Perfume Review – Roberto Cavalli Eau de Parfum: My Guilty Pleasure

Posted on February 2, 2013 by Kafkaesque

When you’re constantly writing about perfume, when you’re always testing something and have to concentrate on every nuance, every flickering whisper, every change over hours and hours, the end result is that you often turn to something uncomplicated, happy and comforting as your own personal choice. Mine happens to be a bit of a guilty pleasure, a scent that a perfume snob would probably recoil from in horror and disdain. I simply don’t care. I’m coming out of the perfume closet with my absolute favorite embarrassing love: Roberto Cavalli Eau de Parfum, the signature scent of the Italian fashion designer, Roberto Cavalli.

Roberto Cavalli Eau de Parfum (hereinafter “Roberto Cavalli”) came out in February 2012. Some months later, I stumbled upon it while browsing in Sephora. I sprayed it, blinked, sprayed more, and deeply inhaled with a faint moan. I went home and couldn’t stop sniffing my arm. A few days later, I went to Ulta and, there it was again, beckoning to me like some orange-blossom siren in a Roberto Cavalli silk dress. I resisted. (Just barely.) I went home, read a number of snotty reviews on it, but couldn’t stop thinking about the scent. A week later, I caved. That night, I positively doused myself in the perfume and announced on Facebook that I smelled so good, I …. Well, never mind what I said. Suffice it to say, it made me feel like a siren and a slithering panther, all in one. And that was before I watched the video!

Roberto Cavalli is classified as floral oriental on Fragrantica, but I think it would be more accurate to call it a fruity-floral Oriental. The Cavalli website describes it as follows:

“A luminous and sexy print” – Roberto Cavalli.

The Roberto Cavalli perfume belongs to the ambery floral family. It is an exuberant and sunny fragrance whose top notes, lit by pink peppers, exude a genuine strength of character. Vibrant and sensual, it exhilarates and mesmerises from the very first contact.

At the heart of the Roberto Cavalli perfume one finds all the majesty of the absolute of orange blossom. It is a colour as much as a scent that reveals an ultra-feminine trail and leaves no-one indifferent.

This sensuality finally wraps itself into the captivating base notes of the tonka beans that leaves an appetizing imprint on the skin… essentially addictive.

Louise Turner, perfumer at Givaudan, created the Roberto Cavalli signature fragrance.

I’ve read some differing notes for the perfume. Fragrantica adds benzoin to the base and says the tonka bean is toasted. Macy’s, for some reason, adds Mirabelle plum in the base. So, the notes — to put it in a clearer form and as compiled — seem to be:

Top: Pink Peppercorn.
Middle: Orange Blossom Absolute
Bottom: Toasted Tonka Bean, Benzoin & Mirabelle Plum.

The only review I could find for Roberto Cavalli from a (primarily) perfume blog came from Angela at Now Smell This. She most definitely did not share my passion for the perfume which she calls Roberto Cavalli “For Her.” (A number of people and websites do call the perfume “For Her,” and I realise it can be quite confusing, but the name on Cavalli’s own website is simply “Roberto Cavalli.”) In a scathing review, she found the opening to be unoriginal but, still, it was okay: it was “juicy, fresh, and warm. This is the first impression that sells a thousand bottles.” And she loved the bottle — which is probably just as well for Roberto Cavalli since he spent a lot of money making a whole video to show it off.

But then came the bad part of her review:

After fifteen minutes comes the deal breaker: a wave of the nauseating, bug-spray woody musk that dominates way too many new releases often positioned as neo-chypres. It’s the one smell in perfume that gives me a headache. The woody musk is hard to describe, but if you’ve smelled it, you’ll know what I mean. It smells synthetic and stifling, like a mohair sweater sprayed with Raid and swathed in hot Saran wrap.

The comments to her post are almost entirely from people who haven’t smelled the perfume and who went on to have fun imagining a thousand different ways that this could have been a better fragrance. That’s perfectly fine. We all do it when reading a negative review. (And, honestly, who wouldn’t with a review like that quoted up above?!!) The thing is, months later, when people had actually smelled the perfume, a number of people wrote about how much they loved it.

