A More Affordable Olfactionary
Amouage Interlude Man
Amouage Opus III
Amouage Opus VAmouage Opus VI
Amouage TributeAnnick Goutal Encens Flamboyant
Annick Goutal Heure ExquiseAnnick Goutal Petite Cherie
Annick Goutal Sables
April Aromatics Calling All Angels
April Aromatics Bohemian SpiceApril Aromatics Jasmina
At the Moment (Chanel 22 & Marshall Crenshaw)
At the Moment (Secret de Suzanne /D'Orsay L'Intrigante) At the Moment (Vera Wang & Fireman's Fair novel)
Ava Luxe Café NoirCarner Barcelona D600
Caron Aimez-MoiChantilly Dusting Powder
Clive Christian C for WomenComme des Garcons Daphne
Comme des Garcons LUXE ChampacaCostes by Costes
Creed Virgin Island WaterDeneuve
Devilscent ProjectGucci Eau de Parfum Gucci L'Arte di Gucci Guerlain Aqua Allegoria Lys Soleia Guerlain Samsara Parfum How I Store Decants
Il Profumo CannabisKenzo Jungle l’Elephant
Kenzo SummerLa Via del Profumo Hindu Kush
La Via del Profumo Oud Caravan Project
Montale Black AoudNeila Vermeire Creations Bombay Bling
Nina Ricci L'Air du Temps
Nez a Nez Ambre a SadeOmar Sharif Pour Femme
Oriscent Pure Oud OilsParfum d'Empire Azemour
Parfum d'Empire Cuir OttomanParfum d'Empire 3 Fleurs Parfumerie Generale Indochine
Parfums de Nicolai SacrebleuParis, je t'aime
Pascal Morabito Or Black
Ramon Monegal Cherry Musk
Robert Piguet Fracas
Serge Lutens Borneo 1834
Serge Lutens Boxeuses
Serge Lutens Un Lys Sonoma Scent Studio Voile de Violette
Sonoma Scent Studio Winter Woods (brief mention)
SoOud Ouris Parfum NectarStone Harbor, NJ Vacaton pix (non-perfume related)
Strange Invisible Perfumes Lyric RainThe Diary of a Nose, Book Review
Tokyo Milk Ex Libris
Vero Profumo Mito Viktoria Minya Hedonist
Viktor & Rolfe Flowerbomb
Links to Other Blogs I Enjoy
All I Am - A Redhead
A Perfume Blog (Blacknall Allen)
Another Perfume Blog (Natalie)
Australian Perfume Junkies
Beauty on the Outside
Bois de Jasmin
Bonkers About Perfume
Ca Fleure Bon
Eyeliner on a Cat
From Top to Bottom - Perfume Patter
Giovanni Sammarco (artisanal perfumer) blog
Grain de Musc
I Smell Therefore I Am
Katie Puckrik Smells
Memory of Scent
Muse in Wooden Shoes
Natural Perfumery by Salaam
Notes on Shoes, Cake & Perfume
Notes From Josephine
Notes From the Ledge
Now Smell This
Oh, True Apothecary!
Purple Paper Planes
Redolent of Spices
Riktig Parfym: Ramblings of a Fragrant Fanatic
Scents of Place
Scents of Self
Sorcery of Scent
The Alembicated Genie
The Candy Perfume Boy
The Fragrant Man
The French Exit
The Scented Hound
The Vintage Perfume Vault
This Blog Really Stinks
Undina's Looking Glass
WAFT by Carol
Beatnik Emptiness Incense: Elegant Smoke Signals
(Created by a Cherished Blogger)
There are a number of blogs where I can call myself a faithful reader, which for me implies that I show up at least once a week and consume pretty much everything the blogger has written since my last visit, and this is certainly the case with Victoria Jent’s perfume and beauty blog EauMG. Considering how long I’ve been involved in the online perfume community, and how I’m now at a point where I’m essentially sated when it comes to perfume collecting, it takes something unique to bring me to a blog regularly, and in the case of EauMG, there are several things—the first one being the sly humor and quirky descriptions one often finds in Victoria’s posts, if one visits often enough. Take, for instance, her review of Frederic Malle’s Dans Tes Bras, a perfume created to mimic the scent of skin and which Victoria reveals to have a number of facets—not just a powdery violet floral, but also a tinge of something that smells like salt, blood and mushrooms, and which she ultimately describes as smelling like: “A really cute nosebleed. I know that sounds gross, but that’s what it is like on my skin – mineral violet-heliotrope. It’s the kawaii-est bloody nose ever,” she says in the wrap-up of her review (Victoria’s Final EauPinion).
