More Alien Still: Alien Essence Absolue

Apparently, the folks at Mugler decided that two Alien flankers a year just wasn't enough, and this year, in addition to the flanker associated with Les Parfums de Cuir and the summer version, Aqua Chic, the brand released Alien Essence Absolue, a purportedly richer, more intense version of the original.

I'm not complaining, because Essence Absolue is the best of the Alien enterprise to date, right down to the bottle, which resembles a cybernetic pear considered by citizens of the planet Jupiter to be the last word in exotic delicacies. True to the literature, Absolue is richer, but exactly why and how, even with a side by side comparison, is hard to explain.

There's said to be myrrh, white amber, incense, and animalistic black vanilla pod. The balance is such that I'd be hard pressed to identify any of that specifically, though at times I feel I can detect what I think might be myrrh or what could be animalistic black vanilla pod. I'm a big fan of Alien Liqueur, and Liqueur was, itself, richer than the original Alien. I was skeptical, when I heard about Absolue; it seemed unlikely that the composition could be made any richer than that. I should have known better, because it's rare a Mugler fragrance seriously disappoints.

What Absolue seems to subtract from the original equation is the very thing I thought made that composition so complex and satisfying. Gone is the roasted jasmine quality, that super saturated, burred nutty thrust. When you smell the two side by side, they seem very similar, for just a short time, as though the same hologram has been projected before you. As that initial impression shifts, their differences, subtle but profound, become gradually more apparent.

The incense aspects of Absolue are minimal; still, they replicate then variate the fuzzy quality of the original's jasmine, generating a strange edged effect to the floral components of the fragrance. Overall, the heart of the thing feels the way the juice looks, golden, shot through with light. While Absolue definitely smells vanillic, it's only when you compare its dry down to the original that you see just how much more vanilla it has, and how the amber elements dominate. I can't detect anything remotely animalic in the mix, and yet this is a different kind of vanilla fragrance, slightly more savory than sweet. The spectral silhouette of original Alien remains, hovering there, but the body of the fragrance has arranged itself differently around that outline. Absolue has more than a little in common with the L'Or version of Dior J'Adore, but where that flanker sat obediently on the skin - even meekly - Absolue has kick.

I find both versions, original and Absolue, to be comparable in projection and longevity, though I've read many customer reviews saying that Absolue is equally tenacious but less of a headache, basically. I never got or get a headache from original Alien, nor am I exactly ever clear on what people who dislike it so strongly are chiefly complaining about, so I can't tell you why Absolue is considered by many of them to be a marked improvement. For me, it's simply a variation, if something so profoundly good can be called simple.

Note: This fragrance could have been far less interesting and still worth the price for the bottle alone.

Thierry Mugler's Angel: Les Parfums de Cuir

There are those who despise Thierry Mugler's wildly successful Angel so much that they appraise its many flankers solely by their ability to mitigate that contempt. Others - I'm one of them - look forward to each successive October, when the best of these special flankers are typically released, not as another opportunity to hate the fragrance more or less, but as another form of Christmas, where Angel will be slightly reinvented, seen through yet another conceptual prism.

This year, the flankers to Angel, Alien, A*Men, and Womanity, collectively called Les Parfums de Cuir, are truly gifts that keep giving. There are many things to admire about the Mugler line, not least of which is its packaging, a big part of its gifts to give. With the exception of Womanity, arguably a misstep in the direction of excessive ornamentation, the bottles have been endlessly entertaining, if not exactly practical - interesting not just as vessels but as objets d'art. Unlike most flankers, and despite the expectations imposed on these new fragrances by detractors of the original fragrances, those produced by Mugler don't seem too preoccupied with "improvement". Again, with the exception of Womanity, which has not quite been the hot cake that Angel and Alien have been, there's nothing, from a sales point of view, to improve. These aren't apologias.

With Mugler, a flanker often brings the best of both worlds - a wonderful new fragrance not too terribly removed from the one you love, reenacting the crush all over again. The Liqueur versions from 2009 were my favorites so far. For me, Angel Liqueur is even better than the original, while Alien is a deeper, richer more of same, forcing me to look at the Alien I fell in love with in a different way. A*Men Pure Coffee was fantastic, and Pure Malt was beyond that, and the only real bummer for me has been Pure Havane, which smelled on me a little too much like death by vinyl, side of maraschino cherry.

There are Mugler fragrances I practically ignore, like most of the summertime flankers, all of them single-mindedly bent on balancing toothpaste with caramel, and while I admired last year's Taste of Fragrance editions, I never felt, no matter how hard I tried, that I neeeeeded them. The whole Innocent range seems superfluous to me, unless you simply must have a Mugler and can't stomach anything more interesting the line has to offer. But those Liqueur versions. Those were really something - so good that each September I start thinking obsessively about what the brand will come up with next.

I'm not as crazy about the leather Angel as I am about her liqueur kin, but I don't like it too much less. Certainly enough to buy it. If it's good enough to bring the guys at Peredepierre out of semi-retirement, you know it must be pretty decent. Peredepierre described an apricot quality to leather Angel that puts it somewhere near Daim Blond. I do get peach, but not with anything like the brightness of that Lutens suede. This is definitely leather for me, not suede, dark brown in color, and the sweetness of most Angel versions, including the original, is tempered here. Liqueur Angel smells recognizably of Angel throughout. Leather Angel doesn't always or often remind me of any Angel I've smelled. If I had to find a correlate I would look to Cuir de Lancome or Heeley Cuir Pleine Fleur. Leather Angel, unlike Cuir Pleine Fleur, isn't quite barnyard-adjacent, but not so far away the wind doesn't catch up with it. As for Cuir de Lancome, what I think it shares with leather Angel is a rich, creamy leather feel, with none of the arch sharpness involved in, say, Knize Ten or Chanel Cuir de Russie.

It's most recognizable as "Angel" up top. Once it dries down to the leather, which is not skanky but plush (more leather bag or seat than saddle), it becomes something almost entirely new for me. The marketing says these flankers were marinated in leather. I can't answer to that, though I find it hard to believe. Still, smelling leather Angel, this is an apt image, and as far as PR talk goes, I'll take this kind of snake oil over the stuff Dior's writing, bottling, and peddling any day. Leather Angel, like the other two "feminines", is housed in a great bottle, which is housed in a great little leather bag, which is all kind of the icing on the cake for what turns out to be a refreshingly gratifying fragrance. By dry down, you have, for once, or a change, a contemporary mainstream fragrance which not only promises but delivers the leather, with a punch. This is truly a successful conceptual exercise, wrapping Angel in layers of rich leather, and the measure of that success is how good it smells.

Brian's Best

Often this year, I found myself wishing that the fragrance industry would focus on quality over quantity. That might not have bothered me so much, had smaller companies not been thinking too big for their britches as well. Increasingly, it feels like niche lines are falling prey to the All New, All The Time syndrome--pepper spraying the market indiscriminately with fragrances which seem like sixty others before them. I'm sure your oud is perfectly lovely, as lovely as your iris. Can you tell me what distinguishes them, using something other than fanciful ad copy?

There's a desperation there, an urgency which might produce more frisson, if only more time were taken. Logic would seem to dictate that more at stake might result in more admirable efforts. What's the rush? I felt like I was being treated to dinner but presented with the check, sped through the meal lest I notice the change of plans.

Still, there were pleasures to be had in 2009. Some were even nice surprises. While Michael Kors Very Hollywood and Marc Jacobs Lola continued the trend toward inoffensive mediocrity at the mall, there were items of interest as well. La Prairie has never, to my knowledge, been on the cutting edge of fragrance, and to many a blogger the company's latest trio of scents, Life Threads, was little more than retread. I wouldn't disagree, but it all comes down to what's being revisited. Life Threads Gold was similar to many a recognizable floriental; particularly, the original Dolce and Gabbana for women, which is a fraction of the cost. Silver is a tuberose dressing up in big sister Fracas' shoes. Meanwhile, Life Threads Platinum is essentially Gres Cabochard. Cabochard can be had for next to nothing, you say, but it's a shadow of its former self--drained of everything but the general idea, whereas Platinum is rich and wonderful, as if La Prairie saw how a classic was being maligned and took matters into its own hands.

Issey Miyake's A Scent was wonderful to run into at the the counter. I prefer it to the very similar Estee Lauder Private Collection Jasmine White Moss, which feels sharper and somehow more synthetic to me. Again, a throwback: A Scent speaks the language of the vintage green chypre, albeit scrubbed clean. Less successful a remake was Narciso Rodriquez Essence, a fresh scrubbed rose as metallic and molten as its wonderful bottle. Hands down, Essence was the bottle of the year for me. The fragrance was well done, if not particularly interesting. I liked it a lot better than its peers.

The most hideous bottle award would go to Lolita Lempicka Si Lempicka. What planet are these people on--and exactly what kind of psychedelic unicorn populates it? Excuses to those who find it dreamy but the line's first bottle was awful enough, tripped out like My Little Pony's ceremonial saddle, gilded gewgaws and all. Far from an improvement, this one reminds me of something a child distracted by a conflicted psyche might make in art class out of clay, paint, and glittered drool.

I think the best the mall had to offer me was Alien Liqueur. A fan of the original, I often defended it. No Carnal Flower, maybe--no "head space technology"--but a fantastic improvement on Dominique Ropion's original, a spray of which never ceases to make me happy somewhere in my own conflicted psyche. I secretly hoped the Liqueur version would not disappoint, and the unicorns were listening, because it's a wondrous thing, a true desert island keeper. I could go on and on about this stuff. The Angel version, though pretty damn decent itself, felt a bit muddled toward the drydown, like somebody got bored before really thinking it through. Also very good: A*Men Pure Malt.

Don't get me started on masculines again. I can't keep going on about it. I get depressed. The new DKNY was appallingly pedestrian, and who could distinguish it (the packaging, the juice, the color scheme, the model) from Versace's latest (also wretched) and a dozen others. These lines are also guilty of needlessly confusing the consumer by using the same name, over and over, across ten different fragrances. Versace Homme or Versace Pour Homme? Versace Pour Homme or Versace L'Homme? DKNY WHAT--at this point? Someone please send these people a link to basenotes.

You know things are bad when a new release aims for, not the forgotten, original spirit of a classic fragrance, but its utterly forgettable reformulation. Case in point, Usher V.I.P. Hey Usher: Your smile is infectious. Your cologne is a cancer. Next time you copy Fahrenheit, dig a little deeper (into the past, into your pockets, into your imagination). You might have been sucking a pacifier at the time, but the eighties are hardly ancient history. Play Intense was hardly much of an improvement on the original Play (a.k.a. Not So Intense). It had the nice smoked tar and anise qualities of Black and Lolita au Masculin, but applied it so subtly you might rightly assume Givenchy has become scared of its own shadow.

Carolina Herrera's CH Men was a happy medium, though in these odds medium becomes a rather mercurial compass point. The down side was a rather robust synthetic amber. The up side was an interesting interplay of notes (somewhere between Lutens and lothario) and the sense an imagination was at play in the battlefield of commerce.

