Avon
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
A sharp, blackcurrant-forward burst cuts through immediately, with lemon's citric snap amplifying the effect into something almost aggressive. Within seconds, however, the top notes reveal their true nature—a meticulously composed freshness that feels architectural rather than natural, each element holding its geometric position.
The floral phase emerges with jasmine sambac's creamy indole character clashing beautifully against that deliberate plastic undertone, creating an almost leather-like texture. Green leaf accords rise around this central tension, introducing a slightly damp, herbaceous quality that grounds the composition when it threatens to drift into pure abstraction.
Cedar takes command in the final hours, offering a dry, woody skeleton whilst musk and amber provide barely-there warmth. What remains is more impression than scent—a faint memory of that plastic element, now softened into something almost powdery, clinging to skin with surprising restraint.
Persian Wood arrives as a curious collision between the playful and the unsettling—a fragrance that refuses to settle into comfortable territory. The opening assault of blackcurrant and lemon creates a bright, almost tart effervescence, but there's something deliberately askew about it. That notorious "melting plastic" note in the heart is no accident; it's the olfactory equivalent of finding something strange in your grandmother's perfume bottle, a synthetic intrusion that shouldn't work but somehow does. Rather than recoiling, the jasmine sambac wraps around this plasticity with a creamy, slightly animalic warmth, whilst the green leaf accords provide a crisp counterpoint—imagine rubbing fresh mint against warm vinyl.
This is a fragrance for the deliberately unconventional wearer, someone who finds comfort in discord. It's neither comforting nor challenging in the expected sense; instead, it occupies that rare middle ground where beauty and strangeness become indistinguishable. The fruity-to-fresh ratio (100% and 88% respectively) dominates the composition, yet the sweetness at 52% never turns cloying, kept honest by the structural dryness of cedar and that peculiar plastic element. Wear it when you've moved past seeking approval, when you want to smell like something that exists slightly outside consensus reality—perhaps on an autumn afternoon when you're reading alone, or during those liminal hours when day surrenders to evening and nothing feels quite settled.
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3.2/5 (77)