Those of you that read Fragrance Bouquet regularly probably already know of my love for Pierre Montale’s line of perfumes. My feelings for the house can be compared to the feeling of helplessly falling in love with someone whom you realize deeply understands you and what you are about the moment you start talking with them. Suddenly a connection is built, much faster than you’d normally expect. Your needs are anticipated, your sentences completed by the other. There’s that proverbial, yet so often elusive ‘click’. There’s that feeling of elated unease that always accompanies this kind of magic. Eyes lock in a privately shared inferno and feelings come pouring down with the power of torrential rain, flooding the heart and soul who are cheering for more. It’s like a drug, that kind of love. It’s dangerous too, for any disappointment weighs much more heavily than it would in a more conventional love story. I must be lucky, for at least this far, Montale has never disappointed me. Even fragrances that are decidedly not me –such as Chypre Vanille or Dew Musk- are still, in my eyes at least, superior creations I would love to smell on someone else. Today, another scent of this almost overwhelmingly prolific line is presented here, on Fragrance Bouquet: Chypre Fruite. This is a fragrance that goes from being light and innocent, to dark and mysterious. Extremely versatile, it can be carried from morning to evening and can easily be worn during every season – although I would reserve it for more formal evening occasions during the summer months. The opening is surprisingly light, for a Montale, that is. Ethereal and feminine, it brings thoughts of a gorgeous spring day to mind; the type of spring day that drives everyone out of the house to enjoy the sun and light breeze on their skin. The type of day that transcends time, seemingly lasting forever, until the last ray of sun disappears, breaking the spell. Then suddenly, the scent goes from being light and delicate, to rich and effusive. The warmth of the skin makes the scent positively bloom; the effect is akin to a wonderful fruit and flower puree that was sieved clear and left to simmer until we’re left with a powerful, concentrated, glossy culis of pure, unadulterated, refined wonder. What started off as an unsweetened, fragrant combination of wild- and tea rose whose aroma imparted a sense of intricate vintage lace, has become as ornamentally decorated as gem-studded brocade on acres of luxurious, colorful silk. The fruity notes are candied and rich; velvety, creamy peach on a bed of pungent pineapple that’s drenched in its own sticky juices. Behind it all, an overripe note, a dagger of miasma and taint whose twist instantly fills the heart with sin. Forbidden fruit indeed.
The chypre base in turn, is as perfectly groomed as you’d expect, but somehow refrains from being haughty. It is a woman that has been around the block a few times, yet shows no signs of being tired, despite having done so on high heels every single time. She now reclines on a velvet-upholstered fainting couch, her lips twitching with faint mirth. It will take some effort to entertain her. Images: Both Flickr, originally uploaded by Theodora
