Jomas

If I had my first encounter with a Blue Curacao cocktail on an exotic beach, lazing at sunset with my feet in the water, we would be discussing this fragrance in different terms today.

But things were a bit different: the troubled 90s in post-communist Romania, adolescence, newly acquired freedom, age-specific rebelliousness or, rather, complete stupidity. In our muddled minds, we were all high-class intellectuals, Emil Cioran's "On the Heights of Despair" was by far the most trafficked (not necessarily read, though :D) book, we were into jazz, blues and heavy metal and we considered ourselves far too special to waste half a day in a mundane classroom. Sooner or later (usually sooner), we'd sneak around the high school walls and head off to "our" bar.

Well, skipping school and drinking soda would have been cool, but not cool enough. The beer seemed too bitter, the wine too sour, the vodka too tasteless. Luckily, we had discovered some brightly colored, sweet, synthetic, low-end liqueurs. The most memorable and bluest of them all was, of course, curacao liqueur. We used to forget about everything in the pub, downing one glass after another, singing at the top of our lungs and philosophizing about life and death, going from euphoria to depression and back. High school, cemetery of my youth!...

Objectively speaking, the fragrance is not bad at all. It smells exactly like Blue Curacao and a bit like salty breeze. For the right person, it could be a midsummer night's dream. But to me, it tastes like teenage hangovers. And, honestly, just by smelling it, my liver hurts. :))

Rarely have I come across perfumes with such a chaotic opening. In the first few minutes, a bunch of notes simultaneously throw themselves forward, screaming and shoving each other mercilessly. Oranges, a harshly-aggressive mix of lavender and tonka, leather (almost castoreum like), oversweet cinnamon, all drizzled with condensed milk from the can.

But the fierce battle of the notes seems to be precisely the autumn storm that we are threatened with in the fragrance's name, a storm that is sweeping them all away, only for the sun to rise, a gentle October sun. A creamy and pleasant sandalwood lingers behind, a little lactonic, a bit spicy, sweet without being sickeningly sweet.

In projection rather than on skin, the sandalwood feels somewhat ambery. From now on, the fragrance doesn't transform any more an that's fine.
Average to good performance.

A gorgeous, solar mimosa with a touch of clear acacia honey. Especially in the first few minutes it reminds me of the mimosa of my heart, the one in Ray-Flection (Masque Milano), but here the flower is more intense, more saturated, not quite so ethereal.

Over time, under the effect of the cumin, our mimosa becomes somewhat carnal, a bit 'dirty' (in a pleasent way), then gradually fades, so much so that we can no longer pretend we're dealing with a soliflore. I can't make out the other base notes, but I declare myself entirely satisfied with the result of their encounter.

Good performance. Highly recommended.

The mix of lemons with salt and aquatic/ozonic notes reminds me of Aegean Salt & Citrus (Kalotinis) and makes my skin crawl. In the most unpleasant way. Vers Le Sud, however, is more aromatic, with a green fig in the foreground, and has a slight whiff of chlorinated water, as if there's an Infinity Pool by the sea.

Unlike the Kalotinis one, it has the merit that it doesn't sweeten into the base, but I still can't. Only someone who also had the brilliant idea to bathe in the Dead Sea in a randomly chosen spot, with the nearest shower a long way away, can understand! :))

Bel Ambre is not exactly an amber, or at least not what I mean by amber. According to my nose, the main character here is a powdery-balsamic, violet leaning iris. Not pencil shavings, nor lipstick or powder makeup, but talcum powder in combination with some baby wipes.

Some say it’s similar to Guerlain's Parfum Initial. I haven’t smelled any of the Initial versions, but the comparison may be justified, because Bel Ambre strongly reminds me of Ibisco (L'Erbolario), which is massively voted as similar to Parfum Initial. Twisted are the ways of perfumery! :)) Although Ibisco has a fresher opening and Bel Ambre seems to attack directly with the middle notes, the latter is less sweet and more airy, the benzoin here is lighter than the elemi resins in Ibisco, and the lack of ylang is welcome.

As time goes by, the amber (more vanillic than resinous) gains more and more power. It’s not overwhelming, but still enough for someone whose relationship with vanilla goes from bad to worse to step aside.