Bergamot
Orris root
Violet
Violet leaf
Jasmine
Lavender
Rose
Sandalwood
Vanilla
Ylang-ylang
Geranium
Orange
05/23/2025
ClaireV
731 Reviews
ClaireV
1
Vega-ish undertones
Now sadly unobtanium, Miriam is one of Andy Tauer’s best fragrances and also one of his least known. It is entirely almost entirely non-canonical, except for a dusty Pez candy frankincense accord that might be familiar to some from the drydown of Incense Extrême, or for the soda pop fizz borrowed from Noontide Petals. But, on balance, I feel confident that few people would peg this as a Tauer creation.
With its swirl of violets, rose, and a cold-cream ylang whipped up into a sweet-n-soapy cloud of aldehydes, Miriam smells like someone mixed bottles of White Linen (Estee Lauder), No. 22 (Chanel), Lady Stetson (Coty), Vega (Guerlain) and Baghari (Piguet) and a violently-shaken can of 7-Up into a cannister of Elnett hairspray. It is glorious. A 1940s-style, carbonated ylang bomb.
Miriam is retro done right, though. It references a classic style without getting all literal about it. In cantilevering the structure of the scent with a sweet, milky sandalwood and a doughy, cinnamon-dusted benzoin – a base far more suited to a modern taste for slightly gourmand-woodsy drydowns than the slightly sour, green structure of a Vega or White Linen – the fragrance feels modern in construction. This is something that becomes very clear when you wear it side by side with something like Vega or No. 22. The nature of the aldehydes alone is a clear departure – the sweet, lemony fizz from a freshly opened can of 7 Up (pop art) rather than the creamy, metallic soap cloud of Chanel or Guerlain (pointillism). The use of ylang in Miriam is critical to creating that lush, steamy floral custard undertone that drags the genre away from the pointy elbows of the classic aldehyde and towards the supine sensuality of, say, an amber. I love it.
With its swirl of violets, rose, and a cold-cream ylang whipped up into a sweet-n-soapy cloud of aldehydes, Miriam smells like someone mixed bottles of White Linen (Estee Lauder), No. 22 (Chanel), Lady Stetson (Coty), Vega (Guerlain) and Baghari (Piguet) and a violently-shaken can of 7-Up into a cannister of Elnett hairspray. It is glorious. A 1940s-style, carbonated ylang bomb.
Miriam is retro done right, though. It references a classic style without getting all literal about it. In cantilevering the structure of the scent with a sweet, milky sandalwood and a doughy, cinnamon-dusted benzoin – a base far more suited to a modern taste for slightly gourmand-woodsy drydowns than the slightly sour, green structure of a Vega or White Linen – the fragrance feels modern in construction. This is something that becomes very clear when you wear it side by side with something like Vega or No. 22. The nature of the aldehydes alone is a clear departure – the sweet, lemony fizz from a freshly opened can of 7 Up (pop art) rather than the creamy, metallic soap cloud of Chanel or Guerlain (pointillism). The use of ylang in Miriam is critical to creating that lush, steamy floral custard undertone that drags the genre away from the pointy elbows of the classic aldehyde and towards the supine sensuality of, say, an amber. I love it.
