Sarah Jessica Parker
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
The dark chocolate-lavender collision is immediate and disconcerting, like walking into a Parisian chocolatier housed in an old apothecary. The lemon provides a sharp, almost astringent citrus cut that prevents the chocolate from settling into gourmand territory, whilst the lavender brings a herbal, slightly camphoraceous edge that feels more masculine barbershop than feminine sweetness.
Lily of the valley takes centre stage with its characteristic soapy-green cleanness, threaded through with honeysuckle's sweet, heady nectar and magnolia's lemony-floral sparkle. The chocolate has completely retreated, leaving behind only a faint cocoa-powder memory that adds unexpected depth to what could have been a straightforward white floral bouquet. There's a crispness here, almost like crushed green stems, that keeps the florals from turning plush or indolic.
The woods emerge properly now—cashmere wood and vetiver create a soft, papery dryness that's almost suede-like against the skin. Teakwood adds a slightly austere, pencil-shaving quality whilst musk and amber provide just enough warmth to keep things from turning too severe. What remains is a skin-close veil of woody florals, sophisticated and quietly complex, more about texture than volume.
Covet begins with a jarring juxtaposition that shouldn't work but does: bitter dark chocolate crashes into aromatic lavender whilst Sicilian lemon fizzes at the edges, creating an opening that's simultaneously dessert-like and fougère-sharp. This odd triumvirate settles into something remarkably sophisticated, as the chocolate fades to reveal a lush, soapy-green heart of lily of the valley and honeysuckle. The magnolia adds a champagne-like effervescence that keeps the white florals from turning cloying or pedestrian. What makes Covet intriguing is how Frank Voelkl has weighted the composition: this is ostensibly a floral fragrance, yet there's a persistent woody-spicy backbone throughout—cashmere wood and vetiver create a papery, almost iris-like dryness that prevents the flowers from overwhelming. The amber and musk in the base feel restrained rather than bombastic, allowing the teakwood's slightly medicinal, pencil-shaving quality to emerge. This is for someone who wants florals with an edge, who finds most white floral fragrances too sweet or too loud. It's the scent of someone who wears tailored silk blouses with rolled sleeves, who drinks espresso standing at the counter, who keeps fresh flowers on their desk but never roses. Covet occupies an unusual space—feminine without being overtly pretty, woody without being austere, strange without being unwearable.
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3.7/5 (139)