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यह सिग्नेचर सुगंध है
एक खुशबू एक समय में इनमें से सिर्फ़ एक सूची में रह सकती है। दूसरी सूची चुनने पर वह उसमें चली जाती है। आपकी कस्टम सूचियाँ अलग हैं।
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समीक्षाएं
क्या आपने इस सुगंध को आज़माया है?
अपना अनुभव साझा करें और दूसरों को शानदार सुगंध खोजने में मदद करें
SilencetheSea takes you on a dark and brooding voyage, exploring everything strange and terrifying about the depths of the ocean. It opens with a green, bitter note of Angelica which paves the way towards a dense and unforgiving oud. Frankincense adds a silhouette of smoky darkness, whilst narcissus elevates the green, animalic edge of the opening. Before long, the star of the show makes itself known - the pure, unadulterated ambergris. This is the truest ambergris I’ve ever smelled, with nothing taken away just to better suit it to western tastes - this is complete animalic glory in all of its challenging facets. This genuinely smells like what I imagine the inside of a whale would smell like; it’s fishy yes, but not how you would expect, the fishiness is fleshy and meaty, thick and tough. The truffle adds to this fleshy accord, giving you fungal hints like the flesh of a mushroom. This fragrance is incredibly hard to wear, and will probably get negative reactions from those around you. I agree with what others have said that this shouldn’t even be classed as a fragrance: but instead as a work of art, an olfactory experience encased in a beautifully modest bottle. This will test your mind and push your senses to the limit, making you question how much you really understand about the art behind perfume. Smelling this up close is almost nauseating. My nose is overpowered by the fleshy, fishy accords and struggles to find enjoyment from it. However, in the air I pick up the most incredible sillage - a dense and salty marine breeze whisking me away to a cloudy thunder-stricken coast with every breath I take. I would advise not wearing this perfume around the neck is it can become overbearing, but instead on the arms and legs, you will better appreciate this scent from afar. I’m still undecided whether to keep my bottle. On the one hand I do think it’s an incredibly creative and masterful work of art, with fantastic quality of ingredients. However, the scent is so challenging to wear I do wonder if it will actually get used - I mean what situation could this possibly be worn in? I’ll most likely just spray on my arm here and there when alone, and ponder what lies in the depths of the ocean…
I have u-turned on this. I tried it a few months ago and, while I found it interesting, I couldn't bear to keep it on, and scrubbed it off quickly. I repeated this a couple of times over a few weeks. But more recently I went on a coastal break, and was reminded of the scent when sitting on an isolated pebbly beach. I thought I would have to test it again. The wondeful people at Jovoy Paris gave me a little tester, but then I bought a Strangelove sample set anyway. I'm wearing it again, and I love it. Less is definitely more with this, and I agree with another reviewer who said don't spray around the neck. I did two light sprays inside each elbow and one on each wrist. It's beautiful. I probably couldn't wear it anywhere out, but I don't care. I'll cherish the little vials I have.
As far as fascinating pieces of olfactory art go, this is up there with the most unsettling and yet triumphant I've ever encountered. If I wanted to make a list of materials or describe a vibe of perfumery I HATE it would be this. It reminds of that episode of Curb your enthusiasm where Larry has a sandwich named after him and it's white fish, sable, capers, onions and cream cheese. Salty, jizzy, gelatinous, condomery, waxy indolic white florals and real oud, animalic ambergris, seaweed, etc... etc... but it's so visceral and the materials so good, that I can't help but be intrigued. I really can't help it. I relished the challenge of wearing Antoine Lie's horrifying, blood and jizz-fest, Secretions magnifique a fragrance which has a similarly morbid fascination, that sensation of not being able to look away, but as much of an olfactory explorer as I am, I really begin to feel ill after 3 hours of that thing and have to tap out. This is where Silence the sea by comparison really isn't that bad and actually improves with wearing, even though I'll be honest, it's pretty much unwearable for me. The Open is truly atrocious and if someone sprayed it in a room with me, it's especially nasty at a distance, at least when you close in on it you can smell different facets. I guess the overarching vibe is of skanky, seaside, the seaside really isn't this fresh cool, breezy place, it smells of fish and foam, and rotten things. Silence the sea is floral, with a bitter, weird chamomile, salty jasmine and fleshy tuberose and narcissus. The mystical tone of ambergris is perfectly pitched in this perfume along side that unrelenting truffle and seaweed skank. The more you smell it the more strange but familiar it becomes, this is a perfect storm (forgive the pun, actually don't) of accords and materials coming together to create a vibe many perfumers have attempted but few of them with such naturalism, by that I mean the true meaning of art, to glimpse and somewhat replicate the beauty of nature. And if you are into this strange salinated BS and have other similar scents I can guarantee you now that this one is the holy grail, the doozy, the GOAT. I think it needs to be given a chance this perfume, certainly not dismissed off hand as I am guilty of doing, sure I don't really ever see myself wearing it but I have to give it credit for enrapturing me and making me think that even the most abhorrent concept (to my personal sensibilities) can be something I rate very highly.
Look, I'm not even going to hide the fact that this is my favourite perfume of all time, or at least it's in that upper echelon where my favourite swivels between a select few fragrances.
I'm also not going to hide the fact that, in all likelihood, you will hate this, this being one of those compositions that is polarising in the extreme, with its detractors outweighing its admirers. To which I say, I don't care, I love it and my taste is, of course, much, much better than anyone else's (this is said with a deadpan expression).
This is the smell of the sea, not in an aquatic blue way, not in a beach summer holiday vibe, nor is it the mineral marine scent gaining in popularity of late. No, this is the smell of the sea at its fringes, where the water gathers in still, slightly stagnant rock pools, and the seaweed clings to the underside of piers and on slipways, drying and pungent in the almost-sun. It's the cutting, somewhat bitter odour of tenacious plants that somehow survive growing from rock faces and on cliff tops. As for actual ingredients? Who cares, when they combine to produce this magic, but they include real oud and ambergris.
I wore this today while walking by the sea shore. It was still and overcast and the tide was in, carrying with it a thick slip of marine debris on the water's surface. What struck me was how different this perfume was from the frankly odorous water, yet was also somehow fully suggestive of it.
On a Q&A a while back, Christophe Laudamiel suggested both this and Carre Blanc as his two perfumes most suitable for a workplace environment. The wag. The latter has a nuclear tenacity, while this is as far from a crowd pleaser as can be imagined.
Like all the perfumes in the Strangelove range, this is very expensive, but you should at the very least sample it a couple of times, if the opportunity arises. It's quite unlike anything I've encountered before.