Whoa. Hello, roses.
I'd just begun to wonder if I really don't like roses on their own. As a booster for another floral scent I could take them, but all one their own they immediately make me think of the tinny, watery perfumes I got as a five year old, prepackeged with a fake lipstick and transluscent eye shadow compact. This bias held as I first applied "Une Rose" -- a single rose in a plastic wrapper, possibly purchased at a filling station. Green and not particularly fragrant and disappointing.
But then imagine that the person who gave you that single rose leads you to a room, opens the door, and it is full of giant, blossoming, boisterous roses. Those roses have been in there for a while, warming in the heat of the tealights dotted about, and the air is a deep swirl of heady, velvety roses. Mature roses -- not innocent, hopeful sweetheart roses. Provocative roses.
I spent the whole day bringing my wrist to my nose and inhaling this scent. It's not the close-to-the-petal scent of "L'Eau d'Hiver" -- it's a thronging mass of fermented blooms somehow working in reverse: instead of wafting by you in the air, it's clinging to your skin. I'm so glad I didn't wear it to work; it would be so out of place. But I would adore wearing this out in the evening, and carrying the scent of the best part of a rose's bloom with me everywhere. For the people around you who get the sillage coming off you, it will be as though YOU are a rose.
Verdict: Damn sexy and damn seductive, and damn worth the investment.
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