And that love is shared on Fragrantica too, where the comments are overwhelmingly positive. (All the talk about it being “heavenly” and “falling in love” may explain why the perfume is frequently sold out on a number of different sites, as the details at the end of my post will show). On MakeupAlley, the 6 reviews are more mixed. Some find the scent to be very ’80s and dated, while others say that it is a lovely romantic scent that is reminiscent of Amarige but without the latter’s harshness. And a number detect something akin to tuberose, frangipani, sandalwood and/or amber.

I think all those comments are quite astute and correct to an extent — minus the NST bug spray comparison — but I would love Roberto Cavalli no matter what people said. It opens with a huge burst of African orange blossom. It’s massive, immediate, undeniable — and I adore it, especially in conjunction with the pink peppercorn that trails behind it like a handmaiden. There are strong undertones of peach, honeysuckle, tonka bean, musk, and something that smells like fake sandalwood. More subtle is the hint of plum that dances in the background. The orange blossom has, on different occasions, a light soapy aspect that always surprises me whenever it pops up. I shouldn’t like it, or even the occasionally synthetic note, but I do. (Probably because I don’t smell anything that Angela at NST did!)

Plus, the “synthetic” notes aren’t of the variety that I’m used to and normally recoil from. There is none of that extreme burning sensation or tightness in the bridge of my nose which is always a dead giveaway (to me) of synthetics and the precursor to an inevitable headache. This isn’t the same sort of sharply synthetic note that utterly felled me in Frederic Malle‘s Lipstick Rose and made me scrub it off less than two hours in, perfume review be damned. It’s not even the synthetic note which drove me to whimpering agony in Illuminum‘s White Gardenia Petals, in Montale‘s Aouds, or in my two extremely painful forays into the L’Artisan Parfumeur line. (If nothing else, those examples should show you that synthetics are not limited to mass-market brands!) No, in Roberto Cavalli, it’s something else which I can’t quite pinpoint, but which doesn’t seem very real.

And, yet, I don’t care one whit! There is a cocooning, enveloping warmth to the perfume that takes me to an orchid in a warm Mediterranean climate, like Sicily perhaps, where the air is heavy with the narcotically heady orange blossoms that I adore so much. The orchid is filled with peach trees that lie low to the ground, heavy and overburdened with ripened fruit that beg to be eaten. I take a bite and, as the juice dribbles down my chin, the sweetness is almost as thick as the honey I smell. It’s a swirl of intense orange blossom, peach and honey with spiced amber and musk. Up ahead, I see plums and honeysuckle trees, beckoning. I’m transported there on a wave of ambered sweetness, emanating from warmly toasted, roasted tonka beans, and sensuous musk. Yes, there may be a bug or two hovering amidst the musk, but it is only a microscopic gnat, barely visible in the shimmer of sensuality that hovers above my skin. Plus, it may be just my imagination after having read the NST review.

As time progresses there is a buttery feel to the flowers which envelop me. They are indolic and heady but, on me, never verging on sour, plastic-y, or rotting fruit. (See the Glossary for an explanation of indoles and how indolic scents can turn on some skin.) I can see how some may wonder if there is tuberose or amber in the fragrance; it certainly feels like it sometimes. There is also an exuberant, bouncy, sunny feel to the scent that explains the comparisons to the poor, much maligned, notorious Amarige, a floral powerhouse fragrance which has been pilloried in the court of public opinion. But Roberto Cavalli is much spicier, much warmer and much more ambered, especially in its dry-down. And it’s actually not as heady, powerful or rich as Amarige. I’m not quite sure how Angela at NST found this to be a twist on a modern chypre, as I think it’s pure floral oriental.

My perfume cocoon is huge at first, pulsating its way about two to three feet ahead of me, but its intensity lasts only for the first 30 minutes, before becoming more moderate for another three hours. (On Fragrantica, the sillage is categorized as “moderate,” too.) Around the third hour, Roberto Cavalli becomes much closer to the skin, but the perfume lasts like a silken sheath over my skin. Hours and hours later, my orchid walk is at an end. It was a very long walk — perhaps 9 hours all in all– with the remaining three hours being very simple ones. A quiet path of peach, orange, amber and vanilla benzoin.

