After yesterday's Aoud Queen Rose by Montale, a stale, cardboard infused, chypre wannabe (which kind of worked for me), we now leap to Le Labo's Rose 31.
There's no other way to say this: Rose 31 taunts my inner Badass.
Suddenly, I want to smoke cigarettes, shoplift and sneak up behind B-man in the middle of the day to pants him, just for the hell of it. In fact, I have to almost sit on my hands until the cumin & carnival top notes subside because they make me crazy.
Twenty minutes later, when it's safe to come out of the padded room, Rose 31 has changed to a tossed arugula salad with tarragon and celery. Luca Turin describes Rose 31 as 'not rose.' Some people have no imagination.
Is it rosy?
Let's put it this way: If you can fantasize basenotes of roses (stems and leaves attached) scattered over sweaty bodies lying in the sun on an ocean beach, then yes.
Hopefully, the thorns have been removed.
Coming up...Friday's rose.