Citizen Queen by Juliette Has a Gun : Perfume Review

Founded by Romano Ricci, Nina Ricci’s grandson, it is natural that Juliette Has a Gun has large expectations to live up to. For my part I felt a little underwhelmed by the line’s first offerings, especially in the case of Miss Charming, which seemed too fruity a rose, too close in feel to department store scents targeting the late-teen market. Lady Vengeance in turn, was a beautiful interpretation of the rose and all its thorniness, one I would in fact wear myself. However, it seemed a rather derivative effort, reminding me of many a thorny-rose chypre scent already on the market. Citizen Queen on the other hand, the line’s third perfume to date, more than lives up to expectations, offering beauty marked by striking dissonance and delight born of surprise.

Despite being touted as an aldehydic chypre, Citizen Queen comes across to me as a bold, leathery floriental, succulent, sweet and poisonous, lacking the patrician beauty and restraint of conventional chypres or the whip-cracking attitude of animalic chypres. The opening is decidedly musky, deceptively soft despite its faint, fecal undertones. Within the space of just a few minutes however, the scent intensifies, loudly broadcasting its dominant nature. An aldehydic kick renders the floral edges blurry as they emerge in an almost psychedelic sequence of color. The intense, sweet scent of violets splashes deep purple against a backdrop of black, while wispy green vines grow uncontrollably to surround them. Soft iris paints thin, fluorescent lines across the canvas, lending fluffy, powdery, feathery softness and acting as a contrast to the heavy feel of the composition. Marvelously, the musky, amber-infused base is incredibly effusive and its intense sweetness can be felt throughout the development. In fact, it is this incredible musky sweetness coupled with the divine scent of violets that truly forms the identity of this scent. However, what makes Citizen Queen really stand out, is its animalic character. The gentle bitterness of the leather in the composition can be felt even through the intense sweetness, but even more striking is the undercurrent of something dirty and intensely human, which adds a perverse streak to this beauty. Smelling at once familiar and disturbing, this animalic accord adds an element of human essence to the perfume, like nuzzling the crown of someone’s hair.

Citizen Queen proudly stomps all over any preconceived notions that our overly obsessed with cleanliness and political correctness culture might hold about what perfume should be, and what’s more, she does so with an unapologetic grin and killer heels to boot. This is not only a perversely dirty, poisonously sweet animalic scent, it is also one that is improbably potent; Those of you that remember experiencing Cacharel’s Loulou for the first time and feeling the resolute punch it delivered, will recognize the subtle nod to its unique tenacity. Having only a sample at hand and experiencing its improbable, rule-defying sillage with just a few drops, I can’t help but feel that it would be more than sufficient to dab this perfume rather than spray it. A few drops on one arm are enough for others around me to detect it and comment on it and the tiny sample phial on my nightstand exudes the most wonderful perfume every day even while securely capped. In fact, it has now happened so often over the past few weeks that I find myself wondering where the fabulous smell is coming from before realizing it is the sample next to me while in bed, that I am seriously considering buying a full bottle!

A Taste of Heaven by Kilian : Perfume Review

Do you remember Hotwheels, the little toy cars with the thermochromic paint that would instantly change color when bathed in cold or hot water? Not the most poetic of comparisons I admit, but A Taste of Heaven really is like a Hotwheel: It changes in such a fast-paced, and more importantly, fascinating manner, the mind races bewildered, trying to catch up in wonderment.

