Green Spell from Eris Parfums is as if a celestial being of 100% chlorophyll descended from the heavens, its wings a crushing flutter of many leaves, broad and flat, delicate and curled, waxen, rubbery, pliant, radiating every variation of veridian. In a voice like seeping moss, like eroding rock, like insect wings disintegrating into the earth, it whispers to you, "Like, be not afraid, or whatever." It's the endless trailing succulent stem of a bittersweet pennywort patch through the soil until you reach a darkly massive gnashing malachite rootball nightmare. You awake with emerald scratchings on your palm and jade lashings of fern in your teeth.
Nightingale from Zoologist is, on paper, something I initially wouldn’t have thought my cup of tea--but that just goes to show what I know. This is an opulent mossy plum blossom with bitter, earthy oud, and hints of a sour, lemony geranium–like rose. It’s being referred to as a pink floral chypre which, probably because of my associations with all things pink, rings frilly and frivolous for what turns out to be a breathtakingly stunning fragrance with an unexpected complexity that translates into something profoundly emotional. In reading an interview with the perfumer, I learned that the inspiration for this perfume was an ancient poem written by Fujiwara no Kenshi, sister to the empress at that time. The empress was apparently trading her imperial duties for Buddhist vows, and upon her departure, her sister gifted her an agarwood rosary wrapped in a box with ribbons and a branch of plum blossom and read to her a poem she had written: “Soon you will be wearing a black robe and enter nunhood. You will not know each rosary bead has my tears on it.” I truly do get a sense of love, loss, sisterhood, and yearning, and somehow, through that perspective, I even experience an existential sadness regarding the transient nature of time and existence. What a beautiful and evocative fragrance
Sacred Scarab is a scent of bitter, lemony aldehydes and earthy, murky, dusky musks, and when I say earthy, I don’t mean damp, loamy garden soil, but rather dusty clay, and subterranean strata of sedimentary rock, digging so far down into the earth you encounter tenebrous geological formations and stygian crystalline structures ostensibly connected to the earth’s deep history–and yet to your unbelieving eyes or mine, wholly alien and otherworldly. It’s a fragrance that evokes at least a minor feeling of, if not the reality of a crumbling collapse of space and time, the prelude to the ecstatic rites of an ancient mystery cult of earth and stone. That initial mineralogical melodrama is breathtaking, and I probably enjoy those 15-20 minutes of the fragrance best, but the next stage and the dry down, a sort of "burnished date/sticky raisin resin incense scattered in the dry wood of a smooth cedar dish" vibe, is lovely as well and worth the wait, if you find the early sniffs are too overwhelming. I can’t decide if this scent is a prayer or a protest, a comfort or a curse, and I deeply love the unknowable mystery of that.
Delta of Venus is built around guava, and here’s a confession: I have never smelled or tasted guava, so it’s not for me to say how realistic it is, but here’s another confession: I don’t come to fragrance for realism, so who cares! What I do experience is a fragrance ravenously lush and rosy-glowing with exuberance, a thronging pulse of velvety sunset mango, the tart-tinglingly bright shiver of pineapple, and the bittersweet toe-curling juicy astringency and vaguely funky musk of pink grapefruit. There’s nothing dark about this scent, but there’s an underlying luxe, shadowy floral that I can’t help but associate with black velvet in a way, in gorgeous contrast to those invitingly vibrant tropical fruits. In my mind’s eye, this is a brooding black velvet vanitas painting with a prismatic profusion of soft fruits tumbling lusciously off the canvas.
