgressions.

There will be more.

That is all.

(I didn't bother to link the above perfume names to the posts with the Review Roundup for the perfume. This strikes me as evidence that I am less and less a perfume blog. Is this wrong?)

SOTD: Serge Lutens Santal Majuscule

OK, technically it was the SOTOD. (Scent of The Other Day.)

I'm not as familiar with sandalwood as I should be. I sniff perfumes, I read the notes lists, reviewers mention the sandalwood, I shrug and say OK, but I don't  have the note "down". So I'm going to sniff a selection of my sandalwood pefumes and samples, starting with Santal Majuscule. One spray, several hours.

At the beginning of Santal Majuscule, I get roses and nuts--my brain says "food" more than wood, and I suspect that I'm smelling the immortelle, and perhaps unconsciously reacting to the cocoa note that others perceive but I don't.

This initial nutty woody theme is a nice "low" smell, which leads to my own weird terminology: In my mind, "low" smells are subtle rather than piercing, rich rather than sparkling, mellow rather than sharp. "High" smells are on the other end of all of those scales. Low smells purr and take naps; high smells sing arias or at least do a little tapdancing. Cedar is low; aldehydes are very, very high.  L'Artisan Tea for Two is delighftully low; Shiseido White Rose is gloriously high. This is, I emphasize again, all my whacky. You won't find this terminology in perfume glossaries. I think.

The "low" nutty note at the top of Santal Majuscule is accompanied by a piercing, powdery, perfumey billow of "high" rose. In theory, this could work beautifully, like meringue on a thick, rich pie. In practice it doesn't work well for me here. I'd prefer a lower rose, jammier as in Aftelier's Wild Roses or silkier and quieter as in CB I Hate Perfume's Tea/Rose.

In about half an hour, the roses, nuts, and powder settle down enough to stop blocking the view, and "generic wood" finally reveals itself as, "Ah! Sandalwood!" Turns out that I do know what sandalwood smells like. In this perfume, it's a gentle friendly version, without too much spice or glamour. I like it a lot, and I wish that rose would stop tickling it.

The sandalwood, powder, rose, and something incense-prickly kept fighting it out all day, and it wasn't an altogether friendly contest. I suspect that my current distaste for the powdery and prickly is influencing me here, and that at another time I would adore this--as I once did, when I (ahem) bought the bottle. I'm confident that I will love it again, but just this minute I'm a little halfhearted about it.

Image: Wikimedia Commons.

(2/7/2013: Edited for spelling correction.)

SOTD: Estee Lauder Jasmine White Moss

I wore a bottle!

That sounds weird. But you know what I mean, right? I actually sprayed on a scent from a bottle that I own, instead of wearing a sample. After two fuzzy-powdery "meh" scents, I wanted to wear something I know I like. And I do. Jasmine White Moss gets ladylike, sweet, sour, floral, green, and affable all in perfect balance.

OK, that's all. There might be more babbling later.

Review Roundup: Is here.

Image: By Poco a poco. Wikimedia Commons.

SOTD: Tom Ford Tobacco Vanille

Hmm. Looks like this is another expensive perfume that I don't need to own.

I remember it as pipe-smokier, smoother, more liquid and silky. When I wore it today it was fuzzy powdery tobacco-spice cookie. Meh.

That is all.

Image: Wikimedia Commons.

SOTD: Love By Kilian

Nope.

A while ago I wrote a post, Delicious Blandness, about my enjoyment of certain bland flavors. It was mostly about the the chicken that I used to get at Szechuan Garden in Mountain View, pounded-flat chicken with no noticeable flavor other than that of a thick coating of seasame seeds, deep-fried very pale golden brown. Yum. Luckily, I seem to be able to duplicate it at home; it's that simple.

Some perfumes have a similar satisfying blandness. Douce Amere. Boss Woman, of all things. Lann-Ael. Feminite du Bois, when it's in a pencil mood, though not when it's in a spicy mood.

Love By Kilian ought to be one of those perfumes. Luca Turin compares it to meringues and gives it four stars. The Non-Blonde compares it to marshmallows.  People get nostalgia, innocence, deliciously resiny caramel, all sorts of delightful things from this.

I get fruity pink powder. Not deliciously bland, just bland.

Sigh.

Well, if I'm going to be unimpressed by a perfume, it's just as well that it's one of the expensive ones.

Review Roundup: Basenotes and MakeupAlley and The Non-Blonde and Olfactoria's Travels and Scent of the Day and The Scented Salamander.

Image: By Young. Wikimedia Commons

SOTD: A Shalimar novice's impressions

Is it weird that I feel that I can't just say "Shalimar"? I feel the need to clarify the strength and vintage. I'm new to this classic; this is the third variant that I've tried in the past few weeks, or the fourth, if you count the Parfum Initial.

