Suzanna: 65 posts

Is there any fragrance that says spring more than Diorissimo? That lovely study of lily of the valley is the essence of a new season.  But what of the chilly iris, the damp green of nascent shoots, the contagious zest of orange? All of these fragrances evoke spring-like freshness and rejuvenation for me. My favorite fragrances for this time of year draw me away from the incense and cedar and smoke of winter. There is nothing wrong with wearing these perfumes all year round, of course, but these days I crave scents that bring me outdoors to the enormous cartoon-like blooms of fantasy Florida.

To some degree, many of my spring favorites have a sense of playfulness or fun, and several contain fruit. Let’s say that the perfect Diorissimo is my model of a classic spring scent, and here are ten more picks to enjoy:

Atelier Cologne Rose Anonyme:  Stunning combination of oud and rose, with notes of incense and ginger. The darkness of the notes is presented as nearly ethereal, with lots of movement and light within.  The oud shows up early and is a game-changer for the rose, which melds into the oud as if part of the wood.

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I rarely encounter a tuberose fragrance I do not like, so I quickly deduced that I would like Arquiste Parfumeur Flor y Canto. Flor y Canto presents tuberose on a tableau of marigold and aims to paint an olfactory portrait of a day in August in the year 1400 when during “the most fragrant festival in the Aztec calendar, the rhythm of drums palpitates as a wealth of flowers is offered on temple altars. Billowing clouds of Copal act as a backdrop to the intoxicating breath of Tuberose, Magnolia, Plumeria and the intensely yellow aroma of the sacred Marigold, cempoalxochitl.” (I will admit to a struggle in pronouncing “cempoalxochitl.”)

I fell for the story and I normally don’t. The mention of marigold and the promise of something mysterious was too exciting. Unfortunately for me, the most exciting part of Flor y Canto remains on paper. It’s a tuberose and plumeria fragrance–plumeria smells like jasmine, peach, and coconut, and it’s rather linear and at times approaches bubblegum sweetness before it dries down.

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Aftelier Wild Roses is a rose perfume with character. It smells like the Summer of Love, with a dash of sweet incense and flower-child rosy cheeks (thanks to a dose of patchouli, I think).  When I smell it I imagine walking through the Haight, the epicenter of hippy culture in San Francisco, during that trippy era, with incense wafting from the shops and a kaleidoscope of other smells—ice cream, hashish, strawberries, flowers—all mixing together in fragrant nirvana.

The fragrance was inspired by the roses grown by its creator, Mandy Aftel, in her California garden. She must grow roses as large as dinner plates because Wild Roses smells almost surreal. To smell Wild Roses is to take an olfactory journey through the tangle one imagines in Aftel’s Berkeley back yard. As Aftel notes, Wild Roses is all about a “hundred petals unfolding: balsamic, spicy, apricot, and honeyed roses, mixed with the smell of warm earth and herbs.”

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I confess to a perfume quirk:  I love to coordinate fragrance and clothes. I’ve been doing it since I was thirteen, when such a task was made much simpler by the smaller number of perfumes in my wardrobe. By the time I was in high school, the coordination was fairly routine and easy to follow.  Brown clothing (specifically, Levis brown cords) never matched up with a light blue tunic or with any fragrance that I deemed blue.  Whether a fragrance was blue (or green or red or any color at all) depended on a variety of factors, like the color of the bottle, the color of the juice, or the “feel.”

“Feel” was and still is impossible for me to describe, but many perfumistas will know exactly what I mean.  Sometimes determining the color might be simple:  Yves Saint Laurent Rive Gauche was blue because of the bottle and the sky-high aldehydes, the fizzy, champagne-like notes that smell effervescent and blue to me.  Revlon Charlie was yellow because the juice is gold and fizzy (I daringly wore it with a yellow ribbed sweater and orange jeans.) Houbigant Chantilly was light brown and I wore it with beige and never with teal.

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Marni is a ready-to-wear Italian fashion line that recently launched its namesake fragrance, Marni. Rather than attempting to decipher the label’s appeal and its relation to the new fragrance, I will simply say that some qualms about lasting power aside, Marni is excellent–wearable, chic, and refined. And now I want other people to smell a haze of Marni around me and follow me down the street asking, demanding to know, what this marvelous fragrance is.

Perfumer Daniela Andrier created Marni in collaboration with Consuelo Castiglioni, founder and designer of the fashion house. Andrier is the author of Prada Infusion d’Iris, Maison Martin Margiela Untitled, and Guerlain Angelique Noire, among others. Like many of her creations, Marni is a weightless, ethereal blend, despite the fact that the fragrance is based on rich woods and sweet spices.  At its heart Marni is a rose and incense fragrance, something that became clear to me half an hour after I applied it and began to get small gusts of a dry and woody rose rising from the back of my hand.

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