Rose des Vents Louis Vuitton 2016

I don't think I've ever smelled a rose as sophisticated as this. It's actually three roses: the Centifolia, the Turkish and the Bulgarian. Muted by their blending are the green of the Turkish rose, the rawness of the Centifolia and the lushness of the Bulgarian. What remains is deeply alluring, embodying practically any dream of rose.

I don't know why they named it compass, which is what Rose des Vents means. Maybe I'm being obtuse. Let's see, vents means wind. Rose of the winds = compass. Oh! It's a wind rose, the eight-pointed star used to indicate directions, i.e., N, S, E, W, NE, NW, SE, SW. [Taking dunce cap off now].

In the luxurious drydown, slightly vegetal Centifolia shows off a bit, keeping things smelling natural and interesting. Mustn't overlook the contribution of a wonderful slightly leathery Iris, also muted, and cedar which grounds, pepper that discretely enlivens. This is a rose that says to passers by, "I know you're mesmerized, you've never smelled anything like me before, have you?" Well, OTOH, that suggests a vampiness which isn't really here.

This is just beautiful, charming, elegant, exquisite rose. The kind you'll want to smell, drink, drown in. I'm tempted to hunt for my rose sniff fest samples for comparison, but I have an indelible memory of three greats: Une Rose, Tea Rose, and Serge Lutens' La Fille de Berlin. Rose des Vents holds its own among them and exceeds them in grace.

The fragrance features a fruity blend of blackcurrant and peach, subtly enhanced with green notes, leading to a delicate rose. It's not a classic sweet and sour blackcurrant with a sparkling peach, but rather a clean, light impression reminiscent of shampoo.

The delicate contours of the rose are gently blurred by the powdery elegance of iris, creating a more subtle depth. The addition of a sharp accent of black pepper adds a beautiful, vibrant quality, like petals swaying in the wind.

It allows you to enjoy a light and delicate rose with added elegance.

The freshest rose I've ever smelled. It's as if the petals of a centifolia were covered in the dew of the first rain after winter. The most realistic (homemade) rosewater, having the quality of flower water left for a few days, evokes nostalgia, reminding me of my great-grandmother. Perfect for spring days and even summer, though this is a mature rose.

Sometimes you unexpectedly witness things in everyday life that touch you and make you a little sad. Recently, I was having dinner with friends at a restaurant. At the next table sat a young man - in his mid-twenties and visibly nervous - waiting for his date. When she arrived, they greeted each other warmly. She sat down, and he reached under the table for an empty chair and brought forth a single rose, which he shyly placed on her plate with a smile. Her smile froze, and every muscle in her face said: 'Oh God, no!'

They finished the evening in a few words, yet somewhat dignified. And as they left, he tried to sound casual: 'Don't forget the rose.' And she hastily replied: 'Oh yes, that would be a shame. It's so beautiful.' Then they were gone, and even though I didn't know either of them, it made me sad to witness this botched rendezvous. For his sake, because he had bravely swallowed his disappointment. And for her sake, because everything would have been so perfect if he had been 'the one.' And she couldn't help it that he wasn't.

The rose was impressive in its size and pale pink, slightly darker at the edges and very beautiful. It came from an expensive flower shop and not from a discount store. And I know that the next time I see such a rose, I will feel a bit nostalgic and perhaps even sad. And as nostalgic and a little sad, I also feel about Rose des Vents, the rose scent among the new perfumes from Louis Vuitton - one that smells strangely cool and almost a bit bitter for a rose perfume - delicate and quite fragile.

Rose scents are rarely anything more than just rose scents - the aroma of the queen of flowers is too pronounced and dominant. I would be lying if I said I could pick out the Turkish and Bulgarian rose here, but I can probably smell the iris and cedar. They create the bitterness, the coolness, the fragility. They tame the rose, taking away its sensuality and playfulness, yet leaving it with youth, tenderness, and sensuality, forming a perfume that is as softly sad and bitterly cool as a shy smile through just freshly dried tears.

Conclusion: the young man will meet a girl who will happily hold his rose close. Someday. Maybe tomorrow. And if not tomorrow, then the day after.

Anyone looking for a sweet rose should steer clear of this one.. This LV Rose has peppery thorns. The Bulgarian rose stands out with its peppery, somewhat scratchy character. Rose oil with pepper, accompanied by a hint of bitterness (iris), persists throughout. The green of the freshly cut rose stems symbolizes the scent.