I felt that the current EDP had perceptible flaws. Not that I know Shalimar at all well, but if that EDP is the perfume, I'm not going to be a fan. It was quiet and rather dreary, the citrus and vanilla showing up for work but without any enthusiasm. The burned rubber was there, but it was in a bad mood.

A sample-sized decant of the vintage EDT, on the other hand, had sparkling citrus sometimes lifting up the flowers, sometimes good-naturedly wrestling with leather and rubber, with a velvety fog of vanilla mellowing it all. This was, I must admit, all on fabric--I was headed for a no-fresh-perfume social occasion. I'll try it properly on skin, but I think I'm going to want more.

Today I wore a couple of drops of the non-vintage extrait, and I can't make up my mind. It's neither dreary or sparkling; it's closer to a comfort scent than a bombshell perfume. I was planning to buy a half-ounce new bottle; now I'm not so sure.

Image: Wikimedia Commons.

SOTD: Dawn Spencer Hurwitz Mirabella

I bought this blind. And I'm glad I did. On principle, this was the wrong thing to do; I bought it because I read rhapsodic reviews, and it was gone and then was back, but only temporarily. In other words, it was an uninformed panic buy.

In practice, after wearing it, I'm not even a little bit sorry. I need to wear it again to find the right language to describe it. It's dark, but in the sense of dim lights and deep textures, rather than moody or threatening. Dark. Layered. There's sweetness but it's not a sweet perfume. That's all I've got right now.

Image: Wikimedia Commons.

SOTD: 28 La Pausa

Smells like Chanel.

No, that's not a review. But that was my first thought when I applied this, this morning. And all day, when I caught those now-and-then whiffs.

What makes Chanel smell like Chanel? I need to think about that.

Image: Wikimedia Commons.

SOTD/Review: Byredo Pulp

Fruity.

I almost left the review at that one word, but then I started having thoughts. For example, Pulp is indeed fruity. It's a little abstract; it doesn't conjure up completely realistic three-dimensional fruit. But it makes me imagine warm, overripe, crushed pulp with bees just starting to investigate, rather than candy or sorbet or Torani syrup, as so many other fruity fragrances do.

It also announces "perfume" in the topnotes (Aldehydes? Something else?), as if to assure me, with a wink, that it has read its job description, and that it knows I'm a grownup. But that fades; within perhaps ten minutes it's just squashed fruit. And that's fine.

What fruit? The notes list has a lot of fruit and a few flowers. (Bergamot, cardamom, black currant, fig, red apple, tiare flower, cedar, praline, peach blossom.) But it all blends, so that it smells to me like a single unknown fruit, rather than an orchard or a salad. A stone fruit, I think, related to but very different from peaches or plums. Bigger and wetter and more brightly colored; the kind of fruit that you carry outside to eat over the grass, because it's going to drip that much.

But there's a gesture toward melon--it has a fair bit of that note that can make cataloupe smell just a little bit sickly. I'm guessing that's what makes some people smell decay in this, but it stops before it goes over the edge, and in fact I might like just a little more of it. It's this note that makes Pulp work for me on a winter day; it provides just enough sun and warmth without any risk of seasonal jetlag.

FTC Disclosure: I got the sample for free (bwahaha!) but in my role as a sniffsniffsniffing customer roaming the wilds of the Holt Renfrew perfume floor, not in my role as a blogger.

Review Roundup: MakeupAlley and Basenotes and Now Smell This and Perfume-Smellin' Things and Katie Puckrick Smells and Fragrance Bouquet and Perfume Posse and No Dissasemble Charlie No. 5 and WAFT.

Image: Wikimedia Commons.

SOTD: Fracas Parfum

I've been establishing a foothold in some of the classics that are still considered worth owning. A high-quality but small foothold, which to me means a minimum-sized bottle of parfum. Or extrait. You know, that strong stuff. In a stopper bottle, because spraying parfum just seems wrong. And sometimes suicidal.

For a past birthday, Himself gifted me with three-quarters of an ounce of No. 19 parfum--a glorious excess above "minimum-sized." Some months ago, I acquired half an ounce of No. 5 parfum. I'm looking for the smallest possible Shalimar parfum--irritatingly, the only source that I've found selling a small stopper bottle online is out of stock, and another source only had those refill sprayer things. And I just received a quarter ounce of Fracas.  (That tiiiiny little bottle is so dang cute! (Did I say cute? No, of course not.))

