Happy Valentine’s Day! I hope you have as lovely a one as I will with someone special!
First of all, it’s freezing where I’m writing this. Mr. Chokkattu’s new landlord sounds like a cheap bastard from all I’ve heard of him and seems to be illegally turning off the heat wherever he feels it would save him money. This is coming from a household that tries to keep the heating and cooling to a minimum, and regularly has to turn up the heat or up the air conditioning for guests; what I am experiencing is worse. I had my feet on a radiator for a while and that radiator has been shut off for god knows why.
Anyway, all this to say that this is not the optimal temperature for Carnal Flower, and I know this, so while I’m going to write my reactions based off of how I feel now, I’ve had Carnal Flower for a while and I know it’s an entirely different beast when allowed to bloom in say, 80 degree weather when driving to the beach, as I have worn it in the past.
Frederic Malle Carnal Flower, for those who may not know, was composed by Dominique Ropion. Mr. Ropion has concocted other potions for Frederic Malle, as well as Alexander McQueen, Burberry, Calvin Klein, Dior, Armani, Givenchy, Gucci, JLo, Kenzo, a regular crap-ton for Lancome, YSL, and the creator of Thierry Mugler’s Alien and Viktor & Rolf’s Flowerbomb. His career has been a pretty veritable success, and I’m sure if we measured perfumers the way we measure musicians, he would have hit platinum or double platinum or whatever the distinction above that is by now.
And Carnal Flower is a no less masterpiece.
You get the surrounding grass, slightly wet from dew first. The stalks and leaves. Twigs and a slight tang of chlorophyll. It then descends into a sweet, creamy, warmth that threatens to smother you with slightly warm petals and flower buds that you swear are pulsing, and dusty pollen, and golden sunshine. Imagine sitting in a garden with sunlight pouring in on you; and in this image, you’re me and you think the sun would taste like a superior form of butter without a dairy tang. This one doesn’t stop at the nose either; it goes straight to your head and fills up the sinuses, almost edible, though not favorably so, and for me, it’s not very more-ish. It’s too clean to be more-ish. A single, lovely bight would suffice.
In the same vein, I wouldn’t say it was very sexy or that it necessarily lives up to its “carnal” name right now; white flowers need a touch of honey or sweat or skin, etc., for that, and the juice is giving me green in this temperature. This is a gorgeous and true tuberose with a brightness as clean as Ostara (which I had the fortune of smelling today; love it, like fresh daffodils, though it reminded me more of dandelions, but I wouldn’t wear it.) It is fresh and not so sweet, and it lasts definitely around 10-12 hours on me, emitting almost the whole way through.