Speaking of amber, where has it been all my life? I was not a fan until this year. The difference was made by a process of gradual elimination. Straight up amber? Not so much. Smoky, rich, tarry, leathery? I'm clearing a space on my plate. Teo Cabanel's Alahine was a revelation for me (Thank you, Abigail). Parfum D'Empire's Ambre Russe had already pointed me in the right direction. Annick Goutal's Ambre Fetiche, after some initial confusion, has been the nail in the coffin. For months, almost a year, I'd mistaken my sample of Ambre Fetiche for Maitre Parfumeur et Gantier's Or des Indes. It's complicated, as they say on Facebook. Why was everyone saying Or Des Indes smells so much like Shalimar? I wasn't seeing the connection. Why was everyone raving about Ambre Fetiche? I wasn't seeing the appeal. Where was the amber? Much later, after deciding I couldn't go on without a bottle of what I took to be Or Des Indes, I received it in the mail and discovered.....hmmmm.....Shalimar. One bottle of Ambre Fetiche was soon on the way from Rei Rien. Ambre Fetiche is said to have an overload of synthetic amber. If this is how good synthetic amber smells, I fail to see the problem there. In the course of a year I went from amber apathy to double holy grail. Under great if not groundbreaking: Dior's Ambre Nuit, a wonderful rose amber which lasts with unusual tenacity and feels as rich as the bottle is smooth.

The trend for exclusive lines continued to articulate itself in 2009. An adjunct to this trend was the inauguration of several lines under the names of their perfumers. I haven't smelled Francis Kurkdjian's line yet, nor Mark Buxton's, but oh how I want to. Reports indicate that the latter is uneven, while the former is...not. Van Cleef released its "Collection Extraordinaire". Based on reactions to the price, I'm not sure the conclusion was extraordinary, but the iris was said by Robin at NowSmellThis to be quite good. I fell in love with Chanel's Coromandel this year, and Sycomore has been raved about by many. It seems that Chanel is at the forefront of these exclusive lines. The verdict is still out on Cartier's Les Heures du Parfum.

Biggest letdown at the department store--and the most depressing indicator of the mainstream mindset: YSL Parisienne. It was something like Sharon Stone replacing Gena Rowlands in the totally gratuitous and mercilessly unentertaining remake of "Gloria", all surface embellishment. It smelled better in the bottle than anywhere near the skin. Gloria too esoteric a reference for you? How about Fran Drescher replacing the voice of Bambi's mother in the original Disney cartoon?

A list of the most spectacular niche fragrances I found this year would have to includeHistoires des Parfums 1740, which is so good it feels like contraband I should hide and find a way to smoke in a very ornate pipe. I've decided I can't do it justice. It's too sensory an experience. It doesn't lend itself to words. Thanks to Abigail, I smelled most if not all of the Parfums MDCI line. A standout for me was Vepres Siciliennes. Classified as a fruity chypre, it was so much richer than anything I've experienced in that category. Invasion Barbare was astonishing; Peche Cardinal, great fun, a joy ride in a convertible Porsche, full speed ahead. Curiously, the MDCI offerings from masters Pierre Bourdon and Patricia de Nicolai were the least interesting to me.

Under great but disappointing, file Ulrich Lang's Nightscape, which has its moments but too often sits on the skin sulking, a pout taking over its features. At times it seems to be scowling. I liked Acqua di Parma's Profumo, but the price tag made ME scowl. Then I walked away. Having walked away, I promptly forgot about it. Note to Acqua di Parma: Aramis at 50 bucks intrigues me. At 400, I need memorable, or you do, if your intention is my intention to buy. High points to Robert Piguet. The care with which this line is being re-asserted is admirable and should set an example to all large companies seeking to reinvigorate their bought out inventory. The Futur reformulation (by Aurelien Guichard) is fantastic--for about ten minutes. Oh what a ten minute fantasy it is. Metallically green in the fashion of Paco Rabbane Metal, gusty in the manner of Vent Vert--yet while Vent Vert blows back and forth, Futur plows straight ahead, no looking back, until but a memory. No matter. Seeing all the Piguet bottles lined up, knowing each fragrance has been handled well, makes me immensely happy.

