A deathbed poem at dawn.įemale Christ from 19-69 is all weird, chilly herbal woods, and rather a chemical, synthetic vibe.…like an artisanal toilet bowl cleaner. ![]() A melancholy elegy for the whimsy of childhood. A fleeting dew, a pale mist drifting low in a meadow, vanishing into an empty sky. The sorrows of strange lullabies lilted in gentle whispers, fairytales of snow-blooming trees, borne from bones. Herbal, dusty bittersweet, dreamlike green musk. This weekend in January, right before the pandemic is one of my fondest, most precious memories, and somehow I found it again in this bottle. The scent of cypress mingled with the inky night air as we made our way back to the hotel. We roamed the empty streets for hours which you’re probably not supposed to do at that time of night, but we didn’t want the evening to end. At just before midnight we noticed the place which had been quite noisy earlier had become strangely quiet and we were the only ones left–it almost felt as if no one else had ever been there at all, and we had only imagined their presence. More than this though, it invokes a very specific visit when my sister and I spent the day there and then had a few glasses of wine at the hotel bar and chatted late into the night. Somehow this also captures the mood of centuries-old historic buildings, the aura of a haunted hotel where you can get a tarot reading or an energy adjustment, and all the little shops where you can buy crystals or candles or a Catsadaga calendar with photos of the areas feral felines where proceeds from the sales help to support & provide responsible stewardship for these four-legged personalities roaming the streets. More than a singular bookshop though, this conjures for me a charged atmosphere electric with possibility and psychic connections it awakens memories I have of Cassadaga, a tiny, rural central Florida community of mediums, healers, and spiritualists about an hour from where I live. With notes that come across to me as warm sweetly spiced cinnamon and cool camphoraceous cedar, it’s a study in contrasts, with the barest, ghostliest whiff of a brittle, woody paperiness evocative of crisp pages brimming with mystery and magic. is the name for such a feeling? Whatever you call it, it smells like French Oakmoss from FSW. What is the name for such a feeling? Whatever the fancy word is for a contemplative moment wistfully frozen in time, it smells like French Oakmoss from FSW. It’s too calming a scent to call melancholy, but it’s too moody to call meditative. Lavender and violet subtly brighten the gloomy…nearly claustrophobic nature of this fragrance (and perhaps I only feel suffocated because my nose is literally glued to my wrist because the perfume is that compellingly gorgeous) and enhance it with a focused, faceted intensity. ![]() Marjoram being a sweetly herbaceous, rather cheery scent, and oakmoss, though it has a complex sweetness of its own, leans more toward the shadowy, sequestered musk and honeyed loamy–leatheriness of ancient lichen blanketed under the aromatic foliage primeval forests. Funny, how they’re both very green scents, although I’d certainly put them on opposite ends of the spectrum. The airy rendering of all the notes, on its turn, makes the composition feel balanced, smooth and “easy to like” – in particular if compared to more intense leather-centric scents.French Oakmoss from For Strange Women, along with fresh marjoram, is probably one of my favorite smells in the world. The bergamot-leather combo gives CH a traditional, mature and elegant aura, while the soft praline and clean, bright (if a bit generic) white florals bring a modern side to it, as well. In the base, I also get non-herbal patchouli and sandalwood, giving the light and fresh composition a grounded sense of elegance. This note here isn’t a pungent, animalic leather, nor a super woody, stern-feeling one it gives off a polite, suede-like aura, not quite as plush as the one in Jo Malone Peony & Blush Suede, but still, to my nose, delicate and “fine purse”-evoking. Nowhere near the sweetness levels of Good Girl, the praline in CH acts as a soft, sugary counterpoint to the more prominent leather base. The heart showcases some fresh, pretty, indistinct florals, then comes the praline. I get bergamot and a clear, juicy, not too tangy grapefruit right from the opening, and the citrus accord (especially the grapefruit) lingers into the development of the fragrance. This is a pleasant, well-rounded scent, transparent yet warm for an Eau de Toilette. First released in 2007 (with a silver cap and details), then re-launched in 2015¹ (with a golden cap), CH was created by perfumers Olivier Cresp and Rosendo Mateu.
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