A fragrance that turns gauchness and a total lack of dignity into a sublime art form; a marvelous conceit that shouldn't, by all rights, deign to work, and yet it does. Done poorly, as in KM Fleur de ...

I'm going to assert that anyone seeking a sandalwood scent as the rest of the world--or most of the world--knows it, should feel free to flee from Santal de Mysore, a stunning exhibition in skillful I...

Removed from the bargain bin by a floral aldehydic opener, Clair de Musc--an admittedly single-minded scent--is absolutely top-drawer if one is drawn to white/light musks. While there appears to be l...

An after-hours matador of a fragrance, all pomade and slick, with ingratiating manners, a small black bigota, and his breath, Lord, his breath. The breath that conjoins with his flashy cologne, that ...

I was not predisposed to liking (or even seeking out) this fragrance, simply because of the torrential anise waterfall of Lolita Lempicka and its horizontally developed licorice stickiness, which is e...

In spite of the all-or-nothing ultimatum this perfume's name asserts, the declaration made here is not that of a high-heeled demand, one that would think naught of throwing a crystal glass at a wall, ...

Acknowledging that the Allegoria line overall isn't meant to present much more than a simplistic overview of certain referential fragrance notes, Orange Magnifica fails due to some ham-handed bartendi...

A trip, a fall, a scraped knee, liniment, ointment, Bandaid. Eventually the dressing must be changed, and enter stage right: Daim Blond. An amusing recollection of a soggy bandage. How unfortunate,...