I've tried but two of the Boadicea the Victorious fragrances. I'd heard such bad things. I now know to be prepared to disregard such accepted misgivings when it comes to something about which I maintain more than a healthy curiosity. I kept thinking about Complex. Violet and hard core leather. What's not to love? Reviewers call it everything short of the most insidiously vile excuse for a fragrance ever inflicted upon an unsuspecting society. Finally, I ordered a sample. There was no expected drumroll. Flat out, instant reaction: I love the stuff--as passionately as others despise it. The idea it might offend seems so laughable to me that I can't help imagining the scathing commentary about it online was dreamed up by its marketers.

Bond No.9 continues to disenchant its admirers and reinforce the resentment of its detractors. I suggest less rather than more. Less bullying. Less perfume. I smelled the Oud. It's nice. Cats are nice too. I'll pet yours but I don't want any. That said, the Bond I most eagerly anticipated, Success Is A Job In New York, while nice (lovely, even) didn't make my must have list. That place of privelege went to--big surprise--Harrod's for Her. Listen, it's a nuclear strength spiced tuberose. It will win you no friends in any indoor environment. It smells very much like Michael by Michael Kors. There's every reason not to like it, let alone own it, but I've fallen hard for it. There's something very lucid and opulent about it, like a ten-tier wedding cake made in an E-Z Bake oven.

If I must pick an oud, I'm going with Le Labo's. It's the only time I can remember a fragrance stopping me dead in my tracks. I walked past a friend wearing it in a large hall and it slapped me in the face with a tickle and some tongue. No traffic was stalled by L'Artisan's effort. It might just be me and Bertrand Duchaufour. We don't always see eye to eye. That said...I loved Penhaligons' Amaranthine. My problems with Duchaufour have often to do with diffusion. Where does it go? Into what wormhole slips the scent of his fragrances once they hit skin? It's as though someone entered a party smelling wonderfully of some unknown perfume, but left the door open, so the wind carries it all away. Amaranthine was robust and declarative. This guest closes the door behind her.

I'm in love with Sonoma Scent Studio's Tabac Aurea and Liz Zorn's Purple Love Smoke. These two indies really launched me into some fascinating headspace. A friend tells a story about the single most defining moment of her childhood. She'd just returned from a screening of Mary Poppins. Dick Van Dyke had drawn a chalk scene on the pavement and the cast had jumped in, entering a parallel world. When she got home, my friend drew on her own chalk board, placed it on the floor, and took a leap of faith. The flimsy, store-bought chalk board broke, which must have been like learning Santa Claus is a fraud and those cookies get eaten by your mom and dad. Tabac Aurea and Purple Love Smoke are examples of the rare fragrance, which, having drawn a fantasy with chalk, ushers you in and has the substance to sustain what its surface promised. I found them mesmerizing. I long for a Purple Love Smoke EDP, though I know I'm not getting it and I understand and respect why, but oh, to float around in those vapors.

I continue to be surprised exploring the range of Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab. There are misses--there would have to be, with hundreds of oils to choose from--but the treasures make the hunt worthwhile. Every year, limited editions are released. Some of these are coveted on Ebay and go for big bucks. I'm glad to have two of the year's best: Diable en Boite and Now Winter Night Enlarge. The former pits tangy peach against hemp, tobacco, clove and tonka, resulting in a thing of wonder--somewhere in the half life between the succulent fermentation of Yvresse and the classic, balls-out Oriental Spicy. There's a little devil on the label, but this stuff is a big piece of heaven. Now Winter is even better still: vanilla-infused red musk, champaca, petitgrain, ylang ylang, patchouli, nutmeg, honey, galbanum, and traces of caramel. As weird as that all sounds, it doesn't prepare you--which isn't to say Now Winter is an olfactory assault. The strangest thing is how beautiful it is, how incredible it smells out of the bottle, and how many changes it goes through on the skin. Now that Ava Luxe has stopped producing as much or any of her fragrances, I'm gravitating toward BPAL even more frequently. It satisfies a certain level of curiosity and adventure I bring to perfume in ways no other niche, indie, or mainstream line does, taking off-the-wall risks, some of which pay off in dividends.