It all starts out with such a huge blast of lavender, it seems not only unthinkable but also impossible that this predominant note can be escaped. A bracing, light citrus freshness accompanies the herbaceous scent at first, and there are also hints of dewy yet deep greenery. Blink and there’s a change: the lavender note seems to get ever more animated and lively. The relaxing, well-rounded, aromatic scent of Lavender Barreme blends beautifully with the strong, camphorous notes of Lavandin Abrialis, creating an almost dizzying display of the humble looking flower in the mind’s eye. In terms of smell, this lavender is so extreme it can only be described as operatic. I don’t generally like my lavender served straight up, so I only truly start loving A Taste of Heaven when finally it turns from bracing and aromatic to smooth and sweetly vanillic. For a while the scent appears to be comforting and almost gourmand, edible in nature. Then the unbelievable happens: the fragrance undergoes a change so extreme, I can only describe it as awesome in the original sense of the word. It becomes warmer and warmer and the olfactory sensation it produces is so surprisingly effusive, it almost feels as if one is witnessing a chemical reaction taking place on the skin. It seems like all this heat, all this wonderful warmth comes out of nowhere, a sinister smile full of sexual innuendos suddenly coming to knock you off your feet. Because yes, this is not the comforting warmth of a hearth, but the heat of sexual energy unhinged. Sexy, animalic, barbaric and ravaging, the heat is almost volcanic. As you might remember the first time I experienced this scent I was in public... My first reaction to the change was a simple “It’s getting warmer now”, quickly followed by “Oh my God” and then I was finally left speechless and blushing. Having jolted us to attention with this explosive, shocking, ultra-sensual stage, A Taste of Heaven calms down again and slowly eases itself into its final, comfortable incarnation, which will last for hours (and into the next day if applied in the evening). All its animalic elements now come down from a boil to a simmer and can be appreciated individually. The slightly vanillic lavender is musky and warm, there are hints of tender, subtle leather, the patchouli is soft and dry as powder and the utterly beautiful, erotic ambergris note ties it all together... The whole in this case too tends to be more than the sum of its parts: the end result smells incredibly human and warm, like the scent of your own skin, sensual and very, very personal. To clarify this, I will give an example: I have tested this with a number of friends during the drydown stage, and most of them struggle to separate the smell of the perfume from the smell of my own skin when they do not have previous experiences with A Taste of Heaven. It feels like the borders between the skin’s own scent and the scent of the fragrance are blurred, hazy. However, once they have experienced the fragrance on their own skin from start to finish, they can always clearly detect it thereafter. It will come as no surprise thus, when I say that the drydown of A Taste of Heaven is very similar to the drydown of Miller Harris’ L’air de Rien, which has also been extensively compared with the scent and familiarity of the human skin.

Dark Season & Gotham by Neil Morris : Perfume Reviews

It’s Friday, which means we have reached the last day of Neil Morris reviews here on Fragrance Bouquet. I am closing this week -which has been incredible fun by the way- with a review of my personal favorite, Gotham. For those of you who have already tried Neil’s perfumes, I have a question: Which one is your favorite and why? There are still a number of perfumes by Neil I really want to try and top of my list are October and Midnight Tryst. I hope I get to review those here on Fragrance Bouquet soon as well.

Dark Season:

I won’t lie to you: There’s something about Dark Season’s opening that I find deeply perturbing. There’s this almost fluid bitter core, surrounded by strange sweetness. There’s something almost medicinal and a strange body scent, I can’t ignore. There’s this mustiness that makes me feel as though I am all alone in a dark old house, rummaging around for some unfathomable reason... And then I open a drawer that creaks with resistance. It is wooden and empty, but it contains all the mustiness of an unaired tiny space and scent-memories of the various objects held in the past. My heart beats faster, anxiously. I need to get past it, for underneath I smell beautiful sweet spice and I so want to reach it... Patience. Patience for five or ten minutes, no more. And then comfort. The sweet, soothing scent of cinnamon washes it all away.

Candles are lit all at once and the old house is bathed in warm light. I’m glad I waited, every single time. Dark Season transforms into a beautiful oriental scent, perfect for keeping you warm in cold weather. Dark Season whispers of winter holidays, crisp cold air that makes the cheeks go red, happy smiles and joyful hearts as friends get ready to come together under one roof, in a house glowingly inviting. A house which smells sweetly of cinnamon and vanilla. Balancing the light, spicy sweetness, there are decorations of pine needless, smelling fresh, green and pure. Their branches are oozing sticky resin: a strong note with a sticky feel that lances through the composition from beginning to end and makes it positively addictive. But what I admire most about Dark Season, and what keeps me returning to my little sample is the cinnamon. As with clove and carnation, it is a note that can quickly become too thick and overbearing. Too obtrusive, if you will. But Dark Season’s cinnamon is simply perfect. Sweet, light, magical and sheer. It feels like it’s almost sparkling. The overall feeling of this perfume is warming, and as is the case with most of the Neil Morris scents I’ve so far tried, comforting. It has this beautiful ability to form an aura around the wearer, sweet and spicy smelling, rounded and deep, that can be gently smelled from a few feet away, inviting others to come ever closer to find the source. If I’m honest, I’ll admit that this fragrance has made me once again long for cold weather, and believe me, that’s quite a feat. I am SO ready for summer!


