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Issey Miyake's L'eau D'Issey Pour Homme - A Review
Some fragrances walk into a room with their collar up, a cigarette in hand, and a story to tell. This one doesn’t. L’Eau d’Issey pour Homme just is—like a weathered paperback left on the bench of a seaside shrine, pages yellowed, wind flipping the corners softly.
It begins with yuzu. Not just citrus, but the idea of citrus. Bright, yes—but tempered, like the early light through rice paper sliding doors. A scent that doesn’t push, but invites. It reminds you of standing on a quiet hill in Saikazaki, overlooking the marina.
Nothing happens. And in that nothing, you feel everything. The air carries rosemary, maybe a touch of coriander, and something else—lotus, I think. There’s a woman hanging laundry nearby. A cat sleeps in the sun. You hear birdsong, clear and simple, as if the trees had learned to sing.
By midday, the fragrance deepens. Nutmeg and cinnamon drift in, like thoughts you didn’t expect to have. Memories, perhaps. The kind that arrive unannounced and leave without closing the door. You sit beneath a yuzu tree with a book you don’t plan to finish.
Around 3:45 p.m., you go to a nearby café. Not out of habit, but ritual. A small ceramic cup, thin steam rising—dark, aromatic, quiet. That’s how the base feels: cedar, vetiver, musk. Not heavy. Not sweet. Just there. Like the faint warmth left on a chair after someone has stood up. It lingers in the fabric of your shirt, in the space between thoughts. It doesn’t change who you are. But for a while, it reminds you that being still can be a form of movement.
L’Eau d’Issey pour Homme isn’t a story. It’s a scene. A moment you didn’t think would stay with you, but somehow does.
It begins with yuzu. Not just citrus, but the idea of citrus. Bright, yes—but tempered, like the early light through rice paper sliding doors. A scent that doesn’t push, but invites. It reminds you of standing on a quiet hill in Saikazaki, overlooking the marina.
Nothing happens. And in that nothing, you feel everything. The air carries rosemary, maybe a touch of coriander, and something else—lotus, I think. There’s a woman hanging laundry nearby. A cat sleeps in the sun. You hear birdsong, clear and simple, as if the trees had learned to sing.
By midday, the fragrance deepens. Nutmeg and cinnamon drift in, like thoughts you didn’t expect to have. Memories, perhaps. The kind that arrive unannounced and leave without closing the door. You sit beneath a yuzu tree with a book you don’t plan to finish.
Around 3:45 p.m., you go to a nearby café. Not out of habit, but ritual. A small ceramic cup, thin steam rising—dark, aromatic, quiet. That’s how the base feels: cedar, vetiver, musk. Not heavy. Not sweet. Just there. Like the faint warmth left on a chair after someone has stood up. It lingers in the fabric of your shirt, in the space between thoughts. It doesn’t change who you are. But for a while, it reminds you that being still can be a form of movement.
L’Eau d’Issey pour Homme isn’t a story. It’s a scene. A moment you didn’t think would stay with you, but somehow does.
Tom Ford's Eau de Soleil Blanc – A Review
There are certain afternoons when time feels like it slows down, as if the earth itself is drunk on the languid sweetness of the sun. Tom Ford’s Eau de Soleil Blanc captures that very feeling in a bottle.
It opens like a thin mist of coolness — a gentle spray of neroli and bitter orange, light and glimmering, just like the air shimmering above hot sand. The first notes don't shout. They move softly, like the whisper of a palm leaf in the breeze.
As the perfume settles, the world seems to thicken with a sleepy kind of richness. The soft sweetness of coconut and the creaminess of pistachio seep into the skin, mingling with the golden dust of bergamot and ylang-ylang. It’s the scent of sun-warmed skin, of fine grains of salt left behind by the retreating sea, and of sunblock lazily sprayed from a white canister, melting into your pores. Somewhere nearby, someone laughs over the rim of a cold Caipirinha, lime and sugar swirling in lazy circles at the bottom of a glass.
By the time the heart notes emerge — jasmine, tuberose, and orange blossom — the boundaries between yourself and the afternoon have blurred. You are neither wholly awake nor asleep. You are simply being, suspended in the hazy warmth.
The drydown is soft, almost imperceptible — a delicate tracing of amber, benzoin, and a hint of tonka bean — like the memory of the sun pressed gently into your skin after it has slipped below the horizon.
In the end, Eau de Soleil Blanc is not so much a fragrance as it is a state of mind: a slow, radiant surrender to a summer that seems, for a few fleeting hours, as if it will never end.
It opens like a thin mist of coolness — a gentle spray of neroli and bitter orange, light and glimmering, just like the air shimmering above hot sand. The first notes don't shout. They move softly, like the whisper of a palm leaf in the breeze.
As the perfume settles, the world seems to thicken with a sleepy kind of richness. The soft sweetness of coconut and the creaminess of pistachio seep into the skin, mingling with the golden dust of bergamot and ylang-ylang. It’s the scent of sun-warmed skin, of fine grains of salt left behind by the retreating sea, and of sunblock lazily sprayed from a white canister, melting into your pores. Somewhere nearby, someone laughs over the rim of a cold Caipirinha, lime and sugar swirling in lazy circles at the bottom of a glass.
By the time the heart notes emerge — jasmine, tuberose, and orange blossom — the boundaries between yourself and the afternoon have blurred. You are neither wholly awake nor asleep. You are simply being, suspended in the hazy warmth.
The drydown is soft, almost imperceptible — a delicate tracing of amber, benzoin, and a hint of tonka bean — like the memory of the sun pressed gently into your skin after it has slipped below the horizon.
In the end, Eau de Soleil Blanc is not so much a fragrance as it is a state of mind: a slow, radiant surrender to a summer that seems, for a few fleeting hours, as if it will never end.