Few perfumes are so consistently easy, uncomplicated, comforting and “happy” for me to wear. It requires little thought or effort. When I’m worn out by deducing notes in intellectually challenging works of art (like many Serge Lutens fragrances), when I’m tired of thinking about perfume and just want to wear the bloody thing, Roberto Cavalli is often what I reach for. I wouldn’t say that Roberto Cavalli is a scent that demonstrates the highest-quality pure oils or ingredients, but I simply don’t care. It is exuberant, energizing, happy, and lush. I particularly love to wear it at night, after a long day and a hot bath, when I’m comfy in my pajamas and about to vegetate before some television show that I’m too tired to really watch with any focus. And, yet, despite the coziness of such a scenario, Roberto Cavalli always makes me feel deeply sexy. It’s a scent that calls out for the sheerest of silks and satins, and seduction in the boudoir.

It is not, however, a scent for everyone. Those who prefer light, airy, clean or fresh scents should stay far, far away. This is far too rich, indolic and heady for them. For those who love complicated, more nuanced, more high-end luxury scents, this isn’t for you, either. In fact, ideally, you would ALL stay away from Roberto Cavalli, so that I can be the only woman in the world to smell like this. My guilty pleasure. All mine.

Do you have a secret, guilty pleasure perfume? If so, what do you love about it?

DETAILS:

Cost: The perfume is available in a variety of different sizes and prices. Roberto Cavalli comes in a 1.0 oz/30 ml bottle that costs $48 or £35.00, but which I’ve only seen available on the Robert Cavalli website, not in stores. It is also available in a 1.7 oz/50 ml bottle that costs $65 or £48.00. Finally, it comes in a 2.5 oz/75 ml bottle that costs $85, but that size may be limited only to the US website and US stores. There is also an accompanying body lotion and shower gel, if you’re interested. The Roberto Cavalli website is a bit tricky to navigate, so I’ve broken it down. The perfume section of the US website for Roberto Cavalli can be found here. The UK version is here. There are also about 40 different countries for which Roberto Cavalli has product information and pricing, and you can find that section of the website here.

Availability & Locations: In the US, the 1.7 oz size is available at Sephora, but it is currently (and very often) sold out on the website! Also sold out is the $22 roller-ball in a 0.2 oz size. It is available on the Saks Fifth Avenue, Nordstrom, Bloomingdale’s and Macy’s websites in both larger sizes (1.7 oz and 2.5 oz), along with some special gift box deal at the latter. I don’t know if it is available in all the actual stores, though. A reader just informed me that Nordstrom no longer carries the line in its brick-and-mortar sites, though it is listed on the website. The perfume is also no longer carried by Ulta or, at least, it’s not on its website. However, if all else fails, it seems to be carried on Amazon. In the UK, Roberto Cavalli is available at Debenhams and Harrods. In France, I found Roberto Cavalli listed on the Printemps website, but no indication as to whether that included the perfume along with the clothes. I couldn’t find it on Gallerie Lafayette, but Roberto Cavalli has his own stores in Paris and France which should carry it. In Australia, I found it listed on Adore Beauty where the prices start at AUD$80 for the smallest size (1.0z/30 ml), but all sizes and all accompanying products are completely sold out! For all other countries, you can turn to the Cavalli website.

Perfume Review – Tom Ford Private Blend Tobacco Vanille

Posted on February 1, 2013 by Kafkaesque

I’ve tried a number of tobacco fragrances lately and, to my surprise, my favorite has been Tom Ford’s Private Blend Tobacco Vanille! It was quite unexpected, since I haven’t had a ton of luck in my prior experiences with the line and since Tom Ford fragrances can be a bit too potent even for my liking. (I usually adore powerhouse fragrances, so that says something!) Unintentionally, I seem to have started on the light end of the tobacco spectrum with Hermès‘ airy, ambered, rum and tobacco Ambre Narguilé, before working my way to the heavier, denser, more vanilla-y tobacco and rum Spiritueuse Double Vanille from Guerlain, and ending up with the richest of them all – a chocolate, tobacco and rum scent which I thought was wonderful!

