Even though the box says L'Original, I must have the new formulation and either my particular bottle or this particular batch contains that unfortunate hyacinth that to me has the vegetal smell of flowers decaying in a swamp. Halston's Catalyst similarly revolted my nose. Add Lily-of-Valley, the other note that can make me gag, and Anaïs Anaïs for me goes so wrong that if all other perfumes vanished from the face of the earth, I'd just have to go without scent, rather than smell like this. At least now I know for sure that whenever I see hyacinth, narcissus and/or Lily of the Valley among a perfume's notes, I need to proceed with extreme caution because chances are I will find it putrid beyond belief as in this case--and, for instance, Liz Claiborne--or it will be a skillfully rendered masterpiece, as in Van Cleef & Arpels' First, Chanel No. 19, or my new love, Rodin by Olio Lusso. It's as if these three are near-magical ingredients that must be respected. Too much and you get a smelly frog. Let some wizard of a designer mix them and, oh my, there's the prince.
