Svenni0808

… a terribly beautiful child, in fact.

Givenchy shows no mercy to its paying customers. This year, three new creations under the "Les Jardins Particulier" label have seen the light of day.

What they all have in common is the hand-picked (of course) and specially refined (sure) black tea from Sri Lanka. This indeed creates a beautifully smoky woody tea note, marketing jargon aside.

Once L'Enfant Terrible is sprayed on, steaming black tea spreads around the nose. A slice of lemon floats in the glass, rock sugar and a slice of ginger join in. The scent is sweet (!), but well balanced by the bergamot; there’s no risk of a sugar shock here.
On paper, I find the composition noticeably fresher, with the black tea remaining dominant for longer. On the skin, however, I am quickly greeted by a warm spiciness that my memory associates most closely with cardamom and clove (very subtle) - and here I am gently reminded of "Levitating | Floraïku." The sharpness of the ginger and the freshness of the bergamot (Hello, Imagination!) continue to accompany the unfolding scent. The musk from the base is pleasantly subdued, not particularly dominant or remarkable.

I wouldn’t wear it in the height of summer due to the subtle spiciness and that slight amber warmth. However, for the rest of the year, it seems to me an interesting companion for everyday life, especially since the way I apply perfume usually doesn’t produce a strong sillage. A bolder wearer, however, would likely be noticed by their surroundings for a few (rather few) hours, should they wish to be.

Lastly, a quick look at the fragrance vessel: Oh, what a chunky child! The 50ml bottle is a little block. As wide as it is tall. It might have been more elegant, but I don’t want to fat-shame here: the material is of the usual high quality, and despite its size, it sits reasonably well in the hand.

In conclusion, I must say: I really like this mix of freshness (bergamot, ginger) and ambered base, even though I don’t believe this creation comes across as unconventional and unruly as one might read on the Givenchy website.

L'Enfant Terrible is quite well-behaved. But that’s nice too.

Rarely has a name been so misleading. But I don't want to get ahead of myself.

The fragrance has a wonderfully green fresh opening, for which the fig leaf is responsible according to the fragrance pyramid. Green fresh can indeed be interpreted widely, here: no grassy notes, no galbanum, no lemon-hay infusion or lawn, but simply an idea of leaf green that lingers in your mind.

While many fig fragrances focus on the fruit, or at least try to, Givenchy skips this coloring and instead enriches fig leaf and woody notes with floral jasmine - and does so very skillfully!

The jasmine is immediately softly buttery (but pleasant, non-indolic) present and lays down velvety on the skin in the drydown. Interestingly, even after hours, green fresh and floral notes continue to compete with each other.
The fragrance remains throughout a finely tuned fig wood-jasmine composition; jasmine does not dominate the play of associations.
Although at the very end, after many hours (!), jasmine naturally has the longest endurance.

But since we were just talking about associations: There’s something else there.
A note that I wouldn't be able to identify at all if the marketing department of Givenchy hadn't decided to willingly include it in the fragrance pyramid: sesame. Roasted sesame.
Not that it is somehow prominently present. Certainly not for my nose. But I perceive a nuance that is subtly sweet and warm, which does not remind me of flowers, namely: jasmine. I imagine it helps keep the green-floral notes from galloping away, instead embracing me warmly.

Unfortunately, they forgot to make the incense detectable in the same way in the fragrance, which is why I can't pick it out at all. No matter.

In conclusion, regarding the placement of the fragrance in the vast universe of "figs": I don't think Trouble-Fête has much in common with other fig fragrances, especially not with those that emphasize the fruit component, drift into sandalwood, and/or emulate coconut milk.

This fragrance is a very harmonious duet of fig wood and jasmine.
And thus, anything but a troublemaker.

*brizzl*
This is the sound (or feeling?) that arises in me when I sniff "Bizzarria | Santa Maria Novella."
A sharp citrus hits my nose. Neroli in tow, but so subtle that it doesn't become annoying; it only adds a touch of softness where the “Citrus bizzarria” barges in bluntly.

So softened, I now detect a bit of sharpness - whether from the listed pepper or the ginger, I cannot say.

The refreshingly bitter start mellows out over time with fruity, almost honey-like notes, without being particularly sweet. This fits incredibly well with the underlying woody notes that await you in the base.
I find the longevity acceptable for a fresh scent; one shouldn't expect atomic projection, but then again, you would be in the wrong house for that anyway.

For me, two things are now intriguing:
1. I have no associations in my mind with “toilet cleaner, cleaning products, etc.,” which is often the risk with overly citrusy scents.
2. My neurons also don't immediately fire “Hey! Lemon tree in an Italian hillside landscape. I know that!,” but rather make me pause for a moment.