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Perfume Review – Hermès Paprika Brasil: Chilies & Woods

Posted on January 29, 2013 by Kafkaesque

Shakespeare was right when he said that a rose, by any other name, still smells as sweet. However, a name can be bloody important! In perfumery, a name can convey either a wealth of details about the type of scent a perfumer has made, or the sort of impression that a perfume seeks to evoke. A name can also lead to great expectations (to bring up Dickens this time), followed by a great, whacking THUMP of disappointment as the consumer falls down the cliff to a different reality. Exhibit No. 1 for that would be Chanel‘s Coco Noir which is neither Coco nor Noir, and as such was met with howls of disappointment from many perfumistas.

Exhibit No. 2 would be Paprika Brasil from Hermès. It was released in 2006 as part of Hermès’ exclusive, in-store Hermessence line of fragrances and created by Hermès’ in-house perfumer, Jean-Claude Ellena, a legendary perfumer who was recently called by Der Spiegel “the best ‘nose’ in the world.” Ellena is known for his minimalistic approach to ingredients, and for perfumes that always have depth and complexity, despite seeming sheer and transparent. That sheerness is rather a signature of his and, for some, was taken to unfortunate extremes with Paprika Brasil.

An even greater problem was the name itself which led to certain perceptions of what the perfume would entail. A number of the negative reviews explicitly mention that the reviewer thought the perfume would be something very different than what it was and, as such, was a disappointment. Victoria at Bois de Jasmin felt that way, saying “I feel particularly disappointed with this latest creation. Perhaps, it is due to my high expectations.” However, no-one was quite as blunt about it as Robin at Now Smell This who wrote:

My initial trials of Paprika Brasil cannot be described in any way other than disappointing, and the experience points to the dangers of building up expectations based on the fragrance name, back story and notes. I suppose what I was expecting was a deep woods scent with exotic spices, something that would evoke the jungles of Brazil before the impact of globalization, where Lévi-Strauss was said to have found “a human society reduced to its most basic expression”.

Jean-Claude Ellena. Source:CaFleureBon

On the Hermès website, Jean-Claude Ellena describes Paprika Brasil as “[t]he ravaging power of paprika and brasil wood, tempered by iris. Seductive, passionate, unexpected.” He adds:

A tinctorial wood to colour fabrics red, ‘brasil wood’ gave its name to the country. With its power of suggestion, “bois de braise” sparked my imagination and I chose paprika to illustrate it. By mixing and matching, I recreated its scent, which is more secretive and discreet than its taste.

The Fragrantica classifies Paprika Brasil as “Woody Spicy”, but it doesn’t list the full notes. NST states that they include:

pimento, clove, paprika, iris, green leaves, reseda, ember wood (aka Brazilwood or Pernambuco) and woody notes.

I had read the reviews of Paprika Brasil before trying it and — since I have a tendency to root for the under-dog — I was initially quite huffily indignant on the poor perfume’s behalf! It was quite fascinatingly original at the start, and I was baffled by the degree of contempt and animosity which Paprika Brasil has engendered in some.

Pimento chilies.

My immediate reaction to the opening seconds was, “Oh my God, I smell like a chili pepper!” There was an astonishingly powerful, sharp burst of red pimento chilies, followed by green bell peppers, cloves and a touch of paprika. (I wrote in my notes: “Add lettuce, ranch salad sauce, and I’m lunch?”) The paprika is never particularly strong on me, though others have reported a different experience, but the green bell pepper is very prominent. It is tamed about ten minutes in, countered by the advent of wood notes that are faintly smoky, peppery and spicy.

Brazilwood or the Pernambuco tree.

Twenty minutes in, a soft green note unfurls, like leaves opening in the sun, and there is the start of the iris note. The perfume has quickly progressed from a chili-vegetable scent into something entirely different and, frankly, it’s rather astonishing. It’s turned into a very airy rendition of spicy, peppery woods with a touch of green and the softening note of floral iris. I found it very original and quite fascinating. I sniffed my arm constantly and with a smile, always wondering about those incredibly dismissive and often caustically sneering reviews.

