Update on the VI Peel – yikes!!!!!!!!!!!!  I had the peeling I expected on Friday and Saturday, which was like a sunburn peel.  Then Sunday and today is a whole different level of peeling on certain areas – around the mouth and the chin.  Not sure if they are more sensitive or what, but it’s a little freaky  – some bumps and scabbing.  I’m still not going out yet. I went to the movies on Saturday, but after that – no way.  My  main irritation is I can’t work out.  Once I start sweating, it irritates the skin with the salt from the sweat, plus just getting my heart rate up  – it’s like little electrical jolts all over my face.  So I feel like a slug and have been just ordering Sushi for delivery until this is over.  What I really want is Gingersnaps or Snickerdoodles. That would make me feel better. Well, not better, but they sound good.  I’m so hoping I can go out tomorrow or at least do a gentle yoga session at home, at a minimum.

So if someone tells you you will be back to normalish in 4 days or so, don’t believe them. You might, but I think it’s more likely that you’ll have some weird areas on your skin that didn’t like the peel as much or is peeling harder or something, and you may not want to be seen for a week or so.

March already reviewed Natori much more thoroughly, but I’m just doing a random dive into the sample drawer.  Notes are aldehydes, rose, plum, ylang, peony, jasmine, patchouli, amber and musk.  Like March, aldehydes are a no-show on me, which is good.  This just isn’t that kind of scent.  There’s an almost suede’ish smoothness to the musk in this. I don’t get this as an overly floral perfume at all, it’s got a more husky voice, but not slutty at all.  It’s well done and certainly a scent that’s easy to wear.  I’d definitely snag a bottle of it when it hits the discounters.

Can I just whine a little about  The Garden Party solifores?  There’s a Frangipane, Wisteria and Tuberose, though I only saw the tuberose at Harrod’s, not at Luckyscent where the other two are.   $165 for 50 mls.  Now, with today’s new, improved perfume pricing, that’s not wicked high, but it’s enough that you have to really think about it for a soliflore.  The problem is, I really like these soliflores, but I just can’t pull the trigger on $150 for 50 mls.

Frangipane has  notes of Spices, Calabrian bergamot, Ceylonese cinnamon, Indian jasmine absolute, osmanthus absolute, Venezuelan tolu balsam, white musk, oakmoss, East Indian patchouli. This thing is a really gorgeous jasmine/frangipane combo, just a little spicy and musky – jasmine is slightly indolic, but not so much that you recoil, and the other notes just balance it out to be this soft, feminine, womanly musky floral. It’s not the most fabulous thing I’ve ever smelled by a mile, but I really would like to wear it, but not at that price!!!  And the tuberose.  I smelled that briefly in London and was smitten, but, again, not for 150 plus. I think it was 165 pounds there for 50 mls.  I keep hearing these things are way cheaper  in Italy.  Does anyone know if that’s true, and if so, how cheap?   I’d spring 100 bucks for the tuberose, but I’d rather it be closer to the 50.  They’re just not $150 worth of great. Do I sound bitter?  I really hate it when I like something, don’t love it enough to pay through the nose for it, but I still want it anyway.

Am I wrong there? Do you have things like that in your head?  Is this like my yearning for a sports car, but I can’t bring myself to spend that much money?  I really want my kicks cheaper.  Speaking of kicks, anyone want to split a bottle of Kilian Pure Oud – just need on taker?  I don’t need the bottle or the pretty box, etc.

Patty

This is a little bit of a meander through the new L’Artisan Havana Vanille as well as perfumedom´s vanilla fields (although not Vanilla Fields), so if vanilla scents don´t interest you, you might as well move on, nothing to see here today.  Can you tell I´m looking forward to fall?