It smells natural or let’s say “close to nature,” as if it didn't come from a perfumer's lab (which it undoubtedly did). At the same time, the “Citrus bizzarria,” this chimera of bitter orange and citron, is so skillfully woven here that I think of an incredibly luxurious cosmetic product.

Yes: of a beautiful soap that someone has used, who now stands next to me in that aforementioned Italian hillside landscape.
How lovely.

The creation of my watchlist is breathtakingly arbitrary. The casualness with which fragrances land on it sometimes astonishes me. And so my nose stumbled completely unprepared over a carefully selected addition: Gelsomino Eau de Parfum

Jasmine scents always enchant me, as long as they manage without indolic notes, which is why I boldly moistened my wrist: Bam! A heavy olfactory slap in the face with a whole bouquet of flowers. Ouch!

Wait. I need to collect my thoughts.

Who am I to review fragrances from the oldest pharmacy in Europe? And now this jasmine wonder, whose ingredients made their way from Goa to the strictly guarded greenhouses of the Grand Duke of Tuscany - Cosimo III de' Medici - in 1688.

I can understand old Cosimo. There’s something about this jasmine, once I’ve recovered from the initial shock. Sniff again:

There’s natural freshness (bergamot) and a bit of sharpness (pepper). Then there’s a certain kind of indole (I believe), but it doesn’t come off as fecal or urinous, rather it just lets a hint of ammonia waft through the nose.
Before I can think about whether I like that or not, Goa Jasmine hits me.

This doesn’t come across as delicately monothematic; instead, it has rosy-lemony notes in tow. Ylang-ylang surprisingly contributes a softly honeyed sweetness, which allows the heart note triad to fade harmoniously on the skin.

Wait. Did I say “fade”? Wrong word. It lingers, and for quite a while. As befits such a noble and well-protected Medici plant*, it sits somewhat motionless on the skin for hours, allowing itself to be admired for its naturally beautiful floral quality.

And I must give Gelsomino credit: the scent truly comes across as naturally beautiful. To my nose, completely free of “synthetics” aka artificial lab sludge vibes. I think of real flowers. Of old alleys in Florence. Of sun-drenched landscapes. Of the Villa Medicea di Castello (as if I knew what it looks like).

The chances that this olfactory daydream can also be picked up by my surroundings are not bad: the sillage moves between cultivated restraint and feudal desire for recognition. That’s something to work with!

One last sniff for farewell: The musk-cedar combo from the base was announced, but ultimately shied away from making a grand entrance. The radiance of the heart notes is too strong. Probably too intimidating.

Lastly, I must mention the pretty bottle, which is shaped in elegant simplicity but knows how to charm with ornate decorations on the cap and logo. In this way, the scent and bottle fit together wonderfully.

Flower enthusiasts who like it lush but not too sweet: please give it a try.
Thanks to the Medici.



*Of course, the Medici did not "invent" or breed Goa Jasmine. Cosimo simply knew how to protect his precious gift from the profane noses of Europe. Gatekeeping deluxe.

I finally wanted to test this venerable perfume house Caron (perfume novice that I am). So, at the beginning of 2025, a Discovery Set reached me. I included Tabac Exquis in the set, mainly because I didn't know what else to test besides Tabac Blond Eau de Parfum.

And what can I say: I am gently enchanted by this little hint of chocolate with all sorts of creaky notes in the background.

At the same time as my own test, I naturally read the wonderfully written review of the fragrance by Melisse2 and have since wondered in my provocatively dull fragrance ignorance why one is so dissatisfied with the composition and why it generally comes off a bit worse here in the community.

- What's going on? -

I greatly admire the passion for perfume and the intense engagement with scents, designers, and their respective developments when others display it.

The history of the perfume house Caron and the general history and transformation of many wonderful creations completely bypass my simple way of consumption. "I spray, therefore I am".

- Keyword: Lack of References -

The naive consumer in me does not have an extensive fragrance library within her that she could draw upon. She fails to recognize the beauty of the old compositions; she simply does not know them.
And therefore, she is not disappointed at this point when the fragrance lacks the depth, innovation, and power of the past.

In Tabac Exquis, I do not smell the context. Not what is missing (well, except for tobacco). Not the changes of time. Not what once was and could have been in relation to the great name Caron.

At the start, I only smell the warm cocoa notes, which are not too dominant for me, not too sweet, but just dust me a little. I smell a slight floral note in the background, as well as a slightly resinous-spicy scent, which counteracts the sweetness at the start and makes the fragrance feel "rounded" for me, though I couldn't explain it exactly.

I can enjoy this composition for several hours and do not annoy my surroundings with my cocoa powder scent due to the lack of beast mode sillage.
It does not revolutionize my fragrance world, and it probably won't even make it as a bottle.
But I simply like smelling it right now.

- What one does not know…. -

I do not know so much about Caron and this fragrance.
That is also why I have a bit of happiness here for the moment.