The first time I sampled Avignon, it was sweltering high summer and I was not prepared to appreciate it. I found it too clean and thin—it initially made me think less of the wooden pews, stone walls, and soaring vault of a cathedral and more of a spotless church bathroom. Being accustomed to the woodier notes of the other fragrances in CDG’s Incense series, I was a little confused by its airy, fizzy, vanilla-cola sweetness. (Having attended catholic mass exactly once in my life, I also had next to no familiarity with church incense itself). I rated Avignon as my least favourite of the series, with the caveat that I still haven’t sampled Jaisalmer. How things have changed! Now that the chill of autumn has set in, I’ve been craving warmer, sweeter, resinous aromas and seeking out more amber and incense perfumes. I’ve grown very fond of the incense bases in CDG 2 Man and Eris’ Scorpio Rising, in which incense is blended with leathery notes—also the case in Trudon’s Revolution and CDG Zagorsk, both of which I enjoy. Trudon Mortel is a dark, spicy (but still woody) take on church incense that led me down the path of appreciating ecclesiastical frankincense and myrrh as the focus of a fragrance, and Jovoy’s Liturgie des Heures is an even purer church incense with a rich, musky, slightly boozy amber sweetness. But coming back to Avignon in this frame of mind revealed a completely new experience. In cold weather, its chilly austerity unfolds its celestial wings, clean and pure. It’s relaxing and meditative, with a fine, rarefied sweetness that develops from the sparkling elemi/aldehyde c-12 opening into a subtle, resinous vanilla. The blending of the various notes (chamomile, labdanum, ambrette, cedar, patchouli, rosewood, oakmoss) is superbly smooth and unified, like the harmony of voices in a Gregorian chant—I salute Bertrand Duchaufour’s mastery! I’ve gone from being intrigued to borderline obsessed, craving a sniff of aldehydic olibanum even on days when I feel like wearing a different fragrance. I still have a list of other church-incense frags to try (with Filippo Sorcinelli at the top), but now I get why Avignon is such a revered reference. I’m a convert. 🙏
Terrible this has been discontinued. It's top 5 for sure. Using dupes now.
An incredible aromatic fougère.
Gentle citrus and spice in the opening but just supporting the wonderful aromatic herbal lavender.
Truly reminiscent of a barbershop.
Some depth supports the base with leather, musk, and tonka adding warmth.
VERY strong, lasts eternally on my skin. The feel is extremely similar to the dry down of Œillet Pourpre, which I prefer. This one is a little sweet. Very heavy on the Guerlinade.
Une vanille ronde, douce et musquée. L’image que j’associe à ce parfum est « princesse d’hiver ». Il est doux et sa projection est bien, sans être agaçante. Sa longévité n’est pas si mal (6-7h) sur moi. Pour lui donner un coup de pouce, j’aime parfois l’utiliser en layering avec Vanille Outremer. Le combo est complètement divin!!
I bet $1000 dollars this is by Bisch. Update: OK so it's not. Smells boring as shit though.
Finally tried this out yesterday, I've been curious for a while and was frankly a bit skeptical about the hype. Was I wrong though. I don't know what is, but there's something that I find very compelling about this perfume, playful but not in a juvenile way. So much so that I keep sniffing my skin, where the scent still softly lingers over 12 hours later in a cozy delicate drydown, and am amazed at the projection on the paper strip, where the full symphony of notes still fills a room. All the fuss about smelling like lady parts is sort of true in the way I think some jasmine fragrances tend to do. On that matter, in the first minute after spritzing it reminded me a bit of Mugler's Womanity, probably due to the ambergris note (caviar accord in Womanity), but it passed quickly evolving in a beautiful and like I said earlier compelling, delicately fruity floral composition, fresh and airy despite its room filling tendencies; I'm surprised to like it because while I do room filling, I'm usually not really keen on fresh and airy, leaning instead more towards dark and torbid, or stuffy. All in all I like it a lot, and I really really really wish I didn't because the price is a definite no no for me.
tart blueberries, lots of musk , rose and patchouli . Patchouli goes between being medicinal in the beginning but then becomes chocolate with some spice . A huge like for me
To me this smells like straight up suede. Makes me a bit nauseous...
