Maison Margiela
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
That blackcurrant liqueur dominates with the intensity of someone who's ordered the most expensive cocktail and intends to make sure you notice, bergamot zest briefly sparkling before being subsumed by jammy purple sweetness. Pink pepper crackles at the edges like static, providing the only real resistance to the fruit onslaught that threatens to stain everything in its path.
The Turkish rose finally claims space, but it arrives already compromised—petals soaked in cassis and davana's winy apricot liqueur, creating something between a rose syrup and expensive potpourri. Geranium adds a green-metallic sharpness that cuts through the sweetness just enough to remind you there are actual flowers here, not just their candied ghosts.
Indonesian patchouli and vetiver attempt to anchor proceedings with earthy, woody tones, but they're softened almost into submission by a plush musk-moss combination that feels more like touching synthetic suede than actual forest floor. What remains is sweet, diffuse, and oddly sanitised—the memory of fruit and flowers rather than their living presence.
Carlos Benaïm has orchestrated a study in controlled excess here—the blackcurrant liqueur announces itself with none of the subtlety its name might suggest, a sticky-sweet purple wave that crashes into sharp pink pepper like wine spilling across crisp linen. This is what happens when fruity florals grow teeth. The bergamot tries valiantly to referee, but it's quickly overwhelmed by the sheer wattage of that cassis note, which reads less like fresh berries and more like the syrupy dregs of a cocktail glass catching bar light at midnight. When the Turkish damask rose finally surfaces, it's been thoroughly marinated in all that boozy fruit, emerging as something both romantic and slightly unhinged—petals crushed into velvet, stained with intent. The davana lends an unusual winy-apricot facet that amplifies the fermented character, whilst the geranium adds a rosy-metallic tang that keeps this from sliding into pure confection. That synthetic accord you'll notice isn't a flaw so much as a stylistic choice, a deliberately smooth, almost plasticky sheen that makes everything feel like it's been viewed through a Instagram filter. The Indonesian patchouli and vetiver in the base provide earthy ballast, but they're muffled under musk and moss that smell more like the idea of depth than actual complexity. This is for those who want their romance unsubtle, their florals fruit-drenched, their dates memorable for all the right—or deliciously wrong—reasons.
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3.7/5 (90)