FL Parfums
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
Wild cherry and raspberry arrive in a sugar rush, amplified by caramelised orange peel that's been candied to a glossy sheen. Bergamot's sharp citrus facets cut through momentarily, like squeezing fresh lemon over berry compote, but the sweetness reasserts itself within minutes, unrepentant and gleaming.
The fruit recedes just enough for jasmine and rose to bloom through the caramel haze, their indolic qualities muted by ylang ylang's creamy banana-tinged sweetness. A distinctive powdery quality emerges here—benzoin beginning its ascent—that transforms the composition from fruit salad into something more akin to violet pastilles dusted with icing sugar. The whole affair takes on an oddly vintage cosmetic character, sweet but with that particular groomed quality of mid-century femininity.
Bourbon vanilla and sandalwood form a creamy, woody base that's been thoroughly sweetened but never loses its structure entirely. Patchouli adds a subtle earthiness that grounds the lingering caramel-musk veil, whilst white musk keeps everything feeling relatively clean despite the density. What remains is a soft, powdery-sweet skin scent with just enough wood to remind you this was composed by someone who understands structure.
Mark Buxton's morning stroll through Central Park reimagined as an unabashed gourmand fantasy—less actual greenery, more the idealised sweetness of a Parisian patisserie cart parked beneath spring blossoms. The opening volley of wild cherry and raspberry crashes into caramelised orange in a way that should feel juvenile but somehow skirts the edge of sophistication, the bergamot providing just enough bitter citrus oil to prevent complete saccharine surrender. This is fruit drenched in sugar syrup, not picked from trees.
What makes Matin à Central Park compelling is how Buxton weaves white florals—jasmine, rose, and ylang ylang—through the syrupy fruit-caramel core without letting either dominate. The florals lend an almost cosmetic powderiness, reminiscent of high-end face powder compacts from the 1950s, whilst the caramel remains sticky and present, creating this odd tension between groomed femininity and childlike indulgence. There's a mysterious listed note called "Offense" in the heart, which one assumes is either a typo for "incense" or perhaps the perfumer's acknowledgment that this level of sweetness might genuinely offend purists.
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Lancôme
3.7/5 (112)