When I was testing the perfumes from this new house it was immediately clear that the house has its own personal touch to each scent. None of them directly reminded me of any previous fragrance, even though the scent profiles are very common. It didn't feel like the style is immediately so "me" and the scents are heavy, so these are not for those who like light scents. Anyway I think you'll grow into these scents little by little. The more I have worn them the more I enjoy them. Topaz Glamour opens up with a exotic mix of berries and fruits, which is not a sparkling, light, summery drink, but rather reminds me of wine gum sweets. The aroma is not totally artificial by any means nor totally realistic, but it is rich, thick, opaque, a little even sticky, but not cloying. It's intoxicating. Raspberry does not stand out in any way individually or any more than "berries" in general. Like the chocolate note in Opal Secret the fruity note with berries lasts until the late dry down. The house has managed to create those note in the way which is not so easy always and woody notes are supporting and sustaining them. If Chocolate was dipped in Amber in Opal Secret, here all those berries and fruits has been dipped in Amber but it's not that dark here, it's bright and golden, a little bit shiny. Somehow it feels like the rising sun, which brightens as the day goes on. The longevity of this scent is also good and it takes many hours for the scent to develop a caramel-like sweetness. In the dry down the scent start to loose it's uniqueness and the aroma is softer, pleasant, sweet, fruity and utterly beautiful mixed with cozy Musk. Topaz Glamour is more suitable for wintertime since I think it can be heavy and stuffy in hot weather because It's very close to get a headache even now when it's cold. The problem is the first two hours and this is so potent that it's difficult to wear it less. The longevity is great. I don't see myself buying a full bottle of this one but I absolutely recommend you to try this one if you want some very unique and heavy fruits. I'm still learning the concept of this new house and I will maybe write a longer review later. I wrote already a review of Opal Secret, Amethyst Soul is written now as well and next will be Pearl Harmony and Onyx Wonder. Thank you for reading, I hope you liked my review. I would appreciate if you follow my IG: @ninamariah_perfumes It gives me a lot of motivation to write more. 🤗
Second time returning to this decant. It was warm autumn last time, it's frozen outside now.
I don't know if this one's for me. There's nothing bad about it per se, it's just not things that excite me.
I adore rose, and while it tries it's best to fight through the other notes, it's hard to clearly identify.
I don't know what's doing it, it could be nutty notes which are too heavy and fatty, the fruity note of pear which seems to be overripe, or the insane 46% concentration making it thick and heavy, but I just find this too cloying. Not in a screechy way, just in a thick, consuming way.
I'll give it a few hours and update.
6 hours in. I still find it almost too decadent.
It's sweet and rich and heavy, but there is a creamyness with ambergris, vanilla, and woods.
It's weaker than I expected for such an extrait.
Joe Smells Good on YouTube introduced me to this. The sage in this does come across sharp and medicinal. The vetiver is dry and hay-like, not the earthy wet Encre Noire kind. A piece of art, not so much something one wears for compliments. Niche for sure. Not for the faint of heart. Lasts for about a week on clothing.
Patchouli of the Underworld from Electimuss, to my nose, is a fragrance less evocative of the brutish god of the underworld and his nonconsensual bride than it is a summoning of the bitter heartbreak that’s tangled throughout the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice. When I was younger, I was terribly salty on Eurydice’s behalf; all you had to do was not look back, Orpheus! You were so close to having your beloved wife back from the dead! But …no. You did the one thing they specifically tasked you with not doing. You looked. Margaret Atwood wrote in a poem from Eurydice’s point of view, “you could not believe I was more than your echo–” and I think that’s what Patchouli of the Underworld captures so uncannily, the pale grey echo of that very human doubt and disbelief on his part, and the bitter disappointment that she must have felt, and the sorrow experienced by both of them. Now that I’m older, I better understand and certainly have more experience with the crushing gravity of grief, I know that everyone experiences it differently. And grieving people deserve the gift of grace. Orpheus mourns his wife lost twice over, and Eurydice’s sorrow at being drawn back into the darkness of death because of her husband’s momentary lapse of faith must have been immeasurable. That is what this scent captures so well. Forget the brand’s copy about musky sexiness or whatever. That’s not what this is. It’s the lamentations of one whose fleeting hope was stolen away by the person they loved best, and the devastating sense of regret held by the thief. If one were to distill those echoes of melancholy, that antiquity of sadness, and bottle the resulting essence, the results would be an olfactory dirge of smoky mists of pepper and powder and strange inky-leathery nuances, that, over time, becomes a despairing funeral soapy floral.
