The government might have started rumours that pubs will open with tables outside, but for all intents and purposes, summer is cancelled. Sorry, but lidos will remain covered, and rooftop bars festooned with fairy lights, closed. Boots will be avoided at all costs, for fear that the Charles Worthington minis will stir memories of giddy pre-holiday toiletry shops. But let’s not overthink it, and instead reframe summer so that we’re still effervescent at the thought. The long days, and light evenings are still ours. Soggy fruit bobbing in syrupy Pimms, considerably less clothes and fiery flings still permissible (if you’re single, anyway.) Suncream will supply familiarity - perfume, too. But why not herald this, The Summer Like No Other with an entirely new scent. One that will remind you, when this is all over, that you had a boundless, magical time, and you didn’t haven’t to get on a single budget aeroplane.
This is supposed to capture the olfactive lifecycle of a rose. The earthy, woody notes of initial growth; the spurting freshness of the green, and then the main event.
For Byredo devotees, but this has the wild and wandering spirit of Gypsy Waster, and the floral headiness of Rose No Man’s Land, and to those it adds, vanilla and casis. Delicious.
The hazy candyfloss skied bottle is delicious. The juice inside even more so. It reminds me - hear me out - of a grown-up, sophisticated version of Britney Spears' Curious. Of course, as girls grew, tastes changed, but you’d struggle to find a former wearer who wouldn’t inhale it with delight now. I rest my case.
If you too would like to qualify for a bo-ho Spandaird, get into something white and wafty and spray this. With patchouli and fresh coconut water, Ibiza is but a sniff away.
Lots of perfumes vye for ‘summer in a bottle’ status, but this takes it. Even on a grisly day in Hackney, it’s testament to the uplifting, spring-in-your-step-y-ness of citrus.
A rambunctious scent if ever there was one, full of berries and blackcurrants, and tempered with wood and patchouli. And it looks pretty lovely, too.
It’s rich and opulent but not in a showy way. And somehow, despite being stuffed with flowers - orange blossom, tuberose, jasmine sambac, tuberose, and musk - it dries down to something not floral at all.