Like any good vanilla should be (but as we know most aren’t), this one’s delicious but somehow manages to imbue the wearer with a feeling of worldly luxury and sophistication. All I ever wanted my perfect vanilla to be, and more… Incredibly versatile, this is at once delicious and sophisticated, erotic and comforting. A gorgeous, slightly dirty skin musk embraces it all with incredible warmth and erotic sensuality, while a touch of powder lends elegance to the end result. The two types of vanilla used in turn, ever present throughout the development further enhance all the other notes with their different characteristics: the woody, spicy aspects of the Mexican vanilla absolute enhance the deep luxurious character of the tobacco leaf and clove, while the Bourbon-Madagascar adds to the composition with its hay-like undertones and lifts up the dried fruit with its own fruitiness. The base is a chalice filled with dark, viscous balsams: Benzoin, Tolu and a good dose of Tonka bean, whose slightly chocolaty overtones compliment the vanilla and tobacco to perfection. Their deep, sensuous nature laces the fruit and vanilla with a sense of exotic mystery which curbs the edible nature of the other ingredients before they ever manage to send this fragrance into the familiar territory of common gourmands. Their fruity nature intermingles beautifully with the scent of tobacco leaves, bound together in thick fans. But there are sweeter accents too a smidgen of dried apricot, like those in the crates. The deep, soft woody facet of the perfume represents the wooden hull of the boat, filled as it is with all that’s glorious about Havana Vanille: barrels of rum, vanilla, spices. The imagery employed is a luxurious leather travelling case and the mode of transport a wooden cargo ship of old. A journey where old meets new: Old travel, filled with adventure and luxury, meeting at the crossing point with modern Havana. L’Artisan wants to take us on a journey unlike all others this time around. Just one more thing to get you drunk, under its spell. Mandarin, the sweetest, most well behaved of citrus notes has been employed here to add sparkle and joyousness to the mix. Drinking the elixir is ill-advised, but it is without a doubt that you’ll wish to do so upon smelling it. You can almost hear the faint rhythm of the party, feel the heat of the night, and see the slightly dilapidated facade of the colonial residence hosting the do. Ingeniously, it smells like a devious recipe for the most delicious drink: Rum combined with vanilla pods, sealed and put out of direct sunlight, left to infuse for a week before the big party. It opens with the most evocative note of rum, gently, sweetly alcoholic. But focus… Calm down… There’s more to it than that. A quick excited whiff coupled with heart palpitations for having found the perfect vanilla might have led me to think this is just like vanilla absolute, but somehow better the first minute or two. Oh yes, it’s all there, recreated in the most beauteous manner. The way its seeds smell when scraped out: spicy, fragrant, teasing the nose, exciting the taste buds. The way its soft yet resilient texture succumbs to the knife with ease. Its thick, dark as stained ebony, slightly oily skin. Havana Vanille is an ode to the precious vanilla pod: when you smell it, you have no trouble imagining it in all its glory. Imagine how it will unfold on skin, before I ever spray.Īnd it was magic from that first sniff of the cap – the kind of perfume magic that forces you to close your eyes unwittingly, almost swooning with pleasure. My own ritual: Uncap the bottle with the minimum amount of (at least obvious) greed as I can afford to… Bring the cap close to the nose and inhale, first gently, to discover the nuances, then deeply to get lost in the scent’s world. So do perfume lovers, addicts themselves in a way, slaves to their sense of smell. Addicts have rituals which they engage when they indulge in their chosen sins. And yet I was still surprised when I had it in my hands not only was it something I’d never seen before, but it was a brand new vanilla as well. I bet my subconscious knew exactly what I was doing. Yes, I made a grab for it, not quite knowing why. The undoubtedly plastic memory has translated the excitement I felt upon seeing the bottle as a rude swoop for it. Who knows what it was that subconsciously triggered me to home in on it. All L’Artisan bottles are created equal and look almost the same, yet this one glowed. A beautiful room paneled with gorgeous dark wood and a round tiered table in the middle covered with niche, exclusive and rare perfumes.
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