I was an early, frequent opposer of all perfume things gourmand and particularly things vanilla.  I love to bake, and yet wearing anything that smelled like I´d dabbed on vanilla extract seemed bizarre to me.  Who wants to smell like a vanilla cupcake?  (Lots of people, apparently.)  Judging by the ever-changing shelves at Sephora, we seem to have move on past the worst of the Vanilla Heresies, when they had three different lines of vanilla crap, including Laurence Dumont, LaVanilia and something else… in addition to a lot of vanillic CSPs.  And the vanilla was often combined with some other note that made it just that much more terrifying, like citron, or maple.  Or raspberry.  Or mothball, or salmon.  (Okay, joking about those last two.)   Collectively, in concept and execution, they gave me the dry heaves.

Then I discovered Givenchy Organza Indecence, which was one of those scents people were always waxing poetic about.  It´s either been re-released or the distribution is increased, but when I was looking for it, it was darn difficult to find.  (I thought it had been d/c´d but have been told several times that´s incorrect.)  Whatever; I whined on here long enough that someone graciously hooked me up with a sample, at which point I started plotting immediately on how to get my hands on a bottle.   Because it was pretty clear I was going to wear the hell out of that stuff, and I have.

Organza Indecence is technically a more woody/spicy scent than a true vanilla, but its drydown is vanillic enough on me that I began to see the vanilla potential there.  This prompted further adventures in the land of high-end vanillas, where I was hoping to avoid the too-sweet vanillin Curse of Sephora (did you know artificial vanilla is made from wood pulp, a paper industry byproduct?  Yum, dig in.)

Results were varied.  Indult Tihota is lovely but I couldn´t see the point; too extract-y.  Lann-Ael I alternate between loving and loathing, but it´s the apple/cereal bit that grates, not vanilla.  The high mark (?) of vanilla perfume fetish-dom in my opinion is Guerlain´s Spiritueuse Double Vanille, a dark, smoky vanilla which I would own a bottle of except: a) the price is ridiculous, b) it would last me a thousand years and c) having discovered that what I really love about SDV is the smoke/vanilla combo, I can whip up my own by dabbing Bonfire or Burning Leaves on top of another vanilla scent, creating one of my favorite winter standbys.  PdN Vanille Tonka was an epic FAIL for reasons that still elude me, but I think is the tonka.  I still need to try the Micallef, I bet I´d like it.  And finally, the L´Artisan Vanilia I waffle between wanting a decant of and finding it gets on my nerves after a few hours.

Bringing us FINALLY to L´Artisan´s Havana Vanille.  It was done by Bertrand Duchaufour and is grouped in their travel series with Dzongkha, Bois Farine, Timbuktu and Fleur de Liane, of which Duchaufour did all but Farine.  Notes are rum, clove, dried fruits, narcissus, tonka bean, helichrysum, vanilla, smoked woods, moss and balsamic notes according to Robin at Now Smell This, who kindly sent me a sample thinking I´d like it, and I´m going to link right here to her great review.

And now I have to tell two stories on myself, both of which pertain to Havana Vanille.  First off: when I read Duchaufour did it, I was not overly enthused, because with a couple of exceptions most of his work for L´Artisan, including the travel series, are not my favorites, and we will leave it at that.  He has an earth/spicebox style exemplified by, for example, Timbuktu and his Eau d´Italie creations that I find both interesting and personally unwearable.

Second, my mind is a sieve and somehow when the sample arrived I had convinced myself that this was a new Hermessence scent (come on, how funny is that?), and that didn´t really delight me either.  Why?  Because I don´t love most of the Hermessences- the ones I like are too evanescent, and the powerful ones are pretty much scrubbers.   So although I´d changed the perfume house mentally I was still skeered; I sprayed it on meditatively and waited for some horrible melon note to emerge and smother me.

