Montale
Montale
434 votes
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
The bourbon geranium hits like mentholated rose, all green sharpness and peppery edges, whilst bergamot adds a tart, almost sour counterpoint. There's an immediate soapiness here, clean but strange, as though someone's sprayed air freshener over smouldering incense. Within minutes, the spice accord announces itself with no subtlety whatsoever—all heat and tingle.
Coriander amplifies that soapy-spicy character into something almost culinary, whilst patchouli and vetiver create a earthy, slightly musty foundation that grounds the composition without softening it. The amber begins its slow colonisation, sweet and resinous but somehow still carrying that peculiar coolness. Everything feels intentionally synthetic here, polished to an almost plastic sheen that's strangely compelling.
The amber and vanilla finally achieve dominance, creating a thick, sweet haze that clings to skin with determination. That initial coldness has evaporated entirely, leaving only warmth—resinous, slightly powdery, unapologetically loud. The spice lingers as a ghost, a prickling memory beneath the sweetness, ensuring this never quite settles into comfort.
Blue Amber reads like Montale's answer to the question: what if amber glowed cold instead of warm? The geranium in the opening carries an almost metallic mintiness that crashes headlong into bergamot's citric bite, creating an oddly refrigerated introduction to what becomes a surprisingly heated composition. This isn't your grandmother's amber—there's something deliberately synthetic about the amber accord here, a glassy, almost ozonic quality that justifies the "blue" descriptor. The coriander adds a curious soapiness to the heart, whilst patchouli and vetiver provide earthy ballast without ever feeling particularly natural. What makes this compelling is the tension: vanilla sweetness battles against aggressive spice, and just when you think it'll tip saccharine, that resinous amber backbone snaps it back into focus.
This is for the fragrance wearer who wants people to ask "what is that?"—not because it's revolutionary, but because it occupies an uncanny valley between clean and dirty, sweet and sharp, modern and retro. It's unisex in the truest sense: neither masculine nor feminine, just insistently itself. Wear it when you're tired of playing safe, when you want projection without politeness. The 3.8 rating makes sense; it's divisive by design, a scent that prioritises presence over palatability. Those who love it tend to *love* it, drawn to its almost radioactive glow—that peculiar blue luminescence where amber meets glacier.
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4.0/5 (457)