The scent is translucent in a way and, yet, also strong. It doesn’t project outwardly with vast trails, but what you do smell is quite noticeable. Or, perhaps, I’m merely surprised by the strength given that a commentator on Basenotes disdainfully dismissed Paprika Brasil as “one of Ellena’s more anemic and evanescent efforts.” This is not my definition of “anemic.”

Harvesting the iris root.
Source: Weleda UK

As time progresses, 2.5 hours in, the wood notes start to dominate. They are both smoky (black) and spicy (red chili). I wonder if some of the Brazilian reseda or ember woods used have an aroma similar to guaiac because I smell the same sort of black peppery notes here. The iris has also emerged to great extent. It is oddly both floral and earthy at the same time, as though Ellena used both the orris root and the flowers. It’s never powdery, though there is a faint, subtle, almost microscopic element of powder hovering around the edges. As several commentators on Basenotes also found, the contrasting floral and earthy notes counter the dryness of the wood and spices.

It’s at this time that my feelings start to change about Paprika Brasil. It started to wear me down a little. By the end, about 4.5 hours all in all, I had completely reversed my position and had enough. I don’t know if it was the linearity or the constant pepper accord but something had become too much. There were so many conflicted thoughts darting through my mind.

For one thing, where on earth would I wear this scent??! The supermarket produce aisle would seem to be the most logical choice, since I certainly would not wear this out on a date or to a party! As we’ll discuss shortly, it’s not cheap, so it’s far too expensive for the dog park. And, frankly, that may be the only place where I wouldn’t be embarrassed to smell like chili peppers. I live in Texas. There is a Mexican food place every few blocks. (I cannot stand Mexican food, if I might add.) Paprika Brasil’s green bell pepper may have been apparent mostly in the opening, but the red chilies are constant and, due to where I live, the mental associations are inevitable. (Salsa, anyone?)

The Hairy German

I spent an inordinate amount of time attempting to determine what might have been a better, more accurate, potentially less disappointing name for the perfume — and concluded that the task is a lot harder than it seems. Neither “Chili Woods” or “Peppered Woods” has much élan. Nor does “Airy Pimento” or “Peppered Iris.” Frankly, I’m at a bit of a loss with regard to all aspects of this scent, and it must have shown because I suddenly noticed The Hairy German watching my face with great concern.

One thing that bewilders me is how different my experience was from many others. Victoria on Bois de Jasmin found this a cold, “watery and limpid” fragrance:

In comparison to the other fragrances from Hermessence collection, I find Paprika Brasil to have the least presence and impact. Theoretically, the weightlessness and the airy quality of spices and woods is interesting, but as a whole, the composition appears watery and limpid, a sketch that never seems to attain the form one wishes it to possess. Being an admirer of Jean-Claude Ellena’s work and Hermessence Collection, I feel particularly disappointed with this latest creation. Perhaps, it is due to my high expectations. Perhaps, it is because I already have encountered two fragrances this year that explore the same theme of cool rocks and damp earth via iris and green notes with much more interesting results– Eau d’Italie Sienne L’Hiver and L’Artisan Parfumeur Dzongkha. Paprika Brasil appears to me like a modern art piece, without a key to understanding its concept.

NST also found it wan, though it classifies Paprika Brasil as a predominantly iris fragrance:

It is first and foremost an iris fragrance, and a sheer one at that. The top notes have the same feel of rooty carrot that you find in Hermès Hiris, but without the sharp metallic twang. There is a slight whisper of green, and a dusting of dry paprika, and yes, there are woods, but the whole is extraordinarily muted, and easily has the least presence of any of the Hermessences so far.

As a rule, I like sheer and muted. It is one of the reasons I admire Jean Claude Ellena: he can work magic without shouting, and while using a very limited palette. But Paprika Brasil feels almost wan, and so entirely fails to live up to its name that it is hard, quite honestly, to find a way to approach it with an open mind. Last night and again this morning, I tried it next to a group of my favorite iris scents, and it failed to make much of a showing.