Gotham:

I’ve saved the best for last. From all the Neil Morris perfumes I’ve so far smelled, this is my absolute favorite. Every time I wear Gotham, I have the pleasure to see a different side of it, a different manifestation of its beauty. At times it’s all about the flowers, at times it’s all about its animalic base, at times it’s all about the leather. This is not only absolutely gorgeous, it is absolutely timeless. This is exactly the type of fragrance I favor: a “yes Mistress” perfume. Don’t laugh! This is all polished hair, immaculate attire, impossible yet utterly chic heels and... a whip. Cruel seduction, where the coolness of ice meets the heat of the flame. If I could choose only one word to describe this fragrance, it would be ‘magnificent’. The opening is an assault of the senses with a blast of seductive pepper and sparkling citrus. A period of reasonable, deceptive calm follows: a beautiful accord of narcissi and hyacinths that starts out smooth but soon intensifies in the most hypnotic manner. From incredibly floral and ladylike, Gotham soon goes dark and mysterious: A thorny rose scent, whose aroma is accentuated and deepened by the green scent of galbanum. And soon, our diva readies for the kill: the animalic base becomes all the more apparent with notes of musks and leather and even though I’ve never seen a mention of civet in the official notes, I swear I smell its warm pungency rising from my skin. Instant glamour. Instant Sex. Just add red lipstick. Diamonds are optional.

Images: www.imageafter.com and Flickr, originally uploaded by “Lady K!!”

Intrigant Patchouli by Parfumerie Generale : Musings and a Perfume Review

How do you feel about strongly animalic scents? Undeniably, there is a sense of danger in wearing one in public. The message these fragrances broadcast is by far not subtle – it is instead, a proclamation of pure sexual energy, an advertisement of one’s lusty nature and perhaps best of all, they are an admittance of the fact that at least part of us, longs for and misses the ability to smell the earthy, warm human scent of one another, a scent long suppressed by the norms of excessive and sometimes sterile cleanliness enforced by modern society. Don’t get me wrong – I am neither ready to give up my daily shower, nor throw away my deodorant just yet. As a student of Psychology however, I can’t help but appreciate the fact that masking our natural scent, is in fact quite unnatural. But I digress. Animalic scents then – my first question was how do you feel about them? Moreover, would you wear them in public? Many feel that wearing these scents outside one’s home is too daring, inappropriate, unsuitable even. The scents in question are often well loved, but feel so private in nature, that their owner reserves wearing them only in the privacy of their own abode. Personally, I have no reservations when it comes to raising a little olfactory controversy with my scent of choice. In fact, I must admit to taking perverse delight in wearing something that is bound to raise a few eyebrows and bother a few noses. The little child in me giggles naughtily when I find myself in the mood to take one of my little sex-bombs out for a ride. No, I do not think this is due to some sociopathic trait of a deranged perfumista mind! When I sit to think about this strange behavior, I realize that perhaps the reason behind it is my deep love for perfume – perhaps subconsciously, I am trying to make others not only aware, but actually part of this wonderful world of scent and its ability to awaken powerful emotions. Controversial scents cannot be ignored or taken lightly, like cologne applied thoughtlessly after shaving or a light floral spritzed on the run, already late for an early morning meeting. Thus, when I step out of the house wearing something with undeniable oomph, I am not motivated by a wish to make my friends faint, but rather, by a wish to involve them in my world of perfume – all with the help of a game, instead of prose. But of course I would be lying if I said that when I apply Paloma Picasso on the small of my back as the finishing touch for backless dress appearance I am motivated by playfulness. No, the only motive then is the enhancement of sex appeal, one more overt expression of the way I feel in the particular outfit. I do believe strongly in underscoring one’s mood with one’s choice of perfume. And in the world of perfume, there is no better way to underscore one’s sensuality – an animalic fragrance will always do it best.

