Tubéreuse 2 is the the “Virginal” one out of Histoires de Parfums tuberose trio. Here the tuberose presents with its full frou frou entourage that one might expect in a tuberose perfume. Hoo-boy, those jasminey florals are right here, right now, and right cloying. Must...open...window...*thud*.
[Narrator steps over Katie's lifeless body to finish review: “If you adore jasmine at its shrillest, and insist that tuberose be accompanied by a niff of pink bubblegum, then Tubéreuse 2 is for you.”]
Hi everyone -- Katie, here. I popped back to life half an hour after applying Tubéreuse 2. It's now a lot prettier and not as screechy. But it still makes my teeth ache. (Ooh, and an hour later still, it's a sweet candy white floral/patchouli that reminds me a bit of Bulgari Jasmin Noir eau de parfum, which is one I have a soft spot for.)
Okay, so T2 is a sprightly teen tuberose, if you have the time and the patience to get through some difficult stretches. Which might make T2 a metaphor for living with a teenager.
My Perfume Pen Pal Dan had a Goldilocks moment with Tubéreuse 2:
Tubéreuse 2 smells nice, though kind of exactly like a tuberose perfume. I complain when tuberose smells like tuberose, I complain when tuberose doesn't smell like tuberose. It seems like tuberose can't win with me.
(Perfume Pete might know the homeless man who wandered into the Scent Bar the last time I was there. After making a few polite enquiries -- “'Pêche' means 'peach', right?” -- he helped himself to a spritz of Bruno Acampora Jasmin and yelped, outraged, “It smells like a dead dog!”)
Tubéreuse 3 is an opera house perfume. Or at least, the olden days opera house of my mind, candlelit and red-velvet swagged, filled with czars and duchesses. Elderly duchesses, who wear diapers under their crinolines. And mink stoles that have soured slightly with age and proximity to neck sweat. Jeez, I think I'm going to have to fumigate my imaginary opera house.
T3 has a kinship with Molinard Habinata, but instead of being pleasingly powdery-spicy, it's mushy and bothersome. And expired-smelling. T3 is just not my cup of fur.
Tuberose-wise, it's Tubéreuse 1 Capricieuse out of this particular flower bunch for me.
Read more Histoires de Parfums reviews here, here, and here.
Portrait of Russian theatre lady from Please Obey.com
*sputter gag hack*
ReplyDeleteSo I am a visual person (or so I like to tell myself) - what I mean is when someone writes or says something like "it's not my cup of fur" I actually visualize someone/me drinking a cup of fur.
That image is not helping my GERD.
whooo hoooo...I loved your review Katie. Could a guy pull of #1? love to Rodrigo.
ReplyDeleteThis review had all kinds of vivid descriptions that made me feel as though I were riding a rollercoaster.
ReplyDeletebubblegum and toothaches. . .
neck sweat and diapers. . .
mushy cups of fