SystemeD

I've known about Silences for decades, but I had never actually tried it, so when I received a decant, I was quite curious.

Silences has a very green opening, and for a short while, it seemed like the entire fragrance would be all about bergamot and galbanum. But soon, I got hyacinth and a touch of muguet, and a very soapy scent -- you know, the triple-milled stuff in the fancy wrapper in the little dish in your great-aunt's bathroom. On me, that was the lengthiest stage of Silences: soap. Over the course of a few hours, the soap receded a bit, and hints of vetiver and moss arrived -- but they were still tinged with soap.

Overall -- too soapy for me!

Hasu-no-hana opens with bergamot, but then goes right to a clove-y carnation. (I see that carnation is not among the listed notes here, but I swear I am getting eugenol or something very like it.)

If I am very attentive and put my nose right up to my hand (where I applied the fragrance) I can just about identify ylang ylang, but I cannot parse out any other florals in the heart. I agree with Dr. Seid, that it is quite lovely.

Hasu-no-hana ends with patchouli and tonka. I've worn it all day today, and the base is now all cinnamon/clove/vanilla, which is how I usually perceive tonka.

Overall, it's a lovely soft chypre, quite elegant.

L'Orpheline opens with a brief shot of aldehydes, but then the strongest note by far is lavender. I get some musk up top, weaving in and out of the lavender.

The lavender continues for me throughout L'Orpheline. And soon, it is joined by a vanillic sweet hay, which tips me off to the distinct presence of coumarin. The silky woodiness of this fragrance also points directly to cashmeran.

At bottom, there is a touch of the same "cool" metallic frankincense note found in L'eau Froide, but it is warmed by the coumarin. The lavender never departs entirely, but L'Orpheline culminates in a big old-fashioned long-lasting musk that reminds me of the 1970s.

The musk ended up giving me a bit of a headache, so ultimately, L'Orpheline is not for me. But if you like a classic fougere, and if you're nostalgic for the seventies, then it might be for you.

I reached for my decant of Fleur de Carotte, a light and herbal refreshing scent, for what will be a hot and humid day.

The first spray is always a slightly citrusy rubbing alcohol to me, but that dissipates in a moment. What emerges is a fresh vegetal fragrance. I get mostly osmanthus, but it is spiked with a leafy herb (sometimes I get tarragon, sometimes I get tomato leaf), and kept interesting with the occasional appearance of a barely-there rose.

Fleur de Carotte won't stay for a long time, but another spritz is welcome, especially in the heat and humidity, so this little bottle will travel with me as I do my errands around the city today.

I was fully prepared to dislike this fragrance, on the basis of the stereotype of those fragrances that are marketed using a combination of these words: "transparent" "floral" "aquatic" "crystalline" "clean" "white musk." You know, laundry detergent.

But this is actually a powerhouse of a laundry detergent fragrance. Clean? Yes. Fresh? Aggressively so. It's like getting punched in the nose with fabric softener. But most shockingly, I like it!

Why? Because it is neither transparent nor evanescent. It projects, and it lasts. I see it as a very good choice for a hot summer day -- and it won't require constant reapplication.

This fragrance opens with a blast of citrus, and something green. I get mostly grapefruit, but in a few minutes, some aspects of orange and bergamot. Soon, a sweet floral emerges, very like lilac, but modulated by cucumber.

The green and citrus persist throughout, but the drydown is more herbaceous than the opening. Hours later, I get lemongrass.

Thanks, Fresh, for this aggressive, bracing wake-up call!