By now it must be clear that I adore carnal scents; it will come as no surprise then, that I haven’t been able to get Intrigant Patchouli out of my head ever since I first smelled it last week. It wouldn’t be far-fetched to say that it positively haunts my thoughts, popping in and out of my consciousness unexpectedly throughout the day. At the gym, while doing push-ups to the sound of Bodyrockers Dirty (“There’s a reason why you’re in my head... There’s a good reason why you’re in my bed! There’s a reason why you rock my world... Cause you’re DIRTY! D-d-d-dirrrty!!!” – Oh dear, are you laughing? Please be aware I am not responsible for the choice of music – it is a group class! But let me tell you, it is impossible to NOT think about Intrigant Patchouli while listening to those lyrics! ) and before going to sleep at night, thinking how wonderful it will be when I can wear it again the next day. Intrigant Patchouli starts with a strange alcoholic blast that manages to delay the advent of the pure animalic lustiness that is to follow for about... two seconds. Wait for it, wait for it... then Boom, it all becomes a hot breath of eroticism that blows longingly over every single expanse of naked skin. Its heart is patchouli perfect, so well blended that there is not a single hint of headshop oil left to speak of. It is lovingly surrounded – and in my mind, loved, courted, hugged and fondled as well- by a heart-soaringly wonderful, dirty animalic accord, the heart stopping trio of civet, castoreum and ambergris. And right underneath those tantalizingly inquisitive fingertips, velvety soft sandalwood and the lovely, resinous sweetness of benzoin. As time passes, the scent becomes mellower, with a sweet, musky overtone. Finally, far into the drydown, a lovely, milky-powdery scent rises from the skin in the most seductive manner. In order to get a better idea of how intriguingly sensual this scent is, imagine Muscs Koublai Khan and then amplify (yes!) its animalic tendencies, then add Musc Ravageur’s earthy, dirty sweetness to this imaginary mix and place it around a heart of beautiful patchouli. This is not a perfect comparison by far, but I’ve been curiously testing all three scents this week to see how alike and different they are, so I thought it'd be useful to share. (in fact I am currently wearing Intrigant Patchouli on one arm and MKK on the other, and let me tell you, this is a potent mix!) Surprisingly, even though Intrigant Patchouli is indeed very powerful, it is not a trail fragrance – this is an intimate skin-scent. Full bottle worthy? Oh, yes! I’ll be rushing out to buy this, once my decant is finished!

Images: www.advancedwildlifecontrolllc.com, www.bioinquiry.vt.edu, www.delta.dfg.ca.gov, www.parfumeriegenerale.fr

Oud Ambre by Montale : Perfume Review

One whiff and all I can think of is “I must have it. Right now, this instant, I must have it.” Smelling Oud Ambre for the first time at the Montale Boutique in Paris was like a revelation. It was the perfume I’d been looking for, an ideal I’d been chasing like a Chimaera I’d almost given up on. Being presented with this fragrance was like being deeply understood, a feeling that shook me to the core of my being. Smelling it for the first time on my skin, a liberated smile was etched on my face, like the unstoppable grin I’d get as a child when dolphins would race our speedboat across the Mediterranean. There is only one way I can think to describe that feeling: rapturous enthrallment.

Everything I’d hoped for when looking for a truly lethal evening fragrance is here... A seductive trail of spices, animal magnetism, dark mystique, beast-like dominance, luxury, diva-esque glamour and surprisingly perhaps, considering all this, plenty of sophistication. The jus is sharp and assailing, stinging the nose a way I am completely addicted to. Spices, pine needles and beautiful resin flourish on a backdrop of oudh, Yet, the oudh does not constantly creep up, nor is it as pronounced and dryly medicinal as in some other Montale creations. It is very well blended, and the end result is warm, rich and wonderfully piquant. Closing my eyes and inhaling deeply, I feel like I am sitting cross-legged on the paved grounds of a mystical garden. The sun is high, the day hot, and I am beating lashings of honey drizzled over strikingly fragrant oregano, geranium and labdanum in an ancient mortar and pestle, until there is nothing left in my mind but their smell. I feel no tiredness in my arms, not until the sun finally starts to fall and I open my eyes, finally coming-to from my trance-like state. A male caracal cat is defiling the rose garden with its sticky spray, hot with desire. I swoon. Tired, I succumb. I can be a cat too, wearing this...Rose petals in a sticky mess - loudly proclaiming my fertile days, clawing and biting. ...Dare I? Glowing hearts of amber wrapped in fur stoles make their appearance. The garden finally ready, night is truly upon us.



