My “to review” list is now so alarmingly long that I try not to look at it at all for more than a few seconds at a time. Yesterday, in despair, I decided to cross out all of the niche fragrances I wasn't even interested in smelling again and could barely remember from the first try (scents that “fill my head with a deep, profound, Zen-like nothingness”, to quote March at Perfume Posse). All of those samples were thrown into the purgatory basket, where they may end up living out the rest of their days unless either a) I get more productive or b) the fragrance industry gets less productive.
Felanilla — and let's not even talk about the name, 'kay? — is one of the latest fragrances from Parfumerie Generale, and it did make an immediate impression. My testing notes from the first trial say simply “Shalimar“, not because it's a dupe, mind you, but because it struck me as something like a modern niche meditation on the Shalimar theme…
I love the richness and unabashed potency of Middle Eastern and Indian fragrances. One of my first ‘exotic’ fragrance purchases was a tiny jar of waxy sandalwood-amber paste from India; a few dabs of that dense perfume paste on my collar bone scented me all day long. The perfume paste also came in the scents of orange blossom, rose, lotus and jasmine, and the entire line was advertised using the image of a turbaned man applying the perfume paste to his throat. Slowly and, unfortunately, turban-less, I ventured into floral territory with my fragrance purchases. The simple, inexpensive Indian perfumes opened up a new world to me: I started reading about the history of perfumery, I created “to-smell lists” of individual plant and animal perfume notes, and I started burning incense and wearing fragrances from India, Nepal, Egypt, Saudi Arabia and Morocco. Both Montale Red Aoud and Agallocha Tedallal Homme were inspired by Middle Eastern perfumery…
