Sol de Janeiro
Sol de Janeiro
12.0k votes
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A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
The salted caramel announces itself immediately—warm, buttery, with crystallised sugar edges that catch the light. Pistachio cream swirls through, adding substance and a subtle green undertone that prevents the opening from reading as pure confection. There's an almost toasted quality, like the caramelised top of a crème brûlée just after the torch has done its work.
The jasmine petals soften the composition, introducing a soapy-clean floralcy that feels more Brazilian Bum Bum cream than perfume counter. Heliotrope emerges with its characteristic powdery-almond facets, creating a hazy, almost nostalgic quality—it's the scent memory of expensive body products and sun-warmed skin. The gourmand elements remain prominent but now wear a floral veil, less edible and more wearable.
What remains is a skin-close whisper of vanilla-tonka sweetness with sandalwood's creamy woodiness providing gentle structure. The caramel has faded to a vague sweetness, more suggestion than statement, whilst the nutty undertones persist as a subtle warmth. It's intimate now, a personal scent cloud that requires proximity to appreciate—comforting, slightly powdery, and decidedly cosy.
Cheirosa 62 is unapologetically indulgent, opening with an immediate hit of salted caramel that sits somewhere between butterscotch and dulce de leche—rich, browned, with that crucial saline edge preventing it from tipping into cloying territory. The pistachio brings a green-cream nuttiness rather than the sharper almond quality you'd find in marzipan; it's the paste inside a quality macaron, buttery and substantial. As the jasmine petals emerge, they're stripped of their indolic sharpness and instead read as soft, clean florals—more fabric softener than heady white flower, which keeps the composition accessible. The heliotrope adds a powdery, almond-blossom sweetness that bridges gourmand and floral, whilst the vanilla-tonka-sandalwood base forms a creamy, lactonic cloud that hovers close to skin.
This is the scent of someone who's decided that subtlety is overrated. It's for the woman who orders dessert first, who understands that confidence smells like caramelised sugar and doesn't apologise for taking up space. The woody base prevents it from being purely confectionery—there's just enough sandalwood to anchor the sweetness with a whisper of incense and warmth. Its modest longevity means you'll need to reapply, but that becomes part of the ritual. It's decidedly casual, more beach club than boardroom, more Saturday afternoon than Saturday night. The sillage sits in that Goldilocks zone: noticeable without being aggressive, intimate without disappearing entirely. This is comfort and playfulness bottled, a scent that refuses to take itself seriously whilst executing its brief with surprising sophistication.
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3.9/5 (6.8k)