I'm in the home stretch of SergeFest, and sadly, I haven't much to say today. Am I succumbing to fatigue? (Nah.) Is my nose becoming jaded? (Not hardly.) Maybe I'm simply itching to graze in other pastures after a long month spent in Lutens territory. But anyway: Rose de Nuit.
The first fifteen minutes was pure granny panties-- a dank, geriatric floral accord reminiscent of silky polyester worn against sweaty skin dusted with cheap scented powder. It almost drove me to scrub. I'm glad I didn't, because the impressive clarity and appeal of the subsequent musk-and-amber accord saved this fragrance from the old age home. Still, the overall experience was as conceptually disturbing as a perfume designed for Mrs. Doubtfire. Manly chest hair on a motherly bosom: shudder.
Yet what I liked about Rose de Nuit, I liked a lot. I cast about in recent memory to try to find a similar experience to which I could compare it, coming up only with this: Rose de Nuit is Rose of Cimarron played backward. Instead of an exciting virile opener ceding to a rote feminine smell, it was the other way around. I'd rather end on an accord that I like than on one I don't, and Rose de Nuit didn't disappoint in that regard.
But Lord, how I look forward to April.
Scent Elements: Rose, jasmine, amber, apricot, cypress, musk