One can hardly expect subtlety from a perfume with a name like 1889 MOULIN ROUGE, even produced by the illustrious house of Histoires de parfums, and in fact it's pretty much in your face (nose) with obnoxious sillage and longevity that can be curtailed only with a hot bath. This creation has a loud cinnamony-fruity—obviously intended to be red—personality perhaps befitting of one of the ladies who graces places such as the Moulin Rouge.
For me, it's all a bit too brash, not at all seductive, and although I am confident that this composition contains only niche-quality components, they add up to all too much, proving yet again that sometimes less is more. The dominant scent in the opening could be approximated by eating a large quantity of Fire Stix Jolly Ranchers candy while swilling down copious volumes of cheap, sweet, jug red wine. In a word: yuck. The drydown comes closer to a mix between Chopard MADNESS and one of the Givenchy floral fruity frags.
There's got to be a drugstore Dana facsimile of 1889 MOULIN ROUGE out there somewhere for those who like this sort of thing, but Histoires de Parfums has managed to convince me that even the best of ingredients cannot make such a perfume compelling to me. Désolée.
