Playing at Sephora

Yesterday I happened to be in downtown San Francisco with a little time to spare, so I popped into Sephora and played. A few notes follow.

1. Eau des Merveilles and Elixir des Merveilles

I remembered that I had sampled Hermes' Elixir des Merveilles at some point, and hadn't liked it, but I didn't remember why, so yesterday at Sephora I succumbed again to the name, the pretty bottle, and the rave reviews at various online sources, and spritzed the Eau and the Elixir at point up my hand and arm.

Eau des Merveilles starts with a happy frivolous blast of chemical orange, but then--and now I recall why I rejected the Elixir last time--it turns to bug spray. The stuff that your mom spritzes on you to keep the mosquitos off? That stuff. I can't even analyze the smell. It's bug spray.

Elixir des Merveilles does not even bother with the happy citrusy top notes. It goes straight to bug spray. I kept waiting to see if something else would develop, but it stayed bug spray, even after I scrubbed the back of my hand with the antibacterial foam Macy's provides in little dispensing machines by the elevators. This stuff has some good staying power.

I kept sniffing periodically all the way home, trying to see if I could get past the DEET and find anything else. Maybe kind of a woodsy smell? Whatever it was, the bug spray prevailed, above and below, and I have written this family of pretty bottles off, unless I need an elegant perfume to spray mosquitos with at some point.

2. Un Jardin en Mediterranee

However, happiness was mine not six inches away from the site of the mosquito-repellent disaster. I had ordered a sample of Hermes' Jardin Apres la Mousson, and while I like the watermelon opener a lot, the whole thing gets sort of musty and dry, and wasn't that great for me. Expermentally, I checked out the other two Jardins--Sur le Nil and Mediterranee.

Sur Le Nil smelled nice, and I will have to go back to it some day. Mediteranee got the whole back of the hand that wasn't covered in des Merveilles horror. I MUST HAVE MORE.

It starts with that bergamot blast thing that's apparently required by law for any fragrance that references the Mediterranean region--but already I was liking it--and then it just MELTS into softly sweet tree-flowerness, and woody herbs. There's a fig note, and I realized that I really like fig when it is just a note, as opposed to, say, a political statement. (Premier Figuier is a political statement. They grind up an entire fig tree, soak it in some alcohol, and present it to you. "Here. FIG. It smells more like sex than anything in the vegetable kingdom. You will WEAR it. You will LIKE it.")

Anyway, the Mediterranee just goes on being spectacular, and then it becomes more woodsy and herby, but still spectacular, and then it slowly, slowly fades away--and I want some. This is an official full-bottle purchase as soon as I get employed again.