One of the best things about the year was my continuing friendship with co-blogger Abigail. It's hard to believe we've been doing this together for over a year and a half and haven't met in person. Our friendship has been a huge boost for me on a daily basis. If you don't have a friend in fragrance, find one. Post comments. Make your profile available (i.e. not anonymous). It's worth it.

Along those lines, I have gotten so much out of reading fellow bloggers this year. Like you, maybe, I visit them every day. I thoroughly enjoy them all for different reasons.

Other participants in this year end best of exercise are listed in Abigail's post.

The Sexiest Perfumes

Its a frequently asked question on the fragrance board at MUA, something along the lines of: "which fragrance is a man magnet? what do you consider to be the sexiest perfume? what scent gets the most compliments?" Usually the question comes from a newbie or someone visiting from another board. Many times the question is answered with jokes, such as "bacon" or "beer" or "just get naked." The question of what is a sexy perfume is asked so often it's hard for board regulars to bother answering it. Mostly, when a few good souls take the time to answer, something along the lines of "wear whatever makes you feel good," is the response.

Wearing what makes you happy and therefore feel good and sexy is the correct answer. But occasionally I get to thinking about what constitutes a generically sexy scent. I've come to the conclusion that a sexy fragrance is one that smells man-made, not something realistic like a soliflore or a specific aroma in nature. I wouldn't consider a scent that smells like true red roses or honeysuckle or peach salsa or cedar wood chips to be sexy. I do, however, think orientals and florientals are the sexiest scents. Chypres, to me, are fragrances one wears for herself. I can't imagine any chypre I own as sexy. Chypres are too complicated, intelligent, wanting to talk. Big aldehydic fragrances are too prissy and pulled together. I adore Le Labo Aldehyde 44 *because* it makes me feel dressed and complete, not undressed in a dimly lit room. I don't think anyone thinks hesperedic or green fragrances are sexy - I wear these to feel fresh and practical.

Here's my list of sexy orientals and florientals:

(in alphabetical order)

Alahine by Teo Cabanel - Alahine is a smoldering aldehydic amber with floral notes woven throughout. It's noticeable, warm and perhaps equally as sophisticated & refined as it is sexy. Alahine makes your skin hot and your mind wander. It's classic with a racy undercurrent. (Alternatives: hmmm, not really similar but picking up on the amber theme - maybe Laura Mercier Minuit Enchante or Parfum d'Empire Ambre Russe but these are less polished)

Alien Liqueur Limited Edition - Alien Liqueur is hypnotic. It's the original Alien with a boozy, woody bent. It's heavy lidded and languid. It's sweet, spicy and addictive. (Alternative: Dior Addict)

Amarige by Givenchy - Amarige is perfume wearing stilettos. It doesn't whisper come hither, it announces it with a husky voice ala Kathleen Turner circa Body Heat. (Alternative: Jean Paul Gaultier Classique)

Barbara Bui Le Parfum - Barbara Bui is probably the most low-key and whisper-y type of sexy fragrance I can think of. If you don't want a potent perfume then this is your answer. Barbara Bui is all about the smell of your lovers undershirt and pillowcase. (Alternative: Costes)

Chaldee by Jean Patou - Musky and sweet, warm and animalic, slightly dirrrrty. Chaldee is an olfactory negligee. (Alternative: Bond No. 9 Fire Island)

Divine eau de parfum - Bombshell tuberose-oriental. Hollywood Glamour. (Alternative: maybe Chinatown, not completely sure)

Gucci eau de parfum - Gucci is a sensual skin scent extraordinaire. It's musky, sweet, herbal, spicy and becomes you. Gucci melts into your skin. If I could have sex with Gucci eau de parfum, I would, but then you'd think I was weird.

LouLou by Cacharel - another Hollywood Glamour scent here. LouLou is a bit less extravagant than Divine. LouLou might wear fishnets under her tailored suit and carry an old fashioned cigarette case in her purse for the occasional dalliance over coffee.