So, March … THAT IS ALL FASCINATING, HOW IS THE HAVANA VANILLE ALREADY?!?!?  Well, I am still thinking.   The first impression is: vanilla, but not a foody one, and yessssssss!!!!!  Then, and I can´t help wondering if this is my Hermessence mindset, we go through a brief five-minute phase where I smell something like bananamelon on top of the vanilla, and the scent comes dangerously close to reminding me of – yes!  my bananamelon nemesis, Hermessence Vanille Galante! – a scent which many perfumistas love and which you may recall made me want to hack my own arm off to get away from.  I didn´t hate it as much as Mousson, which I loathe so virulently I refused to file my sample so as to avoid ever making the mistake of smelling it again, but it was close.   Melon, banana or wet notes and vanilla is just … wrong.

Once we get past that, though, I am very happy.  Havana Vanille is a not-too-sweet vanilla with a decidedly smoky edge to it (my daughter took one sniff and called it “burnt”) and that it is: burnt in two, no, three ways – the sharp smell of singed sugared vanilla, like the top of a crà¨me brulee, the smell of tobacco, and the smell of smoke itself.

Havana Vanille also reminds me a bit of Guerlain SDV, only it´s less dense and less … formal?  (Also, scientists should study my skin; Havana lasts easily 36 hours on me.)  SDV I have to watch not to overdose myself, like eating that last piece of chocolate and then wishing you hadn´t.   The tobacco note is definitely there in Havana, along with the rum, but they´re both so integrated into the scent that I can pick them out looking for them, but I´m not thinking “man, this thing is boozy.”

French speakers: shouldn’t this be Havane Vanille?  Or Havana Vainilla?  Just curious.  I feel like we’re mixing languages.

In the final analysis, if anyone´s read this far:  vanilla fragrances only work for me if there´s something non-edible about them.  I want my vanillas woody, or spicy, or leathery, or smoky.  Like SDV and Organza Indecence, Havana Vanille showcases the soothing seductive smell of vanilla by adding something entirely different and non-foody to frame it.  I haven´t really felt the need to add another vanilla to the fix I generally get from Indecence, Demeter Egg Nog (seriously, a rocking vanilla/spice scent I can´t resist mentioning; try it with Bonfire if you want smoke) and occasional hits of SDV, but this is different enough I´m pretty sure I need at least a generous decant, and maybe a bottle.  People who´ve shied away from vanilla on the ugh-too-sweeeet theory (looking at you, Tom Ford Tobacco Vanille!) might want to check this out.

March

Well, I did it; I moved to Toronto. My furniture and the rest of my belongings won’t arrive until Monday, but I’m here and it’s still a bit surreal to think that this is now my home. I realize I was only granted Canadian citizenship in June, but there really is no time like the present.

I think it only fitting to dedicate this post to my mom, without whom I never would have realized my lifelong dream to live amongst the wonderful family I’ve always been closest to. Some people will travel hundreds, even thousands of miles to avoid their families. Not me; I actually want to be with these people. So thanks, Mommy – this one’s for you. I just know you’re smelling wonderful while regaling all your friends with tales of your meshugana daughter.

This essay first appeared on another fragrance blog about 2 years ago, and it was originally titled, The Evolution of Scent.

If Luca Turin can boast he knows The Secret of Scent, I figure what the hell; I may as well take a crack at its evolution. And, I don´t care if the term “evolution” is a dirty word in some parts of the United States. This is global. This is about fragrance: why we gravitate towards certain scents and how the many things we smell over the course of our lives can have a profound effect on us.

Ultimately, our introduction to scent begins with our mothers, fathers and siblings. My dad used an electric razor and never indulged in any sort of after-shave or cologne. My older brother went through the typical men´s fragrance phases of every male who dated during the Studio 54 era: Aramis, Halston Z-14, and finally Lagerfeld, which I found to be the most noxious, offensive concoction.  My sister-in-law gifted him with a bottle of this horrid potion; we´ve never gotten along since the day I met her. Now that he´s a married 50-something, my bro mercifully wafts through life scent-free. I´ll explore my sister-n-law when I can actually write about her without the need for copious numbers of expletives.

