Shepilein

I had fond memories of Raku - tested for the first time in a small boutique in Barcelona. Back then, I was immediately taken with it: fresh, green, soft, somehow clean and creamy at the same time. As many have written before: milky creaminess meets grassy woods. And yes, that's exactly what I smelled there. Maybe it was the vacation mood, maybe the air in Barcelona - but I was thrilled. If pure milk were to flow through streams, it would probably smell like this.

Now, at home and tested as a sample from Pafory, the picture is different.

The opening is okay: citrusy, green, slightly peppery. You can immediately tell that there’s a bit of molecular DNA in play - musk, Ambroxan, that typical clean softness. So far, so good. Since I perceived the scent as linear back then, I thought nothing more would come. In the drydown, I remembered it as a creamy skin scent.

But then something strange happens. The scent takes a turn halfway - towards metallic, almost medicinal. Something between clary sage, cedarwood, and a strangely medicinal-cold tone. Confused, sniffing at my wrist, I sense something ominous. This note stands out, lurking underneath and lingers quite a while through the middle part. For me: absolutely disturbing.

Then I realize what this note reminds me of. The whole thing somehow reminds me of the DNA of Cloud by Ariana Grande. I ponder further and notice how an association spreads: Baccarat Rouge. I am confused … did I receive a wrong sample? Was the bottle filled differently before? This incredibly pronounced note sticks to the musk.
And that’s annoying. Because it doesn’t fit together.

I remembered Raku as distinctly softer and more neutral - almost like an elegant everyday fragrance. Now I perceive it as significantly more masculine, angular, and unfortunately also more synthetic than it should be. The lovely green freshness is really sabotaged by this strange undertone. The question remains: Is this Raku?

I am usually not overly strict with fragrances. I know that they are always connected to memories and associations. But here? I am simply irritated.

Looking at the notes, I expected an exotic, floral-fruity mix - lychee, ylang-ylang, Laotian honey. That sounded like a refined, seductive composition. But what I got was something completely different.

The opening? A full-on jasmine hurricane that strikes without warning. I wouldn't have been surprised if tuberose had been listed as well. This intensity of piercing, floral sweetness is downright overwhelming. And then the queen of the night, which does not harmonize but rather adds with piercing intensity. It is not just floral - it is overwhelming, almost a knockout punch.

And then the honey. Or rather: a syrupy sweet load that smells less like warm, golden honey and more like artificial syrup. It lacks elegance, balance - instead, it comes off like an over-the-top teenage perfume.

Those who enjoy sweet, floral fragrances with a lot of power might find happiness here. For me personally, it is simply too much.

I had already tested Ambre Khandjar from this line and was initially skeptical. The brand is known for not skimping on intensity - if a note is listed, you can smell it. And I'm not necessarily a fan of leather. When I looked at Memory Motel, I could hardly imagine that it was, as some claimed, a gentle musk fragrance. And what can I say? It is definitely not delicate but also not overwhelming.

The opening is surprisingly light - yes, the bergamot is there, but from the very beginning, there’s a hint of where the journey is headed. Then, between the top note and the heart, the fragrance takes an unexpected turn: a hint of musk, sunscreen, and sandalwood. Here I was honestly disappointed - beautiful, sunny, almost like a warm hug, but also generic. Too agreeable. But fortunately, it doesn’t stop with the first rays of sunshine.

As soon as the sun sets, a dusty, almost mystical fog rolls in. And here comes the patchouli into play - with its underlying, dark chocolate character that has something dusty about it. Like a late afternoon on grandmother's couch, while somewhere in an antique box, a forgotten piece of chocolate appears.

Tobacco and leather sneak in later, never dominant, but like muted jazz music in a trendy bar with dim lighting. It is the romanticized version of a long-gone moment - but not rough, rather elegantly intertwined. And then the clove: spicy, yes, but with a pleasant, almost playful sweetness.

Memory Motel is not a fragrance for everyday wear. But for nights full of stories, for places with character, for times when past and present blur.

The name Shanghai 1930 may raise expectations that the fragrance only partially fulfills. Instead of an exotic, opulent interpretation of Shanghai, this scent reminds me of a quiet tea-drinking moment in the garden, surrounded by blooming flowers. A moment of slowing down, accompanied by a delicate milk tea with a hint of sweetness. Shanghai reveals itself from a tranquil side.

At the beginning, one perceives a gentle bergamot that brings a light freshness to the fragrance. However, after just a few moments, the green tea note comes to the forefront. It is softly enveloped by white flowers, which lend the scent a milky softness reminiscent of creamy milk tea or matcha latte. This creamy texture gives the fragrance a relaxed, almost soothing character, without being heavy or overloaded.

Interestingly, the fruity nuances remain rather subtle in the background. They seem to support the creaminess rather than push themselves to the forefront. If one wishes to say so, the green tea is fruitier and not quite as bitter. I particularly appreciate that the white flowers do not have a strong floral character but instead act as a creamy, lactonic accent that perfectly blends with the green tea note. It has, of course, that floral touch from the jasmine, but the jasmine, like the other flowers, is rather subordinate. Towards the end, a veil of milky steam lingers close to the body.

In conclusion, it can be said that Shanghai 1930 is a light, clean fragrance that radiates a pleasant softness through its milky tea composition. The scent is not particularly profound but follows a straightforward progression, making it both unexciting and harmonious.

I understand why some perceive the fragrance as reserved - the name Shanghai 1930 indeed raises expectations of something wicked or complex. The bottle, on the other hand, could reflect this gentle and pure essence more accurately with its appearance, resembling a delicately painted porcelain cup. Nevertheless, I do not agree with the comments that label it as "fabric softener," as the creamy and clear tea base stands out for me.

Ana Abiyedh Poudreé by Lattafa is often described as a "baby powder scent," which raised clear expectations for me. Unfortunately, I must say that this description does not fully capture the fragrance and may even be somewhat misleading. While powdery scents are often characterized by violet or iris, this fragrance takes a distinctly different direction with an oriental twist.

Upon the first spray, a light rose note unfolds, which surprisingly has a citrusy and chocolaty undertone. This blend is not necessarily to be described as fresh from the start, but rather with adjectives like: matte, powdery, and sweet. Over time, it becomes a bit softer and less chocolaty, but I must clearly state that the saffron, rose, and praline accord are present throughout the entire progression.

An intriguing aspect is the hint of suede that I perceive in the initial moments - a subtle note that catapults the fragrance out of the powder perfume genre once again.

This scent is definitely not a classic powder perfume like, for example, Narciso Rodriguez Poudrée. Those expecting a velvety, clear powder note might be disappointed. Ana Abiyedh Poudreé balances powdery, gourmand, and oriental elements, making it a rather unique fragrance.

In my opinion, the perfume is also not a safe blind buy. If I had tested the scent for a day beforehand and ordered a sample, I probably wouldn't have purchased a full 60-ml bottle, to be honest. You really have to be in the mood for this very specific fragrance. I must admit that I sometimes find the scent a bit overwhelming on myself.