First off, I must say that the great reviews this fragrance has received are unbelievable. Literally: I cannot believe them. So many fancy adjectives to describe this blah little thing! Uplifting, refreshing, beautiful, gracious, lush, erotic, exquisite, enchanting, pleasurable, ultra-feminine, inspirational, elegant, unforgettable, luxurious, crystalline-- for real? Hands out and palms up, everyone: there's probable cause to check for traces of grease.
If bribery was included in the PR campaign, surely they leached it from the perfumer's budget. The evidence is Juliet itself-- a flimsy, tedious bore if ever I wore one. This must exemplify that school of perfumery in which fancy geographical qualifiers take the place of actual craft. The lemon is from Amalfi, the orange is from Sicily, the vanilla was sourced from Madagascar, and the "precious woods" can only be traced to that vast, ancient, and treacherous territory known vaguely as "the Orient". And where does all this wishful travelogue get Juliet? No further than square one, where it started-- and where, if we're fortunate, it will ultimately go to ground.
If I were smart (which at this point seems doubtful) I wouldn't waste my time writing about Juliet. Finally I understand why people think we ought to do away with negative reviews: not because they're mean, ill-mannered, or damaging to your karma, but because some fragrances flat-out do not deserve our words.
Scent Elements: Lemon, basil, bergamot, orange, jasmine, vanilla, amber, woods, and one hell of a lot of nerve to charge $145 for such a cynical nothing of a scent. I can only imagine that the extrait contains $55 more chutzpah and cynicism-- both, of course, from Provence.