Considering my zealous fascination for devastating, offensive fragrances, Oud Ambre feels intimately personal, as thought it was created on request, only for me. It feels almost magical to have found it, as though I did not really buy it, but instead ventured on a quest, battled countless Nightmares and Nightshades until I got to brave the thorny path leading to the spindly tower of the last living sorceress to ask for one thing: the most potent philter of hellish desire she could concoct. The result is indeed a fiendish potion: a mixture of the putrid with the divinely sweet that leads my heart to experience inexplicable rapture. And as is true of every fairytale involving witchcraft, there is always a catch... only the bravest will be caught in the net spun by this philtre d’amour extrême... But then again, only the bravest would ever do for the ones that are able to employ it successfully.

The very fitting and gorgeous mandala design is courtesy of www.designsbywillow.com

Bal à Versailles by Jean Desprez : Perfume Review

There’s something to be said about perfumes whose development does not hold too many surprises. They are trusty, they will remain true from the moment you wear them till the moment they fade. They offer a single dream, a single location to which they will transport you and once there, you do not have to second-guess your surroundings. It is safe to put your guard down; seasons might change, the sun might rise and fall, shadows might obscure part of what you see so that glimmers of light might highlight other aspects of the scenery as time goes by, but the location is the same. All promises are kept. Bal a Versailles will never be this virtuous. The dream on offer is a journey you will have to take blindfolded, led by a dancing, prancing magician. Each time the blindfold is removed, something new will appear. Each time you think you know where you’re going, you’ll be in for another surprise. The dance at Versailles is a bal masque where nothing is as it seems. Confusion abound, the best option is to let go and allow yourself to be courted by all the different dancing partners that choose to lead you across the dance floor. Considering that -according to most sources- the name “Versailles” etymologically seems to derive from the Latin word “versare”, meaning ‘versatile’, ‘capable of change’, I can’t help but find the name of this perfume most apt.

My own personal journey through the surreal dream Bal a Versailles offers, starts in a quiet, dim room. A woman is standing next to me, her eyes sad but hopeful. She nods toward her dressing table, once the height of fashion, now battered and old. “You can have them if you like” she murmurs almost shyly as he opens a drawer; silk stockings and gloves, a girdle. The scent of old silk undergarments mixed with spilled vintage French perfume. Citrus fruits, dust and moths, comforting and familiar. “I’ve smelled you before” I say, and she disappears, offended.

I am left holding a hat in my hands. I turn it around and pass my finger over its hand-sewn label, which reads: “Made to Order, Rex Inc. Beverly Hills”. A widow’s cap with gorgeous white ermine fur, framed by a cream bow that borders the delicate ivory peak that will be placed downwards on the center of the wearer’s forehead. Formal mourning in sunny Beverly Hills, mourning in impeccable style no less... Who was she, the woman that ordered it? How long ago? She suddenly approaches me, smelling of flowers, powder and red lipstick. I try to return it to her, but she refuses; she is wearing a pillbox hat right now and tasteful high heels. She is young, with a pearly smile, but there is no hint of playfulness in her eyes, just as there is no playfulness in her scent. I am charmed, but disappointed.

The sound of the revving engine of a motorcycle approaches before I manage to quite finish my thoughts of regret over the lack of sparkle in the woman’s eyes. It stops in front of me and the driver does not even bother to remove his helmet - he knows I am going to drive away with him. I wrap my arms ridiculously tight around his leather clad torso, thankfully inhaling the dry, animalic blackness of the garment, before it too disappears into whatever abyss the previous companions of this journey have.

We make our way to a small candle-lit chapel up on a hill. We walk inside dizzily; our legs slightly smarting from the long ride there. I feel the warmth of the
melting candles around me, caressing my skin. They’re made of pure, lovely beeswax and the odor they emanate as they burn is beautifully sweet. I marvel at the rich smell of incense, I smile and cherish the scent of benzoin and the strong tolu note that fill the small stone church. The smell of honey clover wafts in through the open door. I turn to my finally unmasked companion: “I’ll dance with you in the courtyard. I’ll dance with you till morning come.”

Picture Sources: Vintage gloves and hat, my own. Masquerade Ball scene from Phantom of the Opera (2004), www.allmoviephoto.com. Bal a Versailles bottle and box, www.heart-note.com

Montana Parfum de Peau by Claude Montana : Perfume Review for Mother’s Day

I was not planning to write a special review for Mother’s Day, in fact, I had been preparing a different review for today. But something happened yesterday, a strange coincidence, a little touch of fate that prompted me to suspend the piece I had prepared, in order to write this one, a Mother’s Day special.


