Alicia S&C Perfumes / Suchel Camacho Eau de Parfum
4
Helpful Review
Old Fashioned Caleidoscopic Floral
Alicia, or as it's often dubbed on various Latin American websites, Alicia Alonso, was allegedly first commissioned by none other than the Cuban government from a certain parfumerie in France, to honor the Prima Ballerina Assoluta of the Ballet Nacional de Cuba. Quite an endearing way to do so, if you ask me, even if parts of this story are but a tall tale.
The jus itself is a classic 80's big floral, rooted deeply in, and making constant nods to the Golden Era of French Perfumery. Strange as it might sound, it makes perfect sense, given the many other things in Cuba which have been preserved to this day in the same fascinatingly bizarre time-capsule manner.
Alicia makes a grand entrance with a mouthwatering, bittersweet accord, winged by what my nose reads as shimmering aldehydes and a generous helping of old-fashioned alcohol, all wrapped in a cloud of fresh powder. There's definitely some galbanum here, but it does not present itself so boldly as, say, in Guerlain's Chamade. Rather it suggests a backdrop and counterbalance for the otherwise sweet floral top notes. Whatever is called "floral notes" in the blurb is in fact a rather abstract medley of tropical flowers, a big juicy accord suggestive of the aquatic floral genre but luckily never given a chance to take center stage and make a statement to that effect. This lighthearted allusion to the rich, rain soaked floralcy of Cuba will try to peek through the complex tapestry of other notes several times over the course of Alicia's unfurling, only to be quickly overpowered: first by the deliciously creamy, seamless, ylang-heavy heart, then by the boozy aldehydic accord of rose and jasmine, and later yet by the heavenly, pillowy, properly animalic drydown that lasts well into the night, and remnants of which can still be perceived on the hair the morning after.
Like most creations of this house, Alicia can be perceived as extremely "perfumey", something that I personally tend to not only like, but intentionally seek in my perfumes. As such, it will undoubtedly seem dated, "oldladyish", etc., to a number of perfumistas and, I'm afraid, the majority of unafflicted passersby. Vintage maniacs, on the other hand, might just find in it a great conversational piece and a welcome addition to their collections.
The jus itself is a classic 80's big floral, rooted deeply in, and making constant nods to the Golden Era of French Perfumery. Strange as it might sound, it makes perfect sense, given the many other things in Cuba which have been preserved to this day in the same fascinatingly bizarre time-capsule manner.
Alicia makes a grand entrance with a mouthwatering, bittersweet accord, winged by what my nose reads as shimmering aldehydes and a generous helping of old-fashioned alcohol, all wrapped in a cloud of fresh powder. There's definitely some galbanum here, but it does not present itself so boldly as, say, in Guerlain's Chamade. Rather it suggests a backdrop and counterbalance for the otherwise sweet floral top notes. Whatever is called "floral notes" in the blurb is in fact a rather abstract medley of tropical flowers, a big juicy accord suggestive of the aquatic floral genre but luckily never given a chance to take center stage and make a statement to that effect. This lighthearted allusion to the rich, rain soaked floralcy of Cuba will try to peek through the complex tapestry of other notes several times over the course of Alicia's unfurling, only to be quickly overpowered: first by the deliciously creamy, seamless, ylang-heavy heart, then by the boozy aldehydic accord of rose and jasmine, and later yet by the heavenly, pillowy, properly animalic drydown that lasts well into the night, and remnants of which can still be perceived on the hair the morning after.
Like most creations of this house, Alicia can be perceived as extremely "perfumey", something that I personally tend to not only like, but intentionally seek in my perfumes. As such, it will undoubtedly seem dated, "oldladyish", etc., to a number of perfumistas and, I'm afraid, the majority of unafflicted passersby. Vintage maniacs, on the other hand, might just find in it a great conversational piece and a welcome addition to their collections.
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ChapeauClack
