Exciter76

I took the name literally. What I got the first time I tested this was totally different than what I expected. However, in both scenarios—the scent as I imagined it in my mind and what actually unfurled on my skin—were very satisfying.

In my mind I expected Estee Lauder’s Cinnabar and Stella McCartney's Stella to create a laboratory love child and call it Incense Rose. I expected a bombastic incense (seriously, I took the name too literally) and a fragrance equivalent to the 1980s opulence of the “Dynasty” soap opera’s wardrobe. What I experienced instead was a spicy cup of unsweetened orange pekoe tea that later morphed into a subtle yet spicy rose, which sat prettily atop a potpourri of fragrant woods. I was startled at first by the orange pekoe opening but I’m actually excited by the discovery of a fragrance that captures one of my favorite scents: tea as it steeps in a steaming cup of freshly-poured hot water. The drydown does come across a bit like a masculine bar of soap; lucky for me I love the scent of soap—I blame my astrological sign, Virgo, for my love of soapy/clean scents. It is probably inappropriate to compare this to a celebrity scent but the drydown reminds me of JLo’s Glow After Dark if it had been executed properly. From beginning to end, it’s love.

I found this sat very close to my skin and there wasn’t much in the way of sillage. This discovery was probably the biggest surprise to me. Every movement of my wrist provided a pleasant whiff of fragrance that has yet to settle down, though; I am pleased by its very tenacious staying power. It’s a soft mercurial scent that kept my nose buried in my wrist.

I feel nearly confident to say there is a common attribute with Caron perfumes: over the course of a single wearing, they only get better with time. Let me clarify—from first spray to last strains of the drydown, a Caron scent shines brightest in the drydown. This isn’t to say their scents are mediocre until they hit their drydown. They are gorgeous from beginning to end, but to use a person as an analogy, young George Clooney was cute but fifty-something George is downright sexy because there is something a bit old-fashioned, classic, and yet timeless about him, if not a bit weathered. If you don’t believe me, Google his name and add the word ‘young’. Caron is the perfume world’s Mr. Clooney.

Before I derail myself with schoolgirl adoration, I mention all this because this is no truer than it is with Aimez-Moi. First spray? Really nice and crisp violets. I love violets so I’m okay with this. Throughout the day I kept smelling a subtle aura of spice in the spirit of the classic Old Spice. (Yeah, *that* Old Spice.) I kept shoving my wrist to my nose to see if this was coming from me. I swear I could not smell it in close proximity but when I waved my arms away from me, I got a gentle whiff of that Old Spice-like… spice. Though I associate Old Spice with a person who abused it, in this context it’s so enjoyable.

As of present, I’m reveling in the mesmerizing drydown. I’ve been wearing this scent since 9 a.m. and it is still going strong. I love it more now than I did this morning—and I was pretty smitten this morning. It’s powdery gloriousness. If you’re not a fan of powder, this could make a convert of you. It truly is that good.

All of my flowery praise and adoration cannot adequately describe precisely how beautiful this is. My love for powdery scents hasn’t always been. Ombre Rose was like my gateway powder perfume. The legendary L’Heure Bleue only confirmed my growing love for powder but Aimez-Moi solidified my adoration for all things fluffy and powdery. Try it and see if you don’t become an apostle of all things powdery.

There is a sleepy little college town about thirty miles east of Los Angeles, CA where the last vestiges of the 1960s still thrive. Claremont is a lovely town with lovely boutiques, new age-y head shops, sidewalk cafes and acoustic music venues. I used to frequent one particular head shop that was always redolent of joss sticks and incense cones, along with an underlying herbal funk (I was too naive to realize it was marijuana). I loved the place. I was heartbroken to find it had closed up shop sometime in the early 00s but I suppose it was a victim of its own resistance to the times.

The one thing I adored about the littlest head shop was the smell. It was simultaneously overwhelming and inviting. This perfume hearkens back to that little head shop that refused to march forward into the future. The heavy scent of resinous incense takes over from first spray to last whiff of the drydown. It smells authentic, thick, and sweet. What we are offered is a bouquet of unlit joss sticks, still damp and heady. True to the experience, even though the store's bundles of incense sticks had distinct names like Rasta and Black Cherry, the scents combined to become one superscent. In SeF, the superscent was definitely used. The honey doesn't smell distinctly honey-like per se, but it does add to the thick and sweet nature of the scent.

The little shop was proud to be anachronistic--old, defiant, beautiful hippies in a land of cold, young intellectuals--and this perfume is a remnant of that spirit. It's ironic that I'd find this piece of bohemian glamour online but fitting that it hails from Berkeley, CA, home of the 1960s mythical spirit. I'm happy to see that bohemian spirit is still very much alive.