Month: June 2019

The Fort & Manle scents are incredible, but if one criticism can be levied at them, it’s that they’re not very “accessible.” They’re dramatic and memorable, but not necessarily everyday crowd-pleasing scents. Right?

Well, there actually are a few in the box that gainsay that. Two in particular, which are closely aligned in scent. Both are scented stories about gardens.

Impressions de Giverny was inspired by Le Jardin à Giverny; as the Fort & Manle site puts it, it is intended to be “[a]n olfactive journey of Monet’s vision for a Japanese garden in the heart of Normandy.” And it is without a doubt delightful, as well as being a scent that I could happily wear every day.

It is literally a fruity floral, but it defies the conventions of the description. As the story of a very specific garden both Eastern and Western, its elements are balanced between East and West. And the balance extends even further: under the fruits and flowers are greenery and earth.

The listed notes are yuzu, bergamot, red apple, magnolia, rose, tuberose, osmanthus, orange blossom, fig leaf, coriander, tulip, neroli, mango, ylang, ambergris, benzoin, musk. See what I mean? Fruity floral, green and earthy. It starts as florals, light and delicate, and moves into fruit, bright and delicious. It intrigues me that of the florals, the one that stands out most distinctly is the almost syrupy sweetness of osmanthus. The first fruits are the citrus, bergamot and yuzu, but the sweet piney edge of mango shows up a little later. This is the play of light and sweet over deep and aromatic. Note that both the fruits and flowers used are on the sweet and light side, so this could be overwhelming, if it weren’t for the solid base. A bit later on…ah, THERE’S the apple, with woody, almost cedarlike notes that I suspect are fig leaf and coriander. There isn’t a single bad or harsh note in this; it’s lovely, and everything blends beautifully. It’s distinctive but not overpowering. There is actually not a thing about this scent I could criticize, other than the fact that I wish it had a bit more sillage.

So, Garden No. 2, a more conventional garden than Monet’s…under the watchful eye of its steadfast guardian, the garden gnome. This one is decidedly the sister scent of Giverny; they share many notes. Gnome’s include the following: cedar, musk, Sicilian bergamot, coriander, yuzu, pink pepper, lily of the valley, mango, rose, violet leaf, ambergris, amber. Striking similarities, but where Giverny is predominantly fruity-floral, the Gnome veers into earthier, more herbal territory.

And my own confession: at first I wasn’t sure I was down with the Gnome. One of the notes in this is sharp, almost piercing at the opening; it’s on the whole a more herbal and less floral scent than Giverny. I frowned a bit at it on first wearing, thinking this might be the one F & M I wasn’t crazy about. Happily, it grew on me, no pun intended. That sharp scent offsets the other elements, and pulls the story of the scent together. It makes sense that Confessions of a Garden Gnome would be the earthier garden scent; it’s the garden perceived at ground level, as a garden gnome would experience it. Which is really quite brilliant.

These two are the F & M scents that for me have garnered the most comments and compliments; they’re less dramatic than the others, and perhaps more conventional in composition than some of the others, but they are still unusual and memorable. If I were to recommend a “starter” scent for someone less intrepid about scents, it would be one of these. Giverny might be my very favorite in terms of sheer versatility alone. Both are unisex, like the other offerings, with Giverny being perhaps a bit more on the feminine side of the spectrum and Gnome a bit more on the masculine. That is of course highly subjective.

Wearing a garden is a beautiful idea, and these are both beautiful interpretations of that idea.

I’m not done with these yet. I still have Bojnokoff, Maduro, Amber Absolutely, Forty Thieves, and the big daddy of them all, Süleyman Le Magnifique, to review. On the non-F & M samples, I haven’t talked about the rather weird Functional Fragrance yet, and…am I missing something else? We’ll see.

Dear Diary:

It’s been so long. I’m trying out for the Drama Clu–no, that’s not it. I think I’m funny. But really, it has been a minute. I started a new job a month ago, and so my schedule, including time to write about perfume, has gone wonky.

I’ve got a stack of smells still to expound upon. I’ll start with two short takes on two of the samples: Sundrunk, by Imaginary Authors, and Atropa Belladonna, by Shay & Blue.

Imaginary Authors is a kind of concept house, sort of like a prog-rock album. The idea is that their scents are inspired by made up books by made-up authors. The packaging is meant to evoke a certain kind of mid-century book cover. The copy always includes an excerpt from one of these imaginary books by an imaginary author.