I’ve only tried Ambre Narguilé thus far from the Hermessence collection, so I can’t compare how Paprika Brasil measures up to the line as a whole. Taking just Ambre Narguilé as a point of comparison, yes, it is far more robust, but Paprika Brasil is hardly a weak, wan, cold scent on my skin. It’s all hot chilies and peppered woods. It’s monotonous, exhausting and, ultimately, the furthest thing from versatile, but it’s not cold and reminiscent of “cool rocks”! None of the commentators on Basenotes found such coldness either, but, rather, dryness, paprika, iris and woods. To the extent that it doesn’t have much depth, body or complexity, then perhaps, yes, Paprika Brasil is “watery” in that sense — but only in that sense.

My experience seems tiny bit closer to that of Marina from Perfume-Smellin’ Things who noted the predominance of the chili note, but who ultimately found Paprika Brasil to be a huge disappointment:

The spicy notes bear a promise of a scent that is red-hot, fiery, supremely piquant, but Paprika Brasil is much more tame then what the presence of pimento, paprika and clove might suggest. It starts green and dry, making me think of twigs and indeed green leaves. A delicate spicy accord is woven into that greenness, it grows stronger as the scent develops but is always kept in check by the leaves and the wood and the cool earthiness of iris (which is very apparent on my skin). The spice that I smell here is mostly pimento and it is a beautiful note, crimson, dry and appealingly sharp; it saddens me that this attractive piquancy was not allowed to be more prominent. No, I don’t want a scent where other notes are overwhelmed by the spices, but neither do I like the idea of a scent where the spices are beaten into submission by the rather pale and unexciting rest of the ingredients. Dusty-green, too dry, too delicate, dull and fleeting, Paprika Brasil was a bitter disappointment for this fan of the other five scents in the Hermessence series.

I didn’t find Paprika Brasil to be so green, delicate or pale, and the spices were always there, permeating the iris and wood notes. However, at the end of the day, it was simply just too exhausting to wear.

The opportunity to smell like a bell pepper, then iris and chili-ed woods, does not come cheaply. Paprika Brasil costs $235 and is sold only in the large 100ml/3.4 oz bottles directly from Hermès itself (whether online or via its boutiques). It doesn’t come in any other size and only comes in the eau de toilette concentration.

The Hermès travel or gift set.

However, and this part is key, Hermès sells a travel or gift set of four 15 ml/0.5 oz bottles for $145. You can get 4 bottles of any perfumes in the Hermessence line, or all 4 can be the same perfume. In short, for $145, you would be getting 60 ml or about 2.0 oz of perfume, which is more than the standard 1.7 oz bottles for perfumes. As such, it is a much more manageable price. If you want to smell like iris and pimento-ed wood, that is.

I don’t.

DETAILS:

Paprika Brasil is available on Hermès’ website at the link provided above. Samples are available at a number of sites, as well as on eBay (which is where I obtained my 4 ml vial). Surrender to Chance sells samples starting at $3.99 for the smallest size. As always, I think they have the best shipping prices, so I would start there if you’re interested in testing out the perfume.

Review En Bref: Frederic Malle Lipstick Rose: Lipstick & Powder

Posted on January 25, 2013 by Kafkaesque

As always, my Reviews En Bref are for perfumes that — for whatever reason — didn’t seem to merit a full, exhaustive discussion.

The luxury fragrance house Editions de Parfums Frederic Malle is one of the most respected niche perfume lines in the world. It was founded in 2000 by Frederic Malle, a man who has luxury perfume in his blood. His grandfather founded Christian Dior Perfumes, and his mother later worked as an Art Director for the same perfume house.

In 2000, Malle teamed up with the perfumer Ralf Schweiger to create Lipstick Rose, a powdery floral, which the Malle website describes as follows:

Marilyn in Technicolor, vulnerable even brash. Lipstick Rose is Ralph Schweiger’s vision of glamorized femininity. A perfume that smiles at you, like a dash of lipstick with its rose and violet-flavored bonbon scent. Grapefruit and violet enhance the fragrance’s rose note. The backdrop is musk and vanilla with a hint of vetiver and amber.

