Editions de Parfums "Une Rose"

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.

Editions de Parfums "Cologne Bigarade"

Jean-Claude Ellena finally makes something I don't like. Not a huge surprise, as it's a bitter-fresh citrus that is another in the vein of "unisex... not so fast, missy". But Chandler Burr got my hopes up, dammit:

"The best way to describe Jean-Claude Ellena’s Bigarade is to say, first, that it is a vast smell. And second, that it smells like a human being in the summer in a complex weather system; whoever this person is, we can smell them, they're showered and clean but it’s warm and they have a smell all the same, and the lovely, complex smells of summer are all around and clinging to their skin, and also it seems to have just rained because there's the scent of rainwater on pavement and perhaps a bit of ozone, plus some flower petals and grass that got washed into the puddle they're stepping in. "

So you can see how I would lust after this, right? Right. Wrong!

It hits me like a brick. Most household cleaning products are scented to take the edge off the chemical stench, usually with a lemon scent. And that's what this is to me: the straight-up additive they design to be so terrifically powerful that it will overtake the bleach you've just swabbed across the bathroom floor. A big vat of unadulterated "fresh"ness, with lemon zest swirled in and maybe a couple of car freshners bobbing around for good measure. It's household detergent times a thousand, and it is slowly making me utterly nauseous. There's other stuff in here, some sort of spicy/floral something, but both notes are like needles in a haystack. A noxious, lemony, eye-watering haystack.

Verdict: As usual with the unisex scents, this one hates me. Like bathing in lemon-fresh Clorox.

Editions de Parfums "Le Parfum de Thérèse"

The nose on this one is Edmond Roudnitska, who designed the perfume exclusively for his wife in the 50s. It goes on like a juicy honeydew rind sprinkled generously with black pepper, a startling scent. The melon scent fades, though, leaving behind a simple watery pepper odour. That scent lingers for absolutely ages, strong and shallow, before getting a hint of woodsy/floral/spicy/leathery depth. But I do mean hint -- I have to really focus hard on distinguishing any notes at all other than "this smells like something other than my skin". And it's still all lurking water, hidden pepper as well.

I do finally understand what a leather note smells like, and I like it here: an almost indistinguishable whisper, like you've been wearing your date's jacket all evening and even after you've handed it back, there's just that hint of leather softness left on your skin. Too bad your date likes pepper so much.

I can only assume that this is a chemistry thing, because I know people really like this scent and get a lot more out of it than I did. On me, it's just weird and confused.

Verdict: Not my kind of Malle -- and I really hope Thérèse didn't smell like pepper. Achoo.

Editions de Parfums "L'Eau d'Hiver"

Jean-Claude Ellena is one of the more well-known noses in perfume. Some perfume addicts trail Ellena from house to house, snapping up anything he creates -- but again, those fragrances are guided by the needs of the house, rather than the will of the nose. With Editions, Ellena's imagination is allowed free rein.

I had intended to space the Malles out a bit, but when choosing a vial this morning I found it very hard to pick anything else -- "En Passant" delighted me all day yesterday, and the thought of lacing myself with something heavy just didn't appeal, especially as they're mostly vanilla or incense fragrances. By name alone, "L'Eau d'Hiver" seemed out of season, but then again, a splash of wintry water would be welcome in the summer heat. So on it went.

On me, it's the first crocus after winter, emerging while there's still a little snow on the ground. That scent alone is one I find incredibly beautiful, and incredibly unusual, but then it progresses in a way that's practically a narrative of the life of a flower. From the snowy crocuses to a cool greenhouse full of annuals, all ready for the first planting of the spring. Then it's as though I'm bringing my nose very close to an iris, right against the petals -- the fragrance is wholly tied up with the greeny plant-ish smell of the petal itself. As time goes on I smell a pollen note emerge, and then the florals just ripen and deepen like a bouquet on your living room table. Absolutely stunning, from start to finish.

It's an intimate scent, both in that it feels like you're getting to know one specific flower personally and in that it lingers very close to the skin. Canadianne liked it, but Tankard just proclaimed it "very weak". Which is fine; to boost the sillage on this fragrance would mean changing that concept of a single stem into a field of them, and the feeling of intimacy would be lost. So go somewhere else to get hit over the head with a bouquet.

Verdict: The life cycle of a flower framed by the progression of springtime. Private and subtle and gorgeous, this is another light scent I would wear in a heartbeat and enjoy all day long.

Editions de Parfums "En Passant"

After yesterday's disorienting and traumatic cult experience, I went in search of something soothing. I rummaged through my Box o'Samples, getting steadily more concerned about the descriptions tacked onto each bottle that threatened lurking musks and spicy surprises -- I wanted reliable! I wanted obvious! I wanted sanity, dammit! So it's very lucky for me that I finally came across "En Passant".

I remember stumbling over Frederic Malle's Editions de Parfums story while starting this whole perfume fandango. Usually a house hires a "nose" (the actual perfume alchemist) with a specific steer; sometimes they've even got the name and launch date all set, long before a single trial is created. But Frederic Malle has taken a different route by approaching some of the best noses in the business and basically saying "have fun". These are the scents that the creators themselves find most intruiging, without any fussing by higher-ups. Fascinating, no? And very cool.

With a story like that, I'm a little concerned that I might give some of the Editions higher ratings out of fondness for their freewheeling hippie background. But I'll give it a go anyhow.

"En Passant" went onto my wrist with the most vivid burst of floral/wet/cold scent. Apparently the floral is lilac, which isn't a scent I'm attuned to, but it reminded me most of a corsage a few moments out of the fridge, just at the second you open the protective box. Then there was a very definite watery element: imagine sniffing a slice of watermelon, and then taking away the melon-ness. It's like that -- clear, cold, sweet water. On me, the floral notes then die down and are infused with a sweet grasses scent, like laying in a dew-covered hayfield at dawn. The perfume is remarkably steady in its progression, just tipping the scales ever so slightly in favour of floral, water or grass at any given time. Overall it's just fresh and bright and beautiful.

Olivia Giacobetti’s design is truly lovely, sincere and very approachable. Light and brilliant, with no heavy notes at all, perfect for warmer weather. Where "Sampaquita" is a classy garden party already in progress, "En Passant" is simpler, a promise of something wonderful just out of sight.

Verdict: 1950 Hollywood's version of an Iowan prom night; pure and clear and heady, and totally enchanting.