Here’s the one for Sundrunk:

“Woozy and warm from the sun, we shared an orange pop and watched the surfers’ last lines of the day.“

Well, honestly, I’d kind of like to read more. Who are these people? What beach were they on? What were they doing afterwards? But of course, we’ll never know. Because it’s imaginary. It’s pretty meta, really. This may be a little pretentious, this concept, but that doesn’t mean it can’t deliver.

So, moving right along to Sundrunk…the notes? “Neroli, rhubarb, honeysuckle, rose water, orange zest, first kiss.” Now, there’s some zing being promised over the sweetness, with that zest and rhubarb (rhubarb is a note I’ve come to appreciate quite a bit, just from limited exposure in three or four scents.) But “first kiss”? Pray, what does that smell like? Awkwardness? Hastily chewed breath mint? We’re going to surmise that it’s sweet, not yucky, or the book excerpt would not be so idyllic. I’m also going to guess there’s a skin note in there.

Sundrunk…did I say there might be zing? Zing! A delightful burst of tartness. Maaaan. I love this. It’s citrus and rhubarb, and delightfully tart and effervescent. There is a suggestion of orange soda to it, as the copy suggests, no doubt. But it lacks the over-sweet lazy stickiness of orange soda: it’s drier and definitely sour, in a good way. It distinctly overlays sweetness instead of being sweet itself. And yes, about that “first kiss”: there is definitely the kind of warm salty-skin note that evokes a day in the sun. It’s very similar to the warm-salty-beachy skin note that l’Artisan’s Batucada has, but much more subtle here. Batucada is way more decadent in its beach languor. But then, Batucada is meant to evoke a caipirinha, and Sundrunk an orange soda. Batucada is a glossy-skinned drowsy girl on the beach in an expensive swimsuit; Sundrunk is a scruffy surfer girl with hair crisp from salt, who smells like zinc oxide and wears a rashguard. Batucada is South Beach; Sundrunk is Atlantic Beach. Right; I’ll stop with the metaphor.

This much sweet with no conflicting notes could be uninteresting if it weren’t so sour and zesty. It’s the “scruffy” part that makes it endearing. As is typical with topnote-heavy scents, it doesn’t last or project so long or far, but its longevity is pretty good for such a scent. I’m debating a full bottle of this.

So! Atropa Belladonna. A perfume named for a poisonous plant!

The listed notes are blackcurrant, narcissus, jasmine, patchouli, bourbon vanilla.

I have a love-hate ambivalence about blackcurrant; it can be at once both strongly redolent of cat pee and somehow juicy and tempting. This is too much cognitive dissonance for my brain.

Here, it’s a full-bottomed juicy scent, cutting through the sweetness of narcissus (also a pissy note, with all those indoles) and jasmine (same with the indoles). This could have been a mostly-pee perfume were Shay & Blue not judicious, which would seem exceptionally niche, if you know what I mean. There is indeed something fragrantly sweet and juicy and at the same time unsettlingly organic and body-scented about Atropa Belladonna, which simultaneously makes it interesting and offputting. There’s something to it that puts me in mind of those heavily-fragranced deodorants for women that came out in the 80s, because of this very thing. There’s an armpit aspect to it, a perfumed armpit. Somehow this is done without costus or cumin, apparently (I haven’t seen any listing of those for this), just stinky blackcurrant and indolic white flowers (see Seville a l’Aube for a very deliberate “dirty hair/armpit steeped in sweetness” effect; it’s got both costus and cumin, skillfully deployed.)

It is actually quite a sensuous fragrance, and I wince while writing these words. It’s like cheesy ad copy. No, Atropa Belladonna is not quite naked-lady sensuous, more like…slightly sordid glimpse of the secret object of desire. The glimpse of the edge of a bra cup as someone leans over. The whiff of sweat. Something dark and a bit furtive and stolen. It’s a little sleazy, and I mean that as a compliment. It’s just not entirely wholesome, unlike Sundrunk.

I don’t know if I love it, but I find it very interesting. The longevity and projection on this aren’t quite as impressive as one would surmise with patchouli and jasmine, but it’s not fleeting.

Probably not a full bottle, but I enjoy wearing it. In the right circumstances.

Anyway, that’s all for now; I’m sitting at my desk on a Sunday with surprise rain pouring down, listening to the Cult on Spotify (because they’re one of my “writin’ music” bands. I also have compiled a writing playlist on Youtube from suggestions from my Facebook friends, which I’m switching to in a few minutes), and I really should be doing laundry and working on my book. You know, if I finish my book, and sell it and it is a success, I can buy many perfumes. Many, many perfumes. I’m just saying.

Next, I’m going to dip back into the Fort and Manlé box, for two that don’t smell like any of the others in the box. Ooh! a cliffhanger.