Dolby

A few months ago, and equipped with an aroused forewarning of wild episodes of swooning awaiting us, my friend A. and I set about climbing the four floors of thickly carpeted Harrod’s stairs in order to reach Nirvana, aka Roja Dove’s Haute Parfumerie.
A sanctuary of uber luxury tucked away, it is all glass and glittering and packed with bottles, one more expensive than the other.
Nose at the ready, we jumped into the task of sniffing everything in sight, only to be left with a slight sense of jaded antipathy.
How could it be?
Here I was in a perfumista’s dream, and yet, pretty much everything was déjà vu.
It was, you must remember, the big Oud period and Oud being Oud, it doesn’t go unrecognised.
Result, one house after the other would smell samey.

This is, until I spotted a group of odd looking bottles, nestled in a corner.
Each sporting a wooden inaugural donut, they cut a different silhouette to the rest and drew me like a magnet.
Majda Bekkali.
J’ai fait un reve obscur (I had an obscure dream) starts out very lemony with a distinct and hovering blast of pepper.
A wake up spritz for sure.
Unfortunately, a weird cumin note emerges and stays there for a little while.
Can’t stand that curry note because it makes me think of stale sweat.
Nuh hu.
Me no like.
Thank goodness though, it has the intelligence to depart and the perfume starts on its journey of smoothness.
I feel this is the Bekkali signature.
Beautiful.
Starts sharp and almost unpleasant but then quickly takes a surprising turn, that leaves you with softness… and wood.
Another group of notes I often have issues with because they tend to be harsh, the wood here is slightly gourmand, rounded, with a smidgen of spices sprinkles on top.
Definitely a skin scent that would smell lush on both genders, it is certainly a big departure from the huge macho masculines, and instead would appeal to the understated chic.
It gets my vote.

Not foolproof by any means, especially with today’s modern molecules, but the colour depth of the jus tends to be a good indicator of the strength that lies within.
“The bottle is opaque black you silly!” I hear you say.
Yes, well, I have a sample in a clear vial and it’s dark brown, so there.

Turns out to be a wrist-sniffer, but one that is centering on the “Do I like it?” question.
I’m not sure, is the answer.
It reminds me of those French soaps made by Roger & Gallet one would find adorning the side of a porcelain washbowl.
There is something somewhat charming about it.
Something traditional and old school.
It summons wartime notions of coquetterie when resources were scarce and girls would get creative.
Sadly, even expensive soap can turn into populace soup.
The former is meant to leave a barely there veil on the skin, whilst the latter, if you get trigger happy, will be anything but.

Probably won’t wear it again but as a one off, it’s pleasant enough.

... So perhaps this is what the name is all about because this stuff is so potent, so linear, so there, in your face, your nose, everywhere that it takes a special kind of fragrance enthusiast to handle it.

Not me sadly.
It smells expensive in a trashy, generic and predictable way.
Funny, because I like stinkers.
Give me heady Orientals, lush Florals, and savage Animalics, and this girl is happy.

El cheapo note as per usual is Lychee.
Love the fruit. Delicious, succulent, with a scent to die for.
Unfortunately, every time it's used in compositions, it produces an overpowering sickening artificial edge.
Ditto here.
Add peach, black currant, and pimento to the mix and you end up with a headache inducing compote that ultimately makes me feel nauseous.

Devil indeed for this fits well with my idea of hell.

This is most probably THE perfume that set me off on my lifelong love of (almost) all things fragrant.
If not, it at the very least claims a place in my heart as my very first love, which I happened upon by sheer accident.
For the anecdote, a girl friend and I went to a Parisian bistrot for lunch many moons ago, and as we walked towards our table, I caught a whiff of something otherworldly and utterly delectable from a lady seating with her male companion.
I am an inquisitive creature by nature and so, this is how I met Je Reviens.

The formulation of the time shall remain a mystery but I first acquired what is seen as a drugstore fragrance, and much later on, this present reincarnation in its Couture form, which is meant to resemble the original.
Many perfumistas lament the apparent massacre of the vintage (of which I have no experience).
Shoot me down if you must, but I very much enjoy both el cheapo and this one, and cannot discern any major difference between the two.

It is a perfume from a bygone era with something majestic and magical about it.
An aura of nostalgia, that is soothing, comforting … and blue.
Powder is the name of the game and it conveys images of ladies’ boudoirs and satin gowns.
A perfect accompaniment to a lazy Sunday reclining on a chaise longue, reading the works of Baudelaire whilst puffing on a cigarette held by a very chic tortoiseshell holder.

This is one bizarre experience.
Look at the notes…
What do you see?
A collection of powerful bases, redolent of lushness and warmth, of mesmerizing far away lands, and bewitching ointments that will stick to your flesh like a love spell.

Apply, and what do you get?
A fragrance with a strong initial alcohol blast, quickly followed by a thin and watery personality with a vague incense edge that completely lacks oomph and leaves you feeling deflated and rather perplexed.
If feels to me as if the perfumer forgot to add fixatives.
This has no projection and an abysmal longevity.
What a shame.