I wore it today, and was a bit surprised--not disappointed, just surprised. I expected something stronger, dirtier, and less well behaved. What I got was distinctly...well, pretty. Certainly not a weak and watery kind of pretty, but it wasn't the indole bomb that I expected. I remember, somewhere, discussing whether some people's skins amplify weird notes while others mask them; I suspect that mine masks them. I'm going to have to try that Secretions thing and that Koublai Khan thing and see if they turn all prim and giggly.

Also, it had very little projection and it didn't really last long--or I quickly go anosmic to it. I realize that sometimes parfums blow up a room, and sometimes they are indeed quieter and closer to the skin, but it shouldn't fade so fast, should it? I'm confident in the source that I bought it from, so...well, puzzlement. I'll apply more next time, to see if that amps it up. Maybe I'm just parfum-phobic from my Shalimar trauma.

But it's beautiful. No whining from me there. Better-groomed and sleeker than I expected, but that's just fine.

Image: Wikimedia Commons.

SOTD: Providence Perfume Co. Lei Flower

Yum.

Starts out gentle spice cookie, shifts to comfort scent, ends in a lovely tangy floral.

The website says it's being discontinued. Dagnabbit. I hate hurried decisions.

Image: By Janet Hudson. Wikimedia Commons.

SOTD: Indult Tihota

Hmm.

See, when I tried Indult Tihota--from a sample--I loved it. Adored it. Wanted it. Longed for it, and stared endlessly at its page on LuckyScent. But I just couldn't quite get myself to pay the price for a bottle. And then its limited-edition self went away, and that was that for a full bottle.

And I thought about it and thought about it and finally decided that before it vanishes from the decant market too, I'd better buy myself some. I did, a nice little 5ml sprayer for an alarming price. It came today. I was delighted. I sprayed some on.

I... um... am not so sure that I like it any more.

I want to be clear, there's nothing wrong with the decant. It's the same sweet lovely vanilla that I loved back then. But back then, I was early in my perfume obsession, and I still liked the lovely, the simple, the pure and beautiful. I'm pretty much over that now; I like things with claws or mottled skin or a good threatening growl.

I'm not sorry I bought it. I'm sure that there will be comfort-scent days when I'm delighted to reach for it. But it is a lesson in just how much I've changed--and in the need to re-sample. The alarming price of the decant was just about the right price and the right number of milliliters for how much I like this scent now; if I'd paid the original $250 full-bottle price, or more, I'd be a bit cranky.

But given my new issue with the beautiful, I'm a little worried about my future relationship with Un Lys. I'd better wear it tomorrow and see how it goes.

Image: Wikimedia Commons.

SOTD: Royal Apothic Extract Blackberry

This Monday I went back to Prize for my usual chocolate tile, and came face-to-face with the Royal Apothic display. Again. I bought the Green Tea that I reviewed a little while ago, and rollered on the Blackberry. And ran away.

By the way, did I mention their Apricot, tried after Green Tea but before Blackberry? It smelled like a pleasant enough apricot, and then like apricot and soap, and that was that. Mostly linear. Perfectly adequate. Meh.

The Blackberry is also linear. But that's OK; when it comes to blackberry, I don't believe in subtlety. I sometimes buy blackberry Italian sodas, and some folks put in just enough syrup to tint the fizzy water a pale pretty amethyst, creating a low-calorie drink that tastes like not-quite-water. On the other hand, the woman in the booth down the park, year before year before last, made me one that was so opaquely purple as to be almost black. When I sipped it, I could imagine the sugar crystallizing on my teeth. And she encouraged me, all the same, to "Let me know if you want more syrup."

Yum.

That's how I like my blackberry. I never tried l'Artisan Mure et Musc before reformulation, but the post-reformulation version smells fizzy and fresh and healthy, rather like that barely-amethyst soda. My objection might be based on having an inferior nose, but I gave it away anyway, to a friend who appreciates it.

The Royal Apothic version is much closer to the sticky purple drink. Sweet. Purple-smelling. Not changing the least little bit as it dries down. It's not so much a perfume as a note. I'll probably end up buying it anyway.

 Image: By De-Okin. Wikimedia Commons.

SOTD: Aftelier Cacao (First wearing)

Yum.

I bought a mini of this on kinda-sorta impulse last week, where "impulse" means that I only thought about it for two days. I finally wore it properly today.

At the beginning, the orange struck me more than the chocolate--a good bitter orange that makes me resolve to look for orange notes in other Aftelier perfumes.  And there was chocolate, of course, but Cacao didn't read as a "foody" perfume to me. There was an animalic note that made it darker and more grown-up, and contrarily seemed both dangerous and comforting--fuzzy purring, but with claws in reserve.

As it developed, there was less orange and less growl; it turned sweeter and more floral. Then the vanilla at the base grew, though the whole package started to fade away before a really satisfying vanilla fog could develop. There's barely a trace on my arm now, about twelve hours after application. But that's fine. I've never quite seem the appeal of extreme longevity, so the limited life of all-natural perfumes is just fine with me.