Fragrantica lists its notes as follows:

rose, violet, musk, vanilla, vetiver, amber and grapefruit.

I should confess at the start that I am not usually worshipful of rose scents, and that I’m even less keen on very powdery ones. In short, I’m probably the wrong target audience for this fragrance to begin with. Nonetheless, there have been exceptions, and I always try to keep an open mind to things and to really give perfume a chance. I failed here. I didn’t last a full two hours before I simply had to wash this off and then take some aspirin for a very rare, perfume-induced migraine.

Lipstick Rose opened on me with a strong note of primarily powdered rose, then violets, followed by a faint touch of musk with a hint of yellow grapefruit. The latter was faint, and barely cut through the powdered florals. There was a sweet touch of vanilla bean as well. Moments later, the violet notes became as strong as the rose, if not stronger. It was very similar to sweet, powdered, candied violets. As the perfume continued to unfurl, I went back and forth on which floral note dominated. Sometimes, it seemed to be the rose; sometimes, the violets.

It was very evocative of YSL‘s Paris in vintage form. The latter was a scent in which I doused myself for a full year in the early 1980s (leading, perhaps, to my lingering issues with rose fragrances) but Lipstick Rose is far more powdery, less clear, less purely floral, and more sweet than my memories of Paris. That said, I was initially surprised to actually like Lipstick Rose. I certainly didn’t expect to. But note the word “initially” in that sentence.

As time passes, Lipstick Rose’s sweetness increases in strength, as do its powdery notes. I have an incredibly strong impression of baby wipes. I’d read a few similar comments to that effect on Fragrantica and elsewhere, and they aren’t joking. There are also very waxy notes that — as expected and as frequently reported — call to mind old-fashioned, luxury lipsticks. (Numerous people compare the scent to old Lancome lipsticks, though I’ve read comparisons to MAC as well. I smell old-style Chanel-rose combined with the Guerlain-violet lipsticks, amplified by a thousand). It’s a hand-to-hand combat between the rose, the violet, the sugar and the baby-wipes powder, and it’s only just begun….

About thirty minutes in, Lipstick Rose starts to become unbearably cloying and, even worse, synthetic to my nose. I feel the start of a tell-tale thump in my head, which only comes with extremely strong synthetics. In the FAQ section of his website, Frederic Malle classifies Lipstick Rose as one of the strongest perfumes in his line. The second strongest category, to be precise. The strength would be fine if it wasn’t so synthetic to me. The sillage is powerful in the opening hour, though I’ve read that it fades away and becomes a much softer scent as a whole. Perhaps, but I couldn’t take the full evolution. At exactly one hour and 47 minutes into its progression, I waved the white flag. My head hurt, I felt actually queasy, and not even scientific accuracy for a review warranted another moment of it.

One of my goals in my reviews, at least in my full ones, is to give a full impression of the perfume, with comments from others — lovers and haters alike. So, for full fairness, I want to present you with the other side of the picture. And I’ll start with another perfume blogger: Birgit of Olfactoria’s Travels. She first “shunned” the perfume before becoming “enamored” and changing her mind. She found its extreme feminity to be a symbol of independence, femininity on her terms and a symbol that eradicated the strictures of her youth regarding cosmetics or feeling pretty.

“La Goulue” from the always amazing 19th century painter, Toulouse-Lautrec.

On Fragrantica, the reviews vary from great appreciation of the perfume’s retro quality to thoughts that it is too powdery and too much like wearing an actual lipstick. You may find some of the comments — positive and negative– to be useful:

For me, this is such a “happy, happy, joy, joy” kind of fragrance. It makes me think of clowns, old theaters, really red and kind of sticky old lipstick, doing a careful make-up… and also the phrase “It cost´s money to look this cheap”. 🙂 Very retro, very not have to think about the morning, carefree, adorable, easy to like kind of scent.

If you like tooth achingly sweet perfumes then you will probabily like this. Its a shame, i like most Frederic Malle perfumes and find them quite natural smelling, if you know what i mean, but this one is just to artificial for me!