As it has probably become clear by now, Saturday mornings are perfume exploration days for me and yesterday was no exception. I went to a specific perfume boutique to try out some fragrances I was not very familiar with, in order to decide which one to order online from a gift certificate I’d been given some days ago. I was walking purposefully next to the countless shelves of perfumes to reach the specific section, when my eye caught a certain blue box that made me stop dead in my tracks: Montana Parfum de Peau by Claude Montana. My heart missed a beat; I had not seen it in years, more than a decade to be exact. I thought that it was out of circulation and that I’d never happen upon it again. I was immediately flooded with emotion: On the day that every boutique in town was filled with shoppers buying gifts for Mother’s Day, I happened upon the one long-lost perfume that says 'mom' to me like no other. The coincidence was not lost on me; I knew I had to buy it and write a Mother’s Day special for today.

My mom has never been fickle with her fragrance choices. She always picks a single signature scent and sticks with it for years until something prompts her to change it. During the time that I was growing up she went through three different perfumes: Paris by Yves Saint Laurent, Nina by Nina Ricci and Montana by Claude Montana. Out of the three, only Paris is still widely available. And out of the three, it is Montana that rouses the strongest memories inside me. Wearing it now, I become a child again, reliving a scenario so oft-repeated it’s been imprinted in my mind like a schema. My mother is about to go out for the evening with my dad and she laughingly puts me into her bed to watch her, as she is getting ready. “Do I look alright, darling?” I nod, wide-eyed and utterly in awe of her dramatic blue eyes, shiny blonde hair and extravagant eighties outfit. She is about to leave and there is one last touch to complete her outfit, the perfume. Apprehension – I know my nose is going to sting and burn for a while before I can start enjoying it. I do not know whether I love or hate this perfume, but I say nothing of the sort. It forms a peppery cloud around her and she tells me I can sleep in her bed as she presses her nose against mine. The scented trail she leaves behind is so strong, it will stay with me for hours, in the air, on my skin, on the bed linen. Mom. Paris was youthful innocence, Nina was a return to romantic femininity, but Montana was always my mother as a sexual animal, a self-confident woman filled with joie de vivre and sensuality. A side of her that took me a while to consolidate with her daily image.

Montana is a floral chypre that opens up with an overwhelming burst of pepper and cardamom, combined with juicy fruits that excite the senses and leave the nose tingling. The ginger and carnation at the perfume’s heart enhance and prolong the peppery spiciness, while rose and tuberose give the fragrance depth and substance. It is the base notes however, which turn this into a truly magical concoction: amber, cedar, patchouli, olibanum, vetiver, oakmoss, musk, civet and by far my favorite of all animalic notes, castoreum, all blend together perfectly, leaving me breathless, gasping for more in a state of addiction. Not only is Montana extremely unique and grossly, clashingly peculiar, it is also deviant by nature. Having forgotten all about it for years and now experiencing it again, I realize now I had been looking for controversy and dissonance in all the wrong places. No wonder Muscs Koublai Khan smelled tame and friendly to me, when my olfactory bulb still retained the memory of Montana in its depths. Fur, sex and exuberant abandon were all waiting for me there to be rediscovered and no substitute would do. Seeing the listing of oakmoss on the box makes me surmise that this is a fresh bottle. Hopefully that means we will never have to part again.

I’d always thought of my preference for perfumes that sting and burn the nasal cavity (Paloma Picasso, Rose Cardin, Wrappings...) as a personal idiosyncrasy, a very personal taste I’d somehow developed. I thought of it as a personal quirk, an eccentric oddity of taste. Only now do I realize where it stems from and the reality of this leaves me slightly shaken, as though part of my originality has been stolen away. Yet at the same time I’ve gained insight; “Know thyself” advised the ancient Greeks and I do know just a little bit more now. My bond with my mom has been strengthened. The invisible line that connects us has been reinforced one more time. I love you, mama. Happy Mother’s Day, this one’s for you.

Images of Montana ads through the years, courtesy of imagesdeparfums.perso.orange.fr
Image of Montana on fur, my own.