I like it. I can't tell yet if I love it. That may come on the second wearing.

Review Roundup: The Non-Blonde and MakeupAlley and Fragrantica and Basenotes and This Blog Really Stinks and Eyeliner On A Cat and WAFT.

Image: By Ankara. Wikimedia Commons.

SOTD: Ayala Moriel Schizm (Quick sniff.)

The other perfumes are bullying Schizm.

I applied some of my sample this morning, and found the slightly bitter dusty mossiness delightful. But as time went on, I began to smell...green tea

Yeah. I applied it to the same hand as yesterday's scent, and apparently the re-moistening woke up the faded scent.

So I started over on my forearm after lunch, and was enjoying it as the bitter green musty moss slowly transformed into something more floral and buttery. Then I decided to unpack my perfume Ziploc from my recent trip (I may be posting a portrait of said Ziploc tomorrow). You know that "uh-oh" moment when you feel dampness on your hands, just before the scented fog rises? Yeah. Sample vial failure. I'm now drowning in Jo Malone Blackberry & Bay.

So this is not a review. But the glimpses of Schizm that I did get were nice. Very nice.

Image: By Dick Mudde. Wikimedia Commons.

SOTD: Royal Apothic Extracts Green Tea

So, at lunchtime I was in Prize, a lovely local store mentioned in my sadly outdated Ashland Fume Scout post. Next to the candy were some roll-on perfumes from a company named Royal Apothic. I rolled a streak of the one called Green Tea on my hand, bought my usual almond-sea-salt chocolate tile, and ran away. I didn't even check the price, but a Google search tells me that it's probably under twenty dollars and that this brand is sold at Anthropologie, among other places.

Green Tea started out sweet and, yes, tealike--tea with a fair bit of sugar and an unidentifiable richer sweet note that I can't quite place. Stone fruit? No, or at least not very ripe stone fruit. Bergamot? No, but it could be bergamot's second cousin. I guess, really, it's just green tea, but I perceive it as separate from the note that I read as "tea". At this phase, I persuaded Himself to sniff and he gave it his second-best rating, which is that it didn't offend him. He noted with approval that it didn't smell of aldehydes or alcohol.

Green Tea is reliably pleasing, without any weirdness. Those are characteristics that usually bore me, but it does have some personality, quirks that appeal to my weird-loving heart.  As it dries down, it maintains a little tension between (mostly) sweet and (a little) bitter, rather than frantically spraying syrup at me. Once in a while I get a confusing whiff of tangy floral that makes me look around to see what perfume bottle is near, then sniff my hand and say, "Oh!"  It's similar to the way that Luctor et Emergo shifts between Play-Doh and cherries--when one personality is dominant, you find yourself doubting that the other one was ever there. I was initially going to call it linear, but if I don't say that about Luctor et Emergo, I can't say it about Green Tea.

It has very modest projection, while still offering an occasional surprise whiff--just from that one streak on my hand. That makes it a candidate for the "inoffensive but interesting" crowd for wearing to plays, airplanes, and other occasions when other people are trapped near me.  In my collection, that category is currently dominated by Pacifica Tuscan Blood Orange and k. hall Designs Cypress & Cassis, both solids and both flat-out linear, so Green Tea beats them on that point. I rather wish that Green Tea were also a solid, so that I could add it to my no-Ziploc-needed airplane wardrobe.

Hmmm. I Google Royal Apothic and learn that they mainly do home fragrances--as do Pacifica and k. hall Designs.  Does that explain the lack of aggressive projection and the lack of classic note development?

Anyway, I like it. I don't think that I even need to add "for under twenty dollars" though I will say, "as a comfort scent." It's not going to be on my desert island list, but there's a good chance that I'll buy one, and if you're less addicted to weird than me, you may like it even better.

Image: Wikimedia Commons

SOTD: Hermes Osmanthe Yunnan

And again I whine about this scent. I loved it once. Adored it. Completely understood Luca Turin's five star rating. And then I never appreciated it again.

I perceive it as "matte"--smooth, but a textured, not a fuzzy or furry, smooth. Dry, not liquid. A little bit dusty. I like all that, but it's not enough. For about fifteen minutes, starting about half an hour in, there's a lovely streak of lemon and I have hopes of loving it again. Then the lemon's gone and there's too much sugar and not enough tea or smoke.

I just wandered off to look at reviews of it, and this review on Now Smell This reminded me once again of the existence of The Pour un Ete.

Maybe Din Dan is going to have to wait.

Image: By Peter Kratochvil. Wikimedia Commons.