Chimidoro

I can't stand this. For me this is, basically, the "fruitchouli" version of Prada Candy.

Gone is the animalic benzoin creamy vanillic musky goodness of the original, and in the place of the original's understated sophistication and beauty is this generic patchouli/praline crap that's the basis of so many modern scents today, though I might add that I believe this trend to be, thankfully, coming to an end!

Flowerbomb,
La vie est Belle,
So Elixir,
Coco Mademoiselle,
Etc, I.E you get the idea.
(This genre is not my niche nor my forte.)

The best of the Prada Candy range, in my personal opinion, are the original and the "Kiss" variation - which ups the muskiness of the original to dizzying heights, with more nuanced floral notes and a removal of the citrus.
Adore.

This smells, strangely enough, of tangerine/mandarin/clementine/random orange of some kind or other, grapefruit, benzoin, pepper and green apples.

Creamy, powdery & peppery. Subtly floral.
Dries down to a pure green apple scent that lasts, overall, for around two hours on my skin.

Silky? About as silky as the bill/note I used to buy it.
(I guess that could be taken either way depending on your opinion of how silky your own bill/note is.)

I love the bottle design for all of the MAX MARA scents.
I only wish I'd bagged myself the main one, not this fruity flanker.

My first fragrant love.
Amarige.

I initially laid my nose upon this glorious scent in the library of a school where my mother had a temporary role as deputy head.

The head teacher wore Amarige. She strutted around shouting the odds. Had a real attitude problem, as my mother saw it.
She was headstrong and aggressive in her demeanor. I thought she was at once hilarious and cool as all hell.
Dry wood, warm yellow and white flowers.
Bookshelves and plants.

We went to IKEA and she had me trailing behind her pushing the trolley full of her pickings. Nothing, and nobody, stood a chance against the stench of Amarige.

Love! Power! Independence!

My second encounter was in the kitchen/dining area of my mother's childhood friend, Sheila. She lived atop a windy hill and her husband was a photographer specializing in black and white landscapes.
As I sat on a long wooden bench beside her large wooden kitchen table, I breathed in the delectable scent of freshly baked bread mingling with Amarige.

I asked, "What is that flowery smell?"
My mother responded: "AMARIGE! I've always HATED Amarige! It's Sheila's signature scent!"
Such venomous spite toward my beloved, Amarige!!!!
The best tuberose and cedar-wood based concoction in the world.

I will always return to my Amarige.

This is a far cry from the leather glove, the leather boot or the leather jacket.
Rather, this smells like walking into a sofa store or test driving a new car.
Nice, but too clinical for me.
I had hoped for a soft biker jacket/boot leather scent, so this was a disappointment.

DUNE is one of those scents, one of those very few scents, that feels like it's intrinsically a part of me.

DUNE understands and awakens in me something that is barely/seldom touched upon by others.

DUNE has a mellow, calm, quiet, all knowing confidence.
She is a whisper, never a scream. A languid glance skyward.

The scent that surrounds me when I am wearing her is a cocoon, a chrysalis. The lone washed up shell on a sandy beach.

For me, DUNE is not dissimilar to the way grains of sand appear when viewed under a microscope.

She is bewitching, enchanting, achingly melancholy.

She is the soft sigh of yesterday's ending at the birth of a new tomorrow. Nature's last breath in that moment as night turns into day.