Monyette Paris - Now this is one of the most overtly floral of the bunch. Monyette is predominantly gardenia focused scent but it veers away from big in-your-face florals and falls firmly in the camp of sexy with it's luscious nag champa and mind altering musks.

Musc Ravageur by Frederic Malle - In some ways, Musc Ravageur is similar in style to Gucci edp. MR is a sweet, vanillic musk with what seems like layer upon layer of different musks. There's a stage of Musc Ravageur when sniffing it numbs my nostrils like novocaine or some such thing (surely the clove). It's a naughty scent, pure and simple. (Alternative: not particularly similar but a runner up: Chanel Coromandel. Perhaps the only Chanel I find sexy).

Songes by Annick Goutal - Another overtly floral fragrance - almost too floral to be sexy but it manages a kittenish little shimmy towards the dark side with it's buttery tuberose, tropical frangipani and indolic white florals. (Alternative: Penhaligons Amaranthine)

I didn't include these in the above list, but obviously Shalimar should be included and the following masculines strike me as having the ability to make a bombshell out of a guy: Hermes Terre d'Hermes, Fahrenheit (don't shoot me), Parfums MDCI Invasion Barbare, Fresh Index Tobacco Flower, Creed Tabarome, Annick Goutal Sables and Caron Yatagan.

So, what fragrances do YOU think are sexy? Do you care? Do you avoid fragrances like these? Can we even define sexy perfumes or are they, like most things, entirely individual? What I'm wondering, is whether there is a culturally agreed upon type of scent which strikes most as sexy. Hmmm...

Alien and Angel Liqueur de Parfum

I was excited to hear about these several weeks ago, but figured they'd never reach me, so I was beside myself with glee when I found out they'd arrived at the local Dillards last Friday. I'm a fan of Alien and Angel and have been at least marginally interested in all the various Mugler flankers. The flankers to A Men have been the most compelling to me. B Men is pretty addictive. A Men Pure Malt and Pure Coffee are excellent fragrances as well. The idea behind the Liqueur series seemed intriguing. Apparently, liquor-making techniques were applied to the manufacture of these perfumes, resulting in something richer, a bit boozy, more nuanced and complex.

When I first smelled them at the counter, I didn't notice much of a difference. I sprayed them on strips and found, walking around the mall, that of the two Angel seemed to be the most divergent from its source. It still had the overall tone or olfactory profile but with a more subdued patchouli and a notable absence of chocolate. Alien Liqueur seemed practically identical to its source; so much so that I couldn't justify spending 100 bucks on it. When I got home, however, I realized how wrong I was.

Alien Liqueur is incredibly rich and lush. It lasts forever on the skin. I sprayed some on four hours ago and can still smell it, rich as ever. Like A Men Pure Malt, it was aged in an oak wood barrel for eight weeks. Angel was aged for the same amount of time in a cherry wood barrel. This makes sense, as I detect in the latter a sort of sour cherry tobacco accord, like something left to languish in a pipe. That isn't altogether unpleasant, lending it aspects which remind me of older perfumes, which get thicker rather than more diffuse as they dry down. Angel Liqueur brings to mind port wine (or, okay, cognac) and dark, aged leather, all of which I love. The first ten to twenty minutes are pretty divine, with a protracted, boozy opening.

Alien strikes a bigger cord with me. Alien Liqueur differs from the original primarily by way of depth and its treatment of jasmine. The original seemed very rich to me until smelling the liqueur version. I wouldn't say that the original is weak now, but I wouldn't say it's as decisive a perfume as I originally thought either, and believe it or not, it's certainly more transparent. I enjoy both but find the original to be much more of a sugar rush than I imagined, the jasmine caramelized in a way which seems adolescent compared to its liqueur counterpart, which bundles the flower in folds of velvety texture. Who knew I would like these two better than almost anything I've smelled lately, most of which I expected so much more out of.