That leaves one person: my mother. Mom was a Canadian who lived for twirling through the duty-free shops at New York´s JFK and Toronto´s Pearson International airports; the high point of our many trips to visit her family. She would inevitably emerge clutching a receipt for the purchase of one bottle of scent and one bottle of liquor. In those days you were not allowed to carry your purchases out of the store yourself. You gave the cashier your flight information and your purchases were presented to you after you boarded the plane. The countless bottles of Canadian Club and Seagram´s V.O. never got drunk, but those bottles of scent were as much a part of my mom as her wash-and-wear hairdo and her Act III polyester pantsuits: the Chanels, Nos. 5, 19, and 22, Emeraude, Tabu, Norell and Ombre Rose were her favorites. My mom never bought scent at a drug or department store. If it didn´t come from the duty-free shop, she wanted no part of it. To this day, I´m not sure if she thought she was getting a bargain, or if she took pride in the fact that she was the only one of the women in her circle of friends who got on an airplane with any regularity. For her, buying at the airport was more exotic and sophisticated than strolling up to the fragrance counter in Macy´s.

Six months before her death in 1999, my mom moved from our house in Brooklyn to a condo overlooking the Hudson River in Fort Lee, New Jersey. She was not in great shape physically, and it was always my job to buy her the requisite toiletries she used. One day, while purchasing a jar of Kiehl´s moisturizer at Neiman Marcus, I befriended a saleslady who just happened to live in the same building as my mom. Of course, I told her which apartment my mom lived in, and she showed up one night with a bag full of samples. Some days, I´d walk into my mom´s apartment and there´d be a cloud of No. 5 greeting me. On others, there would be open vials of various Creed scents sitting on the dining room table, and my mom would be in a quandary about which one she wanted. “How come I never saw these in the airport?” she wondered. “So-and-so told me that Grace Kelly wore that one!” she exclaimed, pointing toward the open vial of Fleurissimo. “Go get me a bottle!” And it was the scent of Fleurissimo that was on her skin when she died.

Given my mom´s relationship with these classic scents, you would think that I would wear them to honor her memory. Honestly, none of them have ever appealed to me, and I can´t stomach any heady florals at all. Chanel No. 5? Repellant. Instant headache; I would refuse to wear it even if threatened at gunpoint. Maybe I do need to consider therapy…

My own fragrance choices were influenced by the three sisters who grew up in the house next door to mine, rather than by my own mother. I was closest to the youngest one, L, who used to steal her older sisters´ bottles of Charlie and Shalimar and we´d huddle together under a blanket tent between J´s and M´s twin beds spritzing each other. Talk about a cloud. The first scent I remember seriously wearing was Love´s Baby Soft. I think I was subliminally brainwashed by all the ads for it in Co-ed magazine. Then, it was on to Chantilly. From there, Halston. By the time I hit high school, I was wearing Pavlova. This was quite a contradiction: a soft, romantic, powdery floral scent to go with my rock n roll-patched and buttoned denim jacket, concert t-shirts, jeans and sneakers. In that attire, the only two things I should have smelled of were Parliament cigarettes and Freshen-Up spearmint gum. And it confused the hell out of all the boys in my group. More than once I overheard them wondering, “Where the @$&* is that flower smell coming from?” I guess I was as offensive back then as today´s teens are when they fumigate themselves with Axe body spray. No wonder I didn´t snag my first real boyfriend until I was a freshman in college. Oddly enough, that was a time in my life when I wore no scent at all.

My scent-free phase lasted for quite a long time. Looking back on it, I cannot explain why I went through life sans fragrance for a good three years. Maybe hormonal fluctuations were to blame, or maybe I just got myself so sick of Pavlova, I needed to give my nose a much needed breather. My boyfriend B (whom I now call my husband), used to beg me to put on perfume; not that I smelled bad: he told me he liked the smell of scent on a woman´s skin, since his mom never wore anything other than eau de Schenley mixed with a splash of ginger ale. I found it ironic that there were so many scents on my mother´s vanity table and so many bottles of liquor gathering dust in the closet, while B´s mom always seemed to have a cocktail in her hand and never smelled of anything I could easily discern. I once snuck into his parents´ bedroom to see if she did own any perfume, but all I found on top of her dresser was a dish of hair clips and bobby pins, a jar of cold cream, and one tube of red Cover Girl lipstick. My house was a satellite duty-free shop compared to my future in-laws´. The best part was I could wear anything I felt like, since there was not one particular scent he would associate with his mother. That was tremendously liberating for me. I have such deeply ingrained scent associations courtesy of my own mother that it is a relief to be with someone whose nose is not triggered by some invisible waft in the air like mine often is. B still manages to negotiate life without the fear of a particular scent assaulting his nose. How I envy him; I live in fear of Chanel No. 5 as if it were a tactical nuclear weapon.

I think there is always one real “a-ha” epiphany every fragrance lover has, and for me, it was when I first read about L´Artisan Parfumeur´s Vanilia fragrance in (I believe) the February 1993 issue of Allure magazine. I was 26 years-old, temporarily unemployed, and mesmerized by the description of it. I remember reading something to the effect of “The vanilla L´Artisan brews is so bewitching…”, and about Cher wearing it during an appearance on David Letterman and him swooning. Not that my intention was to make David Letterman swoon (or to smell like Cher), something made me haul my jobless self to Manhattan on a brutally frigid day, trudge to the original L´Artisan Parfumeur shop on Madison Avenue in the 80s, and snap up a bottle of Vanilia. 100 ml was $80 and I didn´t care if I had to starve for weeks to come. It was so beautiful, just inhaling myself was all the sustenance I needed. I had never smelled anything like it, and was totally smitten.

Vanilia is the closest I´ve ever come to having a signature scent, but unfortunately, our relationship turned sour about six months in. One day, quite unexpectedly, Vanilia revolted, and I broke out in the most horrible rash I have ever experienced. I was devastated, not to mention itchy beyond belief. I tried to find ways to continue on with Vanilia – spraying it on different areas of my body that I thought would not react negatively – I spent two weeks using the doorjamb of my office at my new job to scratch my shoulders, much to the amusement of my puzzled co-workers; I desperately started spraying it on my clothing, only to find stains on just about every shirt I owned. It was hopeless. After using up three tubes of prescription cortisone cream, and replacing most of my work wardrobe, I gave up. Vanilia and I were just not meant to be. I´ve tried valiantly over the years to re-establish our relationship, but for whatever cruel reason, every time I spray this beloved scent on my skin, it turns red and itchy within minutes. Are the perfume gods punishing me because I have no respect for the classics? Am I doomed to go through life in a haze of Fleurissimo and No. 5? Are these my fragrances of destiny? Sorry, but I´d rather smell like Exit 13 of the New Jersey Turnpike.

After my disastrous liaison with Vanilia, I developed a most voracious appetite for all things scented. In the early 90s, there was what I like to call, a “fragrance revolution” going on. The late 80s was the Giorgio era with all these monstrous, cloying Godzilla-like fragrances, which gave way to the grunge-fueled CK One “heroin chic” period. I tried so hard to look like a burn-out in high school (while reeking of Pavlova), that I felt completely abandoned by these new trends in fashion and fragrance. I did not want to wear flannel shirts and smell like Kurt Cobain. There was no way my rib cage was ever going to poke out through my skin like Kate Moss´. I was drifting and in need of comfort – which I easily found at the local shopping mall in the Bath and Body Works store. The place was nirvana for me: the gingham checked awning, all the pretty bottles of shower gels, lotions and colognes hooked me instantly. I fell in love with Juniper and Flowering Herbs and just about everything else they sold. I was hurtling towards my thirties in a fog of suburban mall-scent, but I was still longing for something more meaningful and profound that would touch my soul the way Vanilia did. Here I am, at 40, and I still haven´t found it.

