JVD290280

Le Sel d’Issey isn’t your usual aquatic - it’s alive, intimate, and utterly compelling. The opening hits with a crisp, mineral-rich saltiness, like seaweed on wet rocks, fresh and invigorating. Then it softens, blending into warm amber, smouldering wood, and a hint of incense. Fresh meets earthy, cool meets warm, wild meets elegant.

It never shouts, yet it lingers, alive on the skin for hours, creating a quietly magnetic aura. Wearing it feels like holding a secret - the ocean, distilled, intimate, and unforgettable.

It opens with bright, tart rhubarb and crisp fruity notes. Then the complexity settles in: thick, spicy, and a bit edgy, with hints of anise, black liquorice, and a distinctive burnt-sugar/burnt-rubber vibe that makes it unforgettable, but daunting.

As it dries down, the heart unfolds into warm, earthy sequoia wood and patchouli-the feeling of standing in a dense forest. This is a heavy, winter fragrance, built for chilly evenings. In the base you get Mugler's warmth: amber and musk with a lingering sweetness that clings to the skin for hours - easily 8+.

I genuinely admire its bold, adventurous character, but it isn't a vibe I personally connect with. I've given it several tries and can appreciate it without embracing it. For those who wear it, when and where do you reach for B*Men? Love it, hate it, or somewhere in between?

Soleil Blanc opens with a creamy, smooth hit of coconut and ylang-ylang - lush, warm, and instantly transporting. It smells expensive (because, well... it is), but more importantly, it feels like luxury. Think: designer sunscreen, private villa, golden hour.

It’s soft, sunlit, and perfectly androgynous. No sharp citrus blasts, no generic “blue” summer nonsense. Instead, it’s warm skin, a breeze off the sea, and the faint nuttiness of pistachio keeping it interesting. There’s some amber grounding it, but nothing heavy. Just glow.

It wears close, lasts surprisingly well, and always gets compliments. Too pricey for what it is? Probably. But if you’re going to splurge on something that smells like a low-effort, high-glamour holiday - this is it.

L'Eau Bleue d'Issey Pour Homme by Issey Miyake is... interesting.
Is it just me, or does this smell a lot like chrysanthemums? It's not unpleasant - just very unexpected. I generally enjoy Issey Miyake fragrances, but this one leans a bit odd for my taste. It’s definitely unique, and I respect that, but I’m still not sure if I actually like it.

The strong chrysanthemum note gives it a distinct autumn vibe, which might appeal to some, but for me it’s a bit too floral and earthy. Not your typical fresh or woody masculine scent. If you’re after something different that stands out from the usual crowd, it might be worth a try - but personally, it didn’t quite click for me.

I’ve been wearing Interlude Black Iris for a bit now, and honestly, I still can't decide if I love it or if it just follows me around like a ghost. It doesn't sit on your skin - it surrounds you, moves with you, changes your mood. You don't wear it; you step into it.

Amouage calls it an "overpainting" of the original Interlude - a refinement, a reimagining - and that's exactly what it feels like. Someone took the stormy chaos of the original and brushed over it with darker, cooler tones. The opening isn't loud or fiery; it's smooth, shadowed, and almost ceremonial. The spices are still there, but muted - whispers behind a curtain of iris. And this iris isn't the pretty, powdery kind. It's metallic, mineral, like stone polished by centuries of touch. It smells ancient. Patient. Beautiful, but detached.

Then something stirs.

That perfect stillness starts to fracture. The warmth rises from underneath - tar, smoke, a dark, resinous leather that pushes against the cool iris façade. Frankincense burns through, glowing like embers under ash. It's hypnotic - this constant back-and-forth between calm and combustion, grace and grit. You never quite know which side is winning.

And that's where the unease comes in. One moment, I feel wrapped in luxury - dark silk, candlelight, quiet power. The next, it's raw, feral, almost unsettling. Like walking through the ruins of a cathedral after the incense has burned out. It isn't comforting... but it's impossible to look away.

Performance? Monstrous. It clings to fabric, to memory, to everything. You'll still catch traces of it long after the day's over, as if it refuses to be forgotten.

The thing is - I admire it deeply. Maybe even more than I enjoy it. It's beautiful in the same way a thunderstorm is beautiful: distant, magnetic, a little frightening. It doesn't want to be liked. It wants to be understood.

So here I am, still trying. Still haunted.

Interlude Black Iris isn't a fragrance you reach for casually - it's an experience, a ritual. The most beautiful, unsettling dream I've ever worn. And maybe that's enough reason to keep chasing it.