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Lanvin My Sin - The First Brick in the Empire
My Sin (or Mon Peche) was Lanvin's first major hit in the fragrance market when it was released in 1924. Its release was the first in a run of very successful fragrances launched by the house, and it was made for decades after. For this review, I will be using a 1950s Extrait bottle from the European market.
Applying the scent to my skin, I am hit with quite a few notes at once. My Sin opens with a burst of citrus and aldehydes. Right away I can smell neroli so intensely on my skin, with a hint of lemon coming up from behind. The top notes on me are weirdly green for something released in 1924, and very crisp and clean. To paint a picture, the opening really makes me feel like I am in Italy, off the coast of the Mediterranean Sea, sitting in the garden of some villa surrounded by citrus trees. The heat from the sun warms my core, and the gentle breeze from the ocean brings with it wafts of citrus and flora. However, make no mistake, these notes are not presenting themselves as a summer beach vacation. No, the top notes show that My Sin keeps its secrets close to heart, it is reserved and restrained, if slightly chilly. It gives you just a peak to intrigue, but forces you to move at its pace to really appreciate what it has to offer.
Once the top notes begin to dissipate, My Sin rewards your patience with a smooth and rich mid and base. I pick up on me jasmine, clove, lilac, and rose quite a bit. Oddly, the base does not live on its own level, but intermingles within the mid and permeates through. In that base, I pick up a lot of civet, vetyver, and a slight hint of vanilla and musk. Maybe even a hint of sandalwood? It is smooth, warm, and slightly spicy, but not overly so. If anything, there is a devilish sweetness to My Sin, it sort of intoxicates whomever experiences it and puts them under its spell. I have read somewhere someone referring to My Sin as smelling “skanky,” and as much as I would hate to agree, they are kind of right.
It is hard to describe, but the scent really does represent what I would imagine would be someone’s sinful secret. It is sort of primal, animalistic, and dirty, but it also feels like it should not be. Where a scent like Shalimar became the go to bad girl scent, My Sin feels more complex and sophisticated than that. If it were a person, she would be a middle aged well-respected woman of class and status. Reserved, restrained, and always impeccably dressed, but for the right person she unravels and becomes shockingly sensual and open.
Wearing it, I feel as though I have been let in on a naughty little secret, and the shocking part is that it was my secret to carry as well. As the excitement of that revelation dies down, your left with My Sin’s true nature. On me it finishes off and becomes a warm, balmy, woodsy musk. Fully revealed, it forces you to bask with it in that villa’s garden in all of its warm animalic glory.
My Sin often gets overshadowed by its younger sibling, Arpège. It is a shame, because in some ways, My Sin is the more interesting fragrance out of the two. It invites you walk into its world and experience all it has to offer you and reveal to you, but never at once.
Applying the scent to my skin, I am hit with quite a few notes at once. My Sin opens with a burst of citrus and aldehydes. Right away I can smell neroli so intensely on my skin, with a hint of lemon coming up from behind. The top notes on me are weirdly green for something released in 1924, and very crisp and clean. To paint a picture, the opening really makes me feel like I am in Italy, off the coast of the Mediterranean Sea, sitting in the garden of some villa surrounded by citrus trees. The heat from the sun warms my core, and the gentle breeze from the ocean brings with it wafts of citrus and flora. However, make no mistake, these notes are not presenting themselves as a summer beach vacation. No, the top notes show that My Sin keeps its secrets close to heart, it is reserved and restrained, if slightly chilly. It gives you just a peak to intrigue, but forces you to move at its pace to really appreciate what it has to offer.
Once the top notes begin to dissipate, My Sin rewards your patience with a smooth and rich mid and base. I pick up on me jasmine, clove, lilac, and rose quite a bit. Oddly, the base does not live on its own level, but intermingles within the mid and permeates through. In that base, I pick up a lot of civet, vetyver, and a slight hint of vanilla and musk. Maybe even a hint of sandalwood? It is smooth, warm, and slightly spicy, but not overly so. If anything, there is a devilish sweetness to My Sin, it sort of intoxicates whomever experiences it and puts them under its spell. I have read somewhere someone referring to My Sin as smelling “skanky,” and as much as I would hate to agree, they are kind of right.
It is hard to describe, but the scent really does represent what I would imagine would be someone’s sinful secret. It is sort of primal, animalistic, and dirty, but it also feels like it should not be. Where a scent like Shalimar became the go to bad girl scent, My Sin feels more complex and sophisticated than that. If it were a person, she would be a middle aged well-respected woman of class and status. Reserved, restrained, and always impeccably dressed, but for the right person she unravels and becomes shockingly sensual and open.
Wearing it, I feel as though I have been let in on a naughty little secret, and the shocking part is that it was my secret to carry as well. As the excitement of that revelation dies down, your left with My Sin’s true nature. On me it finishes off and becomes a warm, balmy, woodsy musk. Fully revealed, it forces you to bask with it in that villa’s garden in all of its warm animalic glory.
My Sin often gets overshadowed by its younger sibling, Arpège. It is a shame, because in some ways, My Sin is the more interesting fragrance out of the two. It invites you walk into its world and experience all it has to offer you and reveal to you, but never at once.