If you like being a girl, you’ll most likely enjoy wearing this perfume. It’s so bright and glamorous and reminds me of the ballet days of my youth. Smells very reminiscent of Lancome lipstick and is very delicately feminine.

violets and roses, on a slight musky vanilla base. It has been done before. I still like it, but the more I wear it, the more underwhelmed I am… sorry. […] This has a lot in common with YSL Paris, in it’s edp vintage formulation, which I owned. But [Paris is] much rounder and smoother, and overall a much prettier scent.
Dancer at the Folies Bergeres. Source: the amazing site of Thomas Weynants. http://users.telenet.be/thomasweynants/actrices.html

I see the comparison to YSL Paris (one of my favorites) but the spirit of the two scents is entirely different: Paris is a deeply romantic traditional floral where Lipstick Rose is naughty (I think my aunt would have said it has moxie) and irreverent. This perfume should be sitting on a frilly vanity next to a big fluffy powder puff and a jar of Jergen face cream. It’s so humorously retro that it’s become
Can-can dancers at the famous Moulin Rouge. Source: the very cool Dressing Rooms entry on the Tina Tarnoff blog, Thought Patterns. (Click on the photo to go to the blog.)

modern.

I just feel being in a wardrobe of Moulin Rouge, where big shiners ornaments the mirrors and many different cosmetics lies on the dressing table, costumes hang on the wall, the air is full of joy, everybody is laughing and there is a big crystal vase in the middle of the dressing table with a dozen red, full and rich roses, which captures this one moment. […] This perfume brings exactly those pictures into my mind and fulls my heart with calmness and joy.

On MakeupAlley, the negative reviews are harsher:

This is a terrible fragrance. I find it hard to believe that it has received such high acclaim. It absolutely smells like an old lady’s makeup bag. Who wants to smell like that?!

For the life of me I can not understand why this has such a high rating. It does smell exactly like lipstick, and not a nice one. Like the cheap waxy smell of the ones I bought at the drugstore when I was 12. I would never pay good money to smell like that.

Perfume is such a personal thing – I expected to love this because it has rose and violets which are some of my favourite things, and I admire most other Malle creations, but it is a sickly-sweet, powdery abomination on me. Wearing this, I find it hard to breathe and promptly develop a filthy headache.

I love fresh rose fragrances, and don’t mind sweet candied violets, but this smelled so strongly of sweet powder on me that I could barely tolerate it. Had to wash it off after 30 minutes. And I barely applied any from my sample vial. Cloying and much too powdery for me.

Ugh. Imagine a vintage lipstick mixed in with some rose essential oil slathered on your skin. When applying, I get melted plastic and a hint of rose. On drydown, it just smells like crayon. I’ve tried it a few times, but I still really don’t like this one at all.

I think there are a lot of women who would find Lipstick Rose to be their ideal scent and a joyous, fun evocation of enormous femininity. But I would strongly urge those women to test it first. I am not alone among perfume bloggers in thinking it a cloyingly synthetic fragrance. One friend of mine — who actually adores powdery fragrances and many Frederic Malle creations — seemed to shudder faintly when I mentioned my agonized reactions to it yesterday. He immediately dismissed it as “very synthetic,” and told me “[i]f you wish for a fragrance that smells like makeup, go get a sample of 1889 by Histoires de Parfums, fun and burlesque in the bottle.”

I shall follow his advice. To the rest of you, Lipstick Rose may be your ticket back to the 19th-century Moulin Rouge. But you may want to be close to a bottle of aspirin and a shower when you try it…

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: You can purchase Lipstick Rose in a variety of different forms and ways. On his website, Malle offers: 3 travel-sized sprays in a 10 ml size for $110; a 50 ml/1.7 oz bottle for $165; a 100 ml/3.4 oz bottle for $240; or a 200 ml/6.8 oz Body Milk for $100. You can also find the perfume at Barneys and, according to the Malle website, it is also carried at Saks Fifth Avenue, though it is not listed on the Saks website. Outside of the U.S., you can use the Store Locator to find a location that carries the fragrance near you. If you want to try a sample, Surrender to Chance carries Lipstick Rose. Prices start at $5.99 for a 1 ml vial.