Here´s the realization, or maybe rationalization, that I have reached as I am now officially a middle-aged person: When it comes to fragrance, you can have it all if you´d like. There should not be one signature or “holy grail” type scent that you are “supposed” to wear because your mother, sister, best friend, spouse or “X” celebrity in the magazine ad is telling you to. I had a second epiphany sometime in the last decade and that epiphany is that I can have a hundred bottles of scent if I want to, and I can buy them wherever I please, which is exactly what I´ve been doing and have no plans on stopping. Maybe I am a fragrance glutton or a schizophrenic on some level, but I love the variety. My fragrant enigmatic phase is going into its ninth year of existence, so quite possibly, I have achieved a kind of peace in the fact that I like having lots of options. Mind you, I don´t advocate this in every area of life, but when it comes to scent, I am content to always be evolving.

Calice Becker did Back to Black for By Kilian, their newest release.  Made up of Bergamot, raspberry, blue chamomile, cardamom, coriander, saffron, cedarwood, vanilla, almond, vetiver, cistus labdanum, patchouli, and oakmoss.

I’m really most cross with Kilian.  The first few fragrances I thought were fine, but other than the nifty bottles, I just couldn’t justify the price tag and could simply ignore them.  The last two they’ve done, Pure Oud and Back to Black, I’m having to buy bottles of this stuff at $225 and up, and that really sucks.  Really.  Really.  Sucks.

Honeyed, spiced smoky tobacco.  This is the smell of my dad when he smoked a pipe, slightly sweet, rich, earthy, complex, comforting.  Grain de Musc reviewed this already, as did Octavian here. You know what? I don’t normally like the smell of honey in any perfume, it usually just makes me choke up, but blended so perfect with the tobacco, incense, oakmoss and spice notes, it just purrs like I put my nose right into the honey jar – not that cheap store stuff, the comb honey we used to get on the farm – and came out with some on the tip.  There’s definitely a gourmand quality to the scent, but it just sorta floats out there as a component, not as the main feature.  I swear, I’d just eat this stuff if I could.

You know what’s really fun?  Put it on next to Pure Oud.  Yeah, I know I just dripped about $20 worth of perfume on my hand to find out what that was like, but I don’t care.  It was so worth it to find out.  I have no words to express how perfect these two scents lie next to each other and intertwine..

Okay, Kilian, other than price, you’ve completely redeemed yourself in my eyes with these last two releases.   More, please.  Now, I do know the price tag is a killer, $225 for 50 mls, and these have great lasting power (okay, the Oud is more, we won’t talk about that right now), but the refills are $115. So if you buddy up with a couple of people, and only one of you wants the cute bottle and packaging, it does bring it down to a more reasonable price.  No, not cheap, but this Back to Black Aphrodisaic is really amazing.

In my ongoing cosmetic procedures corner – I’m peeling.  I can’t remember if March did one of these, but I settled in for my VIPeel, which is supposed to be fabulous, but you peel like a snake on days 3, 4 and 5. So I’m in hiding on Friday, Saturday and Sunday this week and ordering in Sushi.  They told me to expect some stinging at first. Well, my face is on fricking fire right now  – two hours after – but cooling a little. It’s bright red.  I’m hoping by morning it will be just slightly red so I can do yoga.  I’ll give you guys the results next week when it’s done peeling. They recommended that I follow the peel with a photofacial at two weeks, which I am going to do, along with some routine filler upkeep.  Anyone else done a peel of any type?  Was it worth it, would you do it again?  I mean, if my face stops burning soon and the results are great, I just won’t care.

