Escada
Escada
116 votes
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
Hyacinth and bergamot emerge with deceptive freshness, immediately softened by creamy coconut and stone fruit sweetness—a juxtaposition that feels neither fully fruity nor floral, but suspended somewhere pleasantly ambiguous and vaguely powdery.
Iris and jasmine bloom into a cool, almost laundered floralcy whilst clove introduces a peppery, slightly bitter dryness that prevents the sweetness from cloying; orange blossom and ylang ylang add creamy depth, the fragrance settling into a luminous, refined warmth against the skin.
Vanilla and sandalwood emerge from beneath, creating a soft, skin-like base that grows increasingly abstract and powdery; by hour four, you're left with a whisper of musk and vanilla, almost imperceptible but unmistakably present—a gentle reminder rather than a declaration.
Escada Margaretha Ley Escada arrives as a peculiar proposition: a 1990 fragrance that defies the era's maximalist tendencies by favouring restraint wrapped in opulence. Michel Almairac has crafted something almost paradoxical—a whisper-soft floral that insists on being heard through sheer indulgence rather than projection.
The hyacinth-bergamot opening promises brightness, but coconut and peach immediately soften this with a creamy, almost gourmand undertone that feels decidedly un-fruity. Where you'd expect crisp citrus to lead, instead there's a pillowed sweetness, as though someone's dusted the opening with vanilla-tinged powder before you've even processed the top notes properly.
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3.6/5 (82)