Descriptions like these give me something to smile about because I’m that person who can picture a really cute nosebleed, and I love her off-kilter way of viewing the world. Yet more delicious than her sense of humor is the fact that humor isn’t her main thrust. Victoria’s insights are often made quietly, and in that same seemingly lighthearted review of Dans Tes Bras there is also this little nugget, in which she observes that its perfumer, Maurice Roucel, “went on a mission to create a fragrance that reminds one of warm skin. And he succeeded. But one of the things that I realized is that so much of what we perceive as ‘warm skin’ doesn’t really exist without functional fragrances – laundry detergent, lotion, soap. It’s a symbiotic relationship. Roucel nailed it.”
I don’t know about you, but that tidbit is the kind of thing that stops me in my tracks. There are other things about her blog, too: on the beauty side of things, she recreates vintage makeup looks (“Get the look of Britt Eklund” kinds of posts, which she’s quite good at); she offers up some great gift guides, and then there are her stream-of-consciousness Smell Diary posts in which she details what life presented to her smell-wise (usually unrelated to perfume) on a daily basis: brief descriptions that are evocative and poetic, distilled to a point that makes them read like street poetry.
Because I’m a fan, when Victoria recently announced on her blog that she had started a company called Beatnik Emptiness—an “alt-cult fashion brand” which features a mix of imported and domestic fashions—and that her online boutique also includes a line of incense that she makes herself, I wanted to support her with a small purchase. When her package arrived, and she included not only the Lily of the Dust incense I ordered but two others, I quickly realized that I now had something new to write about because, true to what I expected, these are good. Really good. Scented with perfumes that are her own custom blends, all three incenses I tried are exquisite and smell like nothing you would find in a headshop. They smell floral in a way that one would expect of incense made by someone who is a perfumista, which is to say, expensive, refined and unique. Sniffing them from their respective tins is even more pleasurable than burning them, but I have burned more than a few since they arrived, and I’ll say again that this is not the incense of college dorm days and hippies—unless your idea of hippies was The Mammas and The Pappas, which probably explains why I love them. These are the silky, California Dreaming version of incense. Made from natural wood powders steeped in the aforementioned fragrances, these cones burn softly and the smoke they give off is floaty and ethereal. Currently, there are 7 different incenses on the Beatnik Emptiness website, and here’s my description of the three I received.
La Coquille is my favorite—so much so, I really would love to have this in perfume form. The notes for it include lotus, aldehydes, iris, paper and ambergris, and Victoria calls it a cool, silky ozonic floral. In concept, it’s based on a surrealistic French film called La Coquille et le clergyman (The Seashell and the Clergyman), which in the words of Wikipedia, “follows the erotic hallucinations of a priest lusting after the wife of a general.” I’ve never seen the film and can’t make any connections between it and the scent, but Victoria also identifies the scent of this incense as being “clean,” and I would definitely concur. La Coquille, when I smell it unlit, evokes the color blue to me: there is something very uplifting in its floral combination of lotus, iris and aldehydes that makes me imagine that I’m in the Cycladic islands of Greece, where the sun and blue sky appear to have scoured clean all of the buildings. My mind soars when I smell this scent: it doesn’t smell like sea, it smells like the mind’s representation of how an endless blue sky making love to the sea (and to its islands filled with stark white houses) would smell if one could write the olfactory script to that scene.
SeVard is Armenian for “Black Rose,” and as of this writing, it’s not listed on the Beatnik Emptiness website because Victoria is still tweaking it. “SeVard is something I’m working on, a motor oil rose. It’s my pretend biker gang and a take on traditional ‘hippie’ incense,” she said in a note that accompanied my package. I’m not sure I can add much to her own description, because it does indeed smell like a dark, oily rose … a rose that has been delivered by way of motorbike, as if it traveled across the country Easy Rider-style and is now windblown, its petals impregnated with bike grease and road dust, or maybe the oil of the leather motorcycle jacket in which it had been tucked for safe keeping. If I’m in disagreement with any part of Victoria’s description, it’s a happy partial disagreement: SeVard smells a bit hippie-ish in terms of the motor oil scent when it’s in an unlit state, but it’s still a rose fragrance, and when the cone is lit, the elegant scent of rose is what mingles with the smoke. This is not a complaint, and I hope Victoria won’t tweak the motor oil side of the equation too much, because I like what I get now: a bit of rose softening the smoke, creating a tender smoke signal that is rather romantic. The more I burn this, the more I love it; SeVard has obviously been aiming its smoke rings at me.
