Amandes Orientales Montale

Not all almond perfumes smell like Dior HYPNOTIC POISON, and Montale AMANDES ORIENTALES is a case in point. Bitter almonds and musk are really the keys to this utterly addictive perfume. It opens like an unsweetened loukhoum--as oxymoronic as that may sound--with the same alkaline powder quality but instead of sugar there is an almost greenish aura surrounding the almonds. In some ways, it's like the outer dark coating of roasted almonds--not the inside yellowish fatty part, but the edges of the almonds, as though they have been peeled and only the shavings appear here.

The musk is very strong and seductive indeed, and eventually the composition dries down to become more sweet and less bitter, soft and smooth. It's like starting off an evening in a heated argument over some controversial political topic and then waking up the next morning in bed under soft down comforters.

This fragrance opens with an light almond accord. This is not Louve's bitter almond (liqueur), it is sweet and milky with only a touch of the bitter almond's typical sharpness (at the base) to keep the accord interesting. This is needed, because the scent smells so clean and musky like it was a body lotion. As the notes bloom on my skin, the almond accord develops into a sugared milk accord with a dash of vanilla. Pleasant and much easier to wear than the piercing Louve, this Montale it will be definitely a disappointment to true almond lovers. Despite its lightness, this scent has great sillage and tenacity.

I had been warned.
I had read about horse stables and the remnants of their inhabitants, about candied plastic almonds and noses turned up in some places.
Statements that urged caution, careful handling of the residue in the sample vial, which wanted to be dabbed, not sprayed.
One drop, at most two, strategically well distributed.
Much more, I must confess, I would not have dared, not on that first day, for the first rendezvous.

The first impression then on my skin: All clear.
No great wild beast inflates my nostrils, no horse apple falls into my lap.
And yet I know exactly what those meant who found the scent too almond-like, but too animalistic.
"Amandes Orientales" places me in the old town of Granada, whose air is saturated with the scent of blooming jasmine - not the delicate light one that wouldn't harm a fly, but rather insistently indolic, almost fecal.
This first encounter, now several years ago, with the extremely characteristic, highly memorable fragrance I found downright shocking and, yes: repulsive, because for a child of my time and culture, a smell that seems so little fresh and clean is first learned to be "yuck."
Despite all olfactory experimental enthusiasm, not much has changed to this day; scents with clearly indolic components still have a hard time with me.

Perceptibly indolic is already the opening of "Amandes Orientales," and not in small measure - that nonetheless no toilet paper-roll-hand-washing reflex is triggered is due to the remarkably soft-warm-ambered enveloping of the presumed jasmine, which takes the sharp edge off the indolic and bathes the scent from the very first moment in a resinous-balsamic light.
Dry-spicy-warm it feels, and somehow cozy like - well, if you will: a horse stable, of course a clean one with fresh straw and a gentle horse.
Outside the door, daffodils are apparently blooming, whose scent, although not listed, wafts into my nose again and again.
In general, it seems to me, the pyramid keeps many secrets, for I would wager a lot that "Amandes Orientales" also contains Monsieur Montale's dearly beloved oud, which seems to be responsible for the subtly animalistic undertone that piques the interest of the man beside me, to which a certain erotic attraction cannot be denied.
The horse stable, yes.
All of this is caught and held after at most half an hour by a dark, more tropical than oriental vanilla, as I have encountered in "Noir Tropical" or "Eau des Missions" - attractively smoky-sweet, yet at no time sticky-cloying-bulky.
Over the course of the first hours, all the indolic gradually retreats to the skin, ultimately fading completely in favor of a daffodil-vanilla I-stay-with-you note with distinct burnt-something hints, in which I would gladly find the namesake almond - but alas: It does not show itself.
Not clearly and distinctly contourable.
Sure, I can imagine it, can interpret it into the crunchy-sweet smoke - but I could do that with many others too.
And I find that is not a disadvantage.

"Amandes Orientales" seems to belong to those fragrances that unfold particularly individually from wearer to wearer and whose perception appears extremely dependent on the respective imprints and associations.
Several test days yielded no significant changes regarding the development on my skin; only the daffodil seemed a bit pricklier, more rebellious, more dominant in wind and weather, on unprotected, cooled skin.
Despite consistently maintained drop dosing, "Amandes Orientales" unfolds a well-perceptible, yet not intrusive aura that surrounded me until the shower the following morning.
For risks and side effects of bold spraying, please consult neither a doctor nor a pharmacist, but the user of your choice...

Amandes Orientales is one of those fragrances that severely damage the heart by tearing a large hole in it. So caustic, so overwhelming is this Montale that one turns away from it in disgust. Naturally, holding one's nose. Yet the caustic nature of this scent burns itself deep into memory and heart. It may only heal slightly over time, but it will never be completely filled. It remains hollow and it pains every perfume lover's heart. If that is passion for a fragrance, then I might as well jump from a high tower. It's practically suicide - for the nose, for my feelings, and for my love of scents.

Let's start at the beginning. I got to know this fragrance about two years ago. Even back then, it agitated my cells, in the most negative sense, and I partially suffered from aggression, as the scent overshadowed me so shrill. And today? I experience the worst excesses just by smelling it! So bad, you ask? Yes, because the scent drives me to the brink of madness, as it burns me so. It doesn't suit me, I don't suit it. Nothing fits here. Apologies to all you lovers, but this scent has me utterly horrified.

A pale tone of gourmand is initially not bad - but then the almond club comes on quickly. It is a very cloying, heavy form of almond. Then a sugary glaze is drawn over it - stuffy air that presses against everything. Massive, damp sand that settles in my body with all its grains and simply crushes me from the inside. Vanilla pods that have been lying around for a long time seem half-heartedly added. Initially not so rich in their appearance, but then the vanilla becomes ever deeper. To top it all off, there’s a club full of animalic filth that joins in here, as if it were the immediate dot over the i on a fat cake devoured by depressed children. It fits in here not at all. This animalic quality with the hysterical sweetness that spreads over everything and everyone. And it becomes a heavy burden that I can no longer (bear) carry.

Everything feels totally overloaded and I had to wash the stuff off. It sticks like a paste, first feeling greasy, then extremely hard on the body.

This fragrance tears a hole in my heart that will probably never close. Because now and then, one stumbles over things that one has long thrown overboard as completed.

For me, a NO GO of fragrances and a horror candidate!

Will a Montale ever make it into my real or virtual shopping cart? I increasingly doubt it. Unfortunately, even the simplest and most melodious Montale creations turn out to be rather useless perfumes.

One would think that with the three ingredients "roasted almonds," "vanilla," and "smoky notes," there isn't much that can go wrong. Most fragrance houses or perfumers would likely conjure up something solid here.

However, Montale prefers to take the more complicated route. At least in terms of the result, because with the formulation, I fear it leans more towards the cheap to qualitatively subpar side. The culprit is a rather artificial almond note, which, as can already be read in some comments, seems to have come into too intense contact with plastic wrap.

Even the vanilla smells overall too sweet and more like Dr. Oetker pudding powder. This is just as confusing as the slightly animalic barn-like note in this almost gourmand environment. Such things can easily spoil one's appetite or ruin the good feeling while wearing it.

Only much later, when the oriental almonds, which unfortunately lose all their exoticism, have calmed down a bit in the nose, does the true soul of the EdP come to light. Then, marzipan-like almonds and vanilla blend with a truly delicate smoky character into a relatively pleasant scent that one no longer expects, but better late than never to be served.

This saves AO from a total crash, but it certainly doesn't lead to a recommendation.