I’ll be honest here, I’m just as surprised as anyone that I really like this scent. There’s not much to say about it. It’s a marshmallow skin scent, a sort of floofy vanilla, a low-key magical-realism, everyday-fabulism, quotidian-fairytale scent…with an elusive hint of sour, canned pears. That’s a weird element that shows up very rarely, but I can’t pretend I didn’t smell it.
If you’ve not tried it, it’s exactly what you think it is. Which is to say an ultra sweet, teeth-aching miasma of fizzy spun sugar. Marshmallow and a tiny twist of lemon with a barely-detectable licorice spike. It is wretched. It is divine. I inexplicably adore it. I buy the “hair perfume” version so I can spritz with manic pixie dust mad abandon. The dry down is sweetly vanillic and woody, like maybe the bark of the mythic candy floss tree in the dime store candy forest. I know heaps of folks who hate this stuff. Oh well. More for me!
Dior Addict is a billowing cloud of honeyed amber and vanilla, jasmine and orange blossom with creamy tonka bean chiffon sandalwood lace. It’s femme fatale by way of baroque gothic lolita.
Fille en Aiguilles from Serge Lutens reminds me of a rich, spiced fruit compote that is sweetly simmering on the stove, in a snow covered chalet on the longest, darkest night of the year. The sun has just gone down and the the door bangs open; a gust of icy wind tears through carrying the briefest scent of pine needles; guest are stamping their feet and blowing on their hands, everyone has red noses and chilled ears and they are gathering close to a hearth where a warm glow lights their faces. The sweet, spicy concoction on the stove has evaporated so there is no longer a syrupy fragrance, but instead the slightly smoky remains, the very essence of the fruit. To me Fille En Aiguilles smells of spiced fruit compote incense perfuming the close quarters and warming bodies, and light and memories of a cold night and beloved friends who warm your heart.
When I was 18, I was dating the boy who used to live next door to me, but who had since graduated high school and moved to Indiana to attend Notre Dame. We spent a week together on summer break, during which time he had flown down South to stay with me and my family. It was early in this visit that he proposed to me on the beach one night, and I accepted…though something told me that this was a doomed venture. I knew it was not going to last, and yet I agreed anyway; I suppose I just liked the idea that something interesting loomed in the distant future for me. One late afternoon a few days later, we took a drive; the sun hung low on the horizon, the windows were down, and on the wind that ruffled our hair was the musky, sweet scent of orange blossoms, as we had just driven past a massive orange grove. Jo Malone’s Orange Blossom smells like that summer afternoon, sweet blooms and dying suns and the melancholy of tears yet to be shed for reasons you’re not quite sure of.
Bittersweet mosses, green woodsmoke, and sinister woods. It’s a bit of a nose-jarring scent at first sniff, as if the punk-poet green fairy quit bohemian Paris to live amongst the ancient dryads and they didn’t get on well but eventually formed an uneasy friendship and made softly surreal, slightly subversive memories together.
I have the vintage one with the loose, ivory looking cap, and it's incredible. Strong, long-lasting and complex, I absolutely love it. The first two hours remind me of Tom Ford for Men but with way better ingredients and with the incense-floral amouage twist. It's less the smell that's the resemblance than the feel of the perfume (I came home and sprayed one on each arm and they're very different but of the same ilk). The drydown goes in a direction I wouldn't have seen coming save for some reviews here. It becomes fluffy and floral, with the creamy frankincense ebbing away underneath, absolutely gorgeous, and a credit to the perfumer because on card, I detect some sort of stinky synthetic just for a few seconds in the opening (not on skin) so this could easily have been one of the pantheon of perfumes which degenerate into some blah generic woody amber base. Here, it couldn't be further from that. This is beautiful, top-notch perfumery. It's eminently wearable in any conditions, unlike a lot of Amouages, so for me that's a real score too. Shame this 50ml will probably be my first and last due to how discontinued AF it is. It's worth noting that the pyramid above doesn't really represent the experience of smelling this perfume. All the notes are there, but it's very united, one exquisitely crafted scent, very old-school, no overload of any one thing like everyone does now.
90-00s in a bottle. Clean, fresh, and iconic.
