Dolby

Perfume is allegorical by nature.
We may all, allegedly, smell the same thing but we do, undoubtedly, interpret it in our very own special way.

Manoa was inspired by the Inca’s Island of Gold.
They must have had the Mother of all spice markets there, because all I get is ginger and resins.

Love resins … Not so keen on ginger in fragrances.
So here goes the now (to me anyway) legendary “Memo note that kills it”.
Due to the nature of the beast, a very reasonable longevity and projection are to be expected.

Unfortunately, smelling like a spice bazaar is to me, as enjoyable as wearing a rubber suit on the muggiest of days.
Cloying beyond belief, and prompting an urge to take it off.

"Could be" enjoyable worn in fractional amounts, but then again, what’s the point in doing this?

Out of the entire Linari line, this is the only one I added to my want/to test list based on the notes pyramid.
Vetiver is a big love of mine.
I adore its deeply inky dampness, find it utterly sexy on a man and am really quite happy wearing it myself.
What's good for the gander is good for the goose, right?

Goodness knows how old I will be before I finally learn to curb my expectations.
I had imagined a multi- layered, complex vetiver offering, with delights and surprises at every corner, when all I got was an aftershave opening with a flat vetiver dry down.

Seems that yet again, the costliest part of the operation went into the packaging, because the juice experience can summarily be transcribed as being dull, thin and watery, with poor longevity.

It's coming straight away off my shortlist.
Next!

Deja vu anyone?
The notes and composition sound so promising, only for the delivery to fall short, and I’m talking size 1 haircut here.
Starting to wonder if I should carry on reviewing this house at all since it’s been going from bad to worse so far.
Never been an advocate of the “if you don’t have anything nice to say” adage, but this is starting to weight down because I can just about imagine the sheer amount of work involved in producing a line of fragrances, only for some little arrogant so and so to turn up and stick the knife deep and hard with a final and fatal “Meh”.

Adequately enough, since Sundance is one of the most, if not The most famous annual independent motion picture festival in the US, is the parallel I can draw with my extreme annoyance towards prosaic cinema critics who see fit to slaughter a film just because it doesn’t meet their “standards”, forgetting the yet again, huge workload involved.

So why engage in what is, to my eyes, a reprehensible behaviour?
Well, I guess because ultimately, a review is only the author’s appraisal and not gospel.
Saying “I don’t like it” doesn’t mean “This is crap”.
There is an important difference here.
One is a personal opinion, the other a sweeping statement.

So here goes: I don’t like Sundance by Memo.
It smells more like a second-rate cosmetic product, than a perfume.
Think plasticky pear mixed with eau de sweaty armpits.
A recurring theme in the Memo arsenal it seems, is the one-note-that-tilts-the-whole.
In this case, the shortcut route would have been the best one to take, because less would have been more: minus the pimento and I suspect it wouldn’t be half as bad.
Overall, I have to declare a resonant “No thank you.”

On this first casual application, the gorgeous aroma of a perfectly ripe apricot wafted through the air.
I have, for a long time, been seeking a perfume that would translate to perfection the feeling of biting into this most sensual of fruits, when the lips touch the velvety fuzz of the skin and the teeth break through the thin membrane that envelops the thick luscious pulp, leading to a mouth feel of rich sweetness and meaty goodness.

Unfortunately, misery awaited as Inle entered its heart phase.
Once again, a single note messes up a beautiful composition.
Mint is the culprit here.
Some may appreciate its unusual vibrancy, but to me, it adds a stale sweaty vibe that is most unwelcome, akin to a beautiful girl clothed in finery who – oops - omitted to take a shower for the past couple of days or so.

Thankfully this awkward phase soon vanishes, returning to a more pared down version of its grand debut upon drydown, where it remains an Osmanthus soliflore for the rest of its lifespan.
Nice if uncomplicated is your thing.

Do perfume names need to speak to you in order to understand the fragrance?
I’m not sure.

It would be easy to take a dismissive stance and stick an “Arty Farty” label on it, but ultimately perfumes are evanescent creatures that sometimes love you, and always leave you.
Without fail, the encounter is an intimate moment in time where one is taken on a journey of the senses.
Go into it with an open mind and it is more than your nose that gets the reward.
In that sense, a name doesn’t need to be meaningful, or more precisely, its meaning is left to your own interpretation. Dismiss it or not.

In the meantime, the dreamily dubbed “Moon Safari” is the perfect leather fragrance for leather haters.
You just can’t smell it.
It’s not the kind of scent that will set you stumbling down the road in fits of ecstasy, but it’s perfectly lovely – of course, it contains my beloved Neroli.

It’s a little zingy, a little creamy, a fair bit yummy, and overall very satisfactory.
Not one to make a statement, but ideal for relaxation time or when your scent needs to be gentle and discreet, yet charming and invigorating.