Lily of the Dust is “a heady floral with lots of spicy ginger” and features notes of “stargazer lily, fresh ginger and dusty screenplays (dust accord)” per the description on the Beatnik Emptiness website. This is also a pretty accurate statement of what I smell, with the exception of “heady.” To me, Lily of the Dust smells like a very realistic lily with an equally realistic accompaniment of ginger, and because both of these scent facets smell like something one would encounter in nature, I find a certain amount of dewiness in the overall scent. The odd thing is that this dewiness is indeed couched in another aroma that could be called dusty in that it's reminiscent of sawdust or of a certain kind of paper one rarely encounters anymore. When I was in grade school in the 1970s, we used to get this gray, unbleached tablet paper (with wide-spaced lines at the bottom of the page, where a little kid could write in clunky letters and still have the assignment be readable, while at the top there was always an unlined portion where pictures could be drawn), and I will always remember the way that tablet paper smelled: pulpy and oddly stale. That’s the kind of aroma that Victoria’s dewy, spicy lily is wrapped in, and I would say that overall, it lives up to her concept: a sense of something alive and fresh that somehow can’t escape the past—or maybe doesn’t want to. There is enough peppery, gingery spiciness here to suggest a backbone, such that when I huff Lily of the Dust from the can, I can easily imagine a girl named Lily—a dramatic young thing, definitely a theatre major—who has a love of everything retro.
I thought Lily of the Dust would be my favorite, but I find that when burned, it loses some of its scent identity in the way that the other two incenses don’t. It smells lovely and incensey, and the dewiness of the lily and the freshness of the ginger certainly perfume the smell of the smoke but, in the process, lose their defining scent characteristics. Even so, if I wanted to make a room smell intimate, inviting and deliciously retro (in the way that burning incense will always strike me as retro), I’d light up Lily of the Dust and consider my mission accomplished.
Aviance Cologne by Prince Matchabelli: The Nature of Longing
This past weekend, I tried to come up with an idea for a perfume post that would be different from my normal slant; in other words, not linking perfume to something romantic or sexy—and not something that makes me sound so nostalgically old that I feel like the perfume blogosphere’s version of John-Boy from The Waltons. There are many ideas that lend themselves to perfume blogging, yes? Food, fashion and art, just to name a few. Yet apparently my nature is so deeply ingrained that even in trying to think outside the box a tiny bit, all I did was take a twisting route that landed me back in the box even deeper.
My brainstorming took place where it often does, on my daily run through the fields near my house, where the grassy path was cool and wet from an autumn drizzle and strewn with fallen leaven from the nearby woods. It was also littered with fallen walnuts, buried beneath the leaves in their green husks, and every time I stepped on one, its astringently earthy aroma was released. The air I moved in smelled misty green, edged with a whiff of all things woodsy and autumnal, and it brought back the memory of making terrariums with my mother during one of my elementary school years in which she helped me and my sisters make them as Christmas gifts for our teachers. “Winter gardens” she called them: the thing to have on one’s shelf next to the window when you are longing for the real thing that is covered in snow. Remembering how much she loved them, it occurred to me that while it’s unlikely that anyone makes these anymore (probably not even the most rural kids in Appalachia), I could still use this as the topic of a perfume post. “It doesn’t hurt to get a little nostalgic every now and then,” I said to myself. “I’ll do a post on a perfume that smells like a terrarium. Very seasonal.”