The nice ladies at Hermes didn’t laugh too hard when I popped into pick up some perfume after the chemical peel, but I hadn’t hit the apex of redness then.  Or they’re just too polite and didn’t want to say.  Can we talk about the Mousseline scarves?  I mean, just, holy,  so wow.  I have other Hermes scarves in the normal silk and in cashmere, but those lightweight gorgeous floaty ones just made me cry.  I NEEDS one, and they’re over $600.  How in the world can I justify that?  I mean, I can justify anything, but it would be a lot easier if it were cashmere or something more substantial, but it’s all floaty and gauzy and sheer and delicate and so beautiful, it made me almost cry.  Ideas on justification?

Chanel Rouge Allure Laque Luminous Satin Lip Laquer.   Rocks.  Srsly.  I got it in Ming (pink) and Dragon (red).  Dragon is the perfect red, and the Ming is a perfect pink for your lips.  It goes on as a gloss, but smooths out to be more of a moisturizing lipstick, not really gloss at all, but sorta like gloss.  It’s a weird effect.  The lasting power is good, it doesn’t have that Chanel taste at all that their lipsticks have that I hate. Beautiful colors, but they need more of them.

I saw Julie and Julia at the movies this week.  I’m completely smitten with Julia Child, dead though she is. So much so that I bought my first real pearl necklace.

We have covered a LOT of territory, y’all, for this Thursday!

Winners of the UFO samples are:  hongongmom, Masha and Francesca.  Click on the contact us button over there on the left, send me your name and address and remind me what you won, and I’ll get you out your sample!!

Winners of the Chanel Cristalle Eau Verte samples:  Theresa, elizablue, Kim, Eva, Michelle H,  ScentRed, Aubrey, Tarleisio, Dleep and Mariekel.  Just follow the same instructions as for the UFO winners, click on the contact us and send me your name, address, remind me the sample you won, and I’ll get it sent to you.

Patty

I´m in the middle of a work project and the twins are underfoot this week, so this post is going to be a quickie.  Let´s talk about Guerlain´s Les Secrets de Sophie, a limited edition (natch) white floral with a hit of violet.  The thing apparently retails for roughly $400 in one of those fussy, girly flacons with the bulb atomizers, and … unless things have changed, Guerlain´s atomizers are craptastic.  I hate bulb atomizers.  I´d say more than half the time when I try them in the store, they´re broken, and I´m convinced the bulb atomizer concept is a nefarious plot to allow all the juice inside to evaporate.  Glad I got that off my chest.  Anyhow, the chances of yours truly having a flacon of this in my hands is nil, so maybe it´s just sour grapes.  Thanks to My Special Friend for letting me try her decant.

Les Secrets de Sophie opens with a heady combination of jasmine and violet.  I love jasmine and violet, and I couldn´t have been happier, but I am always surprised by how many women don´t love violet (and/or jasmine.)   The jasmine thing I understand; some people find it too ripe for them, although Sophie wasn’t particularly indolic to my nose.  But violet?  What´s not to love about an innocent little violet?  (Rose, on the other hand, is prickly.)  This violet was just about perfect, halfway between the candied violets that can be too sweet and a very green violet.  For the first hour I had this on, I was debating whether I needed to go looking for a split.

Ultimately, though, Sophie´s secret is that her drydown smells rather like Apres L´Ondee, less hazy and more liquid purple (Caron Aimez Moi?) with an extra dollop of white musk tossed in for good measure.  That´s all good, but I´m not going to pay 400 bills for it.   I´d rather blow that (theoretical) money on some vintage Guerlain on eBay and wear Apres, or one of the gazillion other violet scents I already own.  In fact, just typing this has filled me with a sudden longing for my vintage Jolie Madame.  Hang on, I´m going to put some on right now!  Cheers!

PS For anyone who is interested, a follow up to my Natori post – they have a hand(?) cream in a jar, and I am not an ancillary product fan, mostly preferring my lotions and creams unscented, but they were flogging it at Saks next to the perfume and I have to say it was pretty spectacular.  Forgot to ask the price.  The 1.7 Natori is $80, by the way, and as your favorite Auntie March is fond of saying, anything less than $100 is the new free.

March