Serous amounts of va va voom. I'd forgotten Sarah Baker signed the original F&F and similarly this new extrait version is like a nitro boost for your senses. Gas-guzzling, it hurtles you into a high-speed chase through a field of oil-stained tuberoses. It's racy stuff. The motor oil, the mezcal, the white flowers. It's thick, hot to the touch like a motor engine in full swing. Follow me on Instagram: @TheScentiest
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Flame & Fortune from Sarah Baker Perfumes smells like the shivery thrill of the chase and obsession for something elusive and rare, a chimera whispered on the wind, a mirage glimpsed in moonlight– and the inevitable reckoning at the end of this road of reckless desires. A charred diary page retrieved from the incendiary blast of a midnight explosion under the desert stars. Illegible script, a puzzle of ashy smudge in a swooping desperate hand, the labyrinthine cipher of a faded map whose details are lost to dust and sand, an exquisitely-detailed botanical revelation of a night-blooming flower both intoxicating and terrifying, the softly spiced mysteries of which might be a deadly curse, might be a cure for all the world’s ills. The dawn bleeds like an accusation, like a bullet wound, like a dying breath, and in that final inhalation, orange blossom, tuberose, jasmine, the fragrant honey of buds unfurling in the rising heat of the morning. The wind rustles with the fading memory of that sweetness as the sun rises where betrayal saw you fall.