I thought I had just the perfume for it, and on my arrival home started pawing my way through my samples, soon locating Yves Rocher Nature, which does indeed smell misty and green, but more spring-like than autumnal. My decant of Rochas Mystere was close by too, and I indulged in a spritz out of sheer happiness, knowing that even though it would suit my post nicely, I’d already written about Mystere in a way that fully satisfied me. So I pawed on, stopping short when I came upon a decant my friend Ann had sent me of a fragrance that dated almost back to my terrarium days: Aviance Cologne by Prince Matchabelli, which came out in 1975 and has long since been discontinued. I remembered Aviance as smelling mossy and green when I’d caught a whiff of it from the atomizer some weeks before. “Oh yeah, this could be perfect,” I thought, as I sprayed some on my scentless other arm and a tendril of something resembling damp grass and earthy moss drifted up from my skin. Within seconds it got a boost from the laundry-starch smell of aldehydes. The starch gave it a cool autumnal stiffness.
It was perfect, all right. So perfect my arm could have used a sling, considering how attached my nose became to the spot where the Aviance now unfolded; so perfect I could only blink my eyes in amusement as it started throwing the odd wrench into my winter-garden plans. A floral component of Aviance was soon developing on my skin that made it smell feminine, while still being outdoorsy in a sylvan-glade kind of way. “There could be a lovely wood nymph living in my perfume terrarium, keeping guard over the whole thing,” I said to myself dreamily. Concurrent with that floral element, however, another accord was making itself known: a honeyed musk smell, tinged with a gentle whiff of lightly urinous jasmine—an accord dwelling quietly within the larger scent, yet managing to be quite stirring and sensual. I tried to keep my thoughts where they should be, and maybe that’s why my mind chose to home in on a little jingle from the 70s. No, not the one from the Aviance television commercial, but the one that spoke of cookies being made by little men in a hollow tree. Don’t ask how I got there, but it occurred to me that it would be fun to keep a man in a hollow tree, and that you if you were a wood nymph living in a terrarium where there is really not a lot of other folk to keep you company, you would be entitled (more or less) to have a man living in your tree. Otherwise the job of overseeing this tender ecosystem would get lonely.
After allowing this thought, however, it seemed I could not keep my winter garden confined to a space the size of a gold fish bowl (the container my mother had us make ours in—pretty fish bowls with scalloped rims that made our winter gardens look Victorian in style ). Because once I started imagining a wood nymph and a man into the picture, there was nothing I could do to make them small. They began to fill up my mind like the beautiful elven creatures in the Lord of the Rings movies—and quite truthfully, such elegant beings are more in keeping with what I smell in Aviance. This perfume is labeled as being a cologne, but other than its outdoorsy green accord, which lends the scent its alfresco character and “setting,” there is nothing cologne-like about it. Aviance does wear close to the skin, but not in a way that one would characterize as diminutive or demure. Aviance has depth and richness, achieved mainly through the aforementioned honey-musky component—and though this sensual aspect is quiet compared to what one might find in a modern perfume of this type (a sensuous perfume from a house like Amouage, for instance), nonetheless it assumes a certain significance and makes the perfume grow and come alive in one’s thoughts.
It’s nearly impossible to find a notes list for Aviance on the Internet, in the same way it’s difficult to find a bottle of Aviance Cologne, even though one can find its flanker scents (Aviance Night and Aviance Musk) everywhere. But there is a fabulous review for the original Aviance at Yesterday’s Perfume which describes notes of aldehydes, leafy greens, lily of the valley, rose, jasmine, musk, cinnamon and tonka bean, and this list is pretty representative of what I smell. Because Aviance is a rather elegant and abstract perfume, and not one in which there are notes or accords that I think of as being overtly feminine or masculine, it’s a perfume I can’t really fit into a narrative, other than to tell you that it does remind me of how one would imagine The Lord of the Rings’ Arwen might smell. And yet it’s even a bit more abstract than that. Aviance reminds me of how Arwen might feel as she’s waiting for Aragorn (who is rather important and can’t be kept in a hollow tree). Even though Aviance has no overtly masculine and feminine notes, there is an undercurrent of sexuality that runs through this scent, represented by its base notes.
I suppose that’s why the 70s television jingle that went with Aviance featured a woman singing about how she’d been sweet and good all day, fulfilling the duties of motherhood, but when evening came, she was “going to have an Aviance night!” I like the idea behind that, and you’d think I’d just run with that idea for this post, but somehow perfume is too personal for me; I have to run with it on my own terms, sometimes literally. On Sunday, with all of this in my head and with Aviance on my wrists, I again headed out on my run through the fields, and this time I heard the lines to that old Led Zeppelin song, Fool in the Rain. Now, when I say old, I mean that only in terms of its age: Fool in the Rain’s syncopated drum beats and sophisticated timing make it classic and ageless, the way Aviance comes across to me, and the way Aviance’s TV jingle does not.
Well there's a light in your eye that keeps shining
Like a star that can't wait for the night
I hate to think I've been blinded baby
Why can't I see you tonight?
And the warmth of your smile starts a-burnin'
And the thrill of your touch gives me fright
And I'm shaking so much, really yearning
Why don't you show up, make it all right? †
In the end, that’s what I decided Aviance smelled like to me: a fragrance of anxious longing, full of restless fears and eternal hopes, both stilled and deepened by the coolness of misty autumn. I breathe it in and I picture Arwen—when she is waiting in the silvery woods of Rivendell for Aragorn to return from his quest—and I imagine her when she has lived beyond him, thousands of years later, waiting for him to somehow return to her through the magic of time travel or until she could join him in death. True, it’s not possible for there to be a modern-day Arwen, and yet in my mind’s eye I see her: Aviance on her wrists, eyes searching for him across tree-lined boulevards, and something in the autumn air that makes her pick up her pace as she hears Robert Plant’s voice urging her on, declaring “I’ll run in the rain till I’m breathless. When I’m breathless I’ll run till I drop….”
Aviance Cologne is a discontinued perfume that’s hard to find, though bottles do turn up at online auction sites like eBay. My review is based on a decant sent me by lovely Ann of the Perfume Posse, whose “walk down memory lane” post of it can be found here.
†Lyrics from "Fool in the Rain" written by John Paul Jones, Jimmy Page and Robert Plant, copyright 1979 by Flames Of Albion Music Inc.
Photo of Liv Tyler playing Arwen (in The Lord of the Rings films) is from Undomiel84.wordpress.com.
Posted by Suzanne Keller, 10/14/2013.
Prada Infusion d'Iris Absolue: My Holiday Iris
When I came back from Rome with a bottle of Prada Infusion d’Iris Absolue perfume—a perfume that can be purchased anywhere but which I’m going to regard as the quintessential Rome souvenir perfume, thanks to a conversation I had with a blogging friend (lovely Sigrun)—I knew it was a perfume I wanted to write about before any others, and I also knew it would be a challenging perfume to write about. Challenging because its scent is actually quite simple and can be summed up in a few sentences, while the feeling it evokes is far greater that any simple description can do justice to, for a number of reasons: part of it has to do with the perfume itself, part of it has to do with the place where I purchased it, and part of it has to do with the magical way I’ve been feeling lately. It’s in thinking about the latter that I found my answer to my writing dilemma, and I decided I would talk about this iris perfume by finding its complement in another Iris: Iris Simpkins, a character in the 2006 romantic comedy The Holiday. I’ve used this film as an analogy in a previous perfume post, yet as is often the case with favorite films or books, I feel like I can borrow from it again without repeating myself—and quite truthfully, this film has been on my mind lately. It came up in a conversation with my friends in Rome, on a night when we were discussing heartthrobs (and our consensus was that Jude Law was a major one and that The Holiday showcases the reasons nicely). While heartthrobs and chick-flick, fairytale films might not seem the fodder of serious contemplation, I find just the opposite. Fairytales, whether created for children or adults, are simple things too, with good reason. In a pure and direct way, they point us in the direction we should be aiming: I’ve come to see them as road signs on the path to living, as fruity as that probably sounds.
For those unfamiliar with it, The Holiday is a story about two women, one American and the other English, who are both facing the prospect of a lonely Christmas on their respective sides of the Atlantic. Amanda (Cameron Diaz) is a successful Hollywood film-trailer producer; Iris (Kate Winslet) is a society-column editor for a prestigious London newspaper; both ladies, despite their obvious talents and beauty, are having a hard time of it in the love department. When Amanda comes across Iris’s house listing on the Internet, offering vacationers the opportunity to rent her quaint Surrey cottage, they agree to do a two-week house swap. The switch takes place and the film cuts back and forth between the two women’s respective storylines—both of which I would discuss if I were going to talk about the film as a whole, but for the purposes of my analogy, it’s really only necessary to talk about Iris. (Even though it pains me to pass up the opportunity to talk up Jude Law’s merits in this film, which really and truly go beyond his looks.)
In a clever way, the homes these women swap serve as the metaphor for what each one needs. In Iris’s case, it’s space—she’s been involved with a man named Jasper (not Jude Law's character, by the way) who has made it clear that while he doesn’t want her outright, neither does he want to let her go, and he corners her at every opportunity. Space is what Iris gets in the form of Amanda’s mansion and its larger-than-life LA address, and it doesn’t take long for her to revel in it. Though tearful and depressed while holed up in her cottage in England, the airy environment of LA encourages her to burst forth, and in doing so she befriends an elderly man named Arthur Abbott, who lives in the neighborhood and who once had a glorious career in the movies as a script writer during Hollywood’s “Golden Age.” Though Arthur is not in the best health, his mind is sharp and his personality charming—and in his conversations with Iris, he quickly discerns that she has not accorded herself the importance that would allow her to assume the role of “leading lady” in her own life. He gives her a list of Old Hollywood films to see, featuring the kind of plucky film heroines who might teach Iris about gumption.
That Iris will take this advice and make good use of it is evident, because what’s lovely about her is that she already does possess gumption of a certain kind. The gumption of the person who recognizes the need (and the opportunity) for change and seizes it; the gumption of the person who understands the importance of establishing connections with other people and who makes friends easily. Gumption is a form of courage, and courage, as indicated by its etymology, is something that comes from the heart: the place from which Iris operates. Even if you’ve never seen this film, by way of my introductory paragraph, you know that Iris is going to find romance in a certain someone. That this certain someone turns out to be a music composer named Miles, played with great heart and comedic deftness by the actor Jack Black, is what makes this romance so delightful. Not because it’s a surprise we don’t see coming, but precisely because it is what we expect and what we feel is intuitively obvious and right.
Prada Infusion d’Iris Absolue, as its name implies, is an iris soliflore—a modern and uncluttered perfume that starts off fresh, with some cologne-like neroli and orange blossom that impart subtle sweetness to the cool, mineral and root-like smell of iris in its early stage of development. On one hand, you could say that this is mostly a linear perfume, but almost any perfume that has a goodly dose of iris is a perfume that has evolution, because iris is a note that changes as it wears on the skin. After its root-like start, Prada’s iris spends some time smelling leathery in a sort of cool and queerly aloof way, and this is not the part of the perfume which spurs to me make any kind of analogy between iris and Iris. Fifteen minutes into its development, though, and from there on out? That’s the point at which my internal antenna pops up and, in my swoony attempt to find a way of describing this scent that is now velvety soft and suede-like, as well as creamy and lightly powdery, I find my head searching for the perfect metaphor.
When the resinous yet whispery oriental base of Infusion d’Iris Absolue has fully developed on the skin (which it has, by this fifteen-minute mark), the way it couches the iris note is hard to describe in olfactory terms. However, if I say to you that this iris is like Iris Simpkins—down-to-earth yet quietly luminous; graceful and respectful while still having true presence; engaging in a way that speaks of both heart and mind—then you might actually get a more concrete idea of how this iris scent presents itself and makes one feel. In perfumery, iris soliflores often end up in one of two camps: either iris’s cool, flinty and cerebral facets are played up and held in suspension, or just the opposite, its ability to transform into warm, cosmetic powderiness is showcased. But in the same way that Iris Simpkins operates from the heart, yet learns to steel her mind just enough that she won’t allow herself to be put into a corner anymore, the iris in Prada’s Infusion d’Iris Absolue achieves a similar balance.
Two nights ago, I watched The Holiday again so that I could affirm what I needed to in order to write this post. I like all of the characters in the film, but in watching dewy-skinned Kate Winslet playing Iris Simpkins, I thought, Hmm ... if you could put an angelic halo around a woman and still have her come across as natural and earthy and real, this is the character you could do it with. She’s the kind of character I find worth emulating, though that’s easy to forget in the daily messiness of real life, where things are not always intuitively obvious. Given that her character is now encapsulated in an iris perfume that is quite special to me, I do at least have a memento that will hopefully keep me pointed in the right direction.
Prada Infusion d’Iris Absolue has notes of neroli, orange blossom, iris, mastic, benzoin, tonka bean, vanilla and white musk. It can be purchased many places online, and at fine department stores like Nordstrom, where a 50-ml bottle is currently priced at $88 and a 100-ml bottle is $117. I purchased my bottle from HB Profumerie in Rome, Italy.