Coach

Coach by Coach presents itself as a brittle, somewhat translucent floral—the fragrance equivalent of pressing flowers between pages rather than capturing their living fullness. Anne Flipo has constructed something genuinely curious here: a rose-and-cyclamen core that wants desperately to bloom, yet finds itself constantly undermined by the very fruits supposed to brighten it. The raspberry and pear don't amplify the florals so much as splinter them, creating an effect less of harmonious sweetness and more of competing priorities. There's a peculiar synthetic sheen threaded throughout that catches the light like cellophane, preventing any real depth from establishing itself.

What emerges is a fragrance for the conscientious minimalist—someone drawn to the intellectual promise of its structure rather than its sensory delivery. The pink pepper's spiciness never quite ignites; instead it merely nips at the periphery, too restrained to command attention. The base notes—cashmeran, suede, sandalwood—whisper rather than anchor, arriving too faintly to rescue what's been building above. This isn't a scent that commands a room. It's one you might wear on days when you want something present on your skin but decidedly absent from the sphere around you. A fragrance for solitary moments, for close-proximity wear where skin chemistry matters more than projection. It suits the quietly observant dresser, the person who favours substance over statement, though the substance here remains frustratingly elusive.