This is the portrait of a lady. She can be seen in the feminine cameo, in the soft, delicate profile, in the dreamy image of an incandescent beauty. What once was shell has been carved in relief by a devoted artisan, to emerge as an idealized woman.
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Jewels, too… an emerald, a sapphire, a diamond, what once was a stone is given time and affection by a gemcutter and becomes a brilliant object of beauty. In the raw state, as a stone, as a shell, only the extraordinary eye can see the inherent treasure. With time, affection and devotion, the facets begin to appear, and a gem emerges. She is a jewel, and she dazzles. Like the proverbial woman of virtue, her price is far above rubies or pearls.
Her value is eternal, timeless. Like a precious gem, she transcends ephemeral fashion. Like every rare stone, she is classic, yet original. She is unique, with her own special colour, her own exclusive brilliance. But beyond the glitter, beneath the shimmer and sparkle, there is a secret fire within the gem. Here can be found the richness of spirit, the tender heart. She must have a perfume that reveals herself as a romantic jewel, a fragrance that evokes her worth, her many facets. She requires a scent with notes that come together in unexpected ways, where the fresh bergamot joins the delicate floral ylang ylang, where a sweet tropical coconut can meet the bright earthiness of Clary Sage. Finally, a rich patchouli merges with a creamy benzoin, and she is unforgettable.
Fils de dieu is an emotional fragrance, a scent that requires a sympathetic connection between the server and the served, the giver and the taker, and the willingness to exchange roles.
With the refreshing zest of lime and ginger, spiced with cardamon and coriander, soothed with shiso and rice, infused with the tropical warmth of the coconut, this is a scent that supports the escape from conformity and eases the way to freedom from convention.
Been there, done that, bought the t-shirt. Apocalyptic visions, Armageddon. Doomsday cults, mass suicides. The Mayan calendar. We endured the panic of the Millennium. We’ve seen the films, from “Dr. Strangelove” to “Melancholia”. We know the New Testament prophecies, we’ve heard about the End Times and the Rapture. But one question remains: how will it smell?
Sheer sensuous fantasy. The powdered top note evokes a woman who dresses for seduction — a soft trail of lipstick, the rustling of lace. The intimate ritual of a femme fatale who sees right through the fragile armor of men. Her sophistication is intriguing, as is the commerce she makes of her body. Under the bitter-sweet touch of almond, like a secret that unfolds, comes a hint of supple leather, fluid and flexible, that introduces what is to come: a boudoir, fingers that tighten on a leatherette sofa and the palpable presence of raw desire. Doesn’t every woman have the fantasy of being a temptress in a hotel bar, of yielding to desire in the intimacy of a lift or of giving way to sensuality in silk sheet luxury?
We have taken the best of two exquisite formulations, combining the explicitly seductive powers of rose, violet, and powder with the implicit perils of rum and patchouli.
What emerges from this satanic union of temptation and danger, jeopardy and passion, is a sweet and shocking folly. She sips her rum through rose-red lips and wonders what beast she must adore tonight, what hearts she must break. She is Rimbaud’s Beauty, and the man who takes her in his arms may find her bitter, but desire conquers fear. She dazzles him with the violet rays of her eyes that hold the memory of her vices, and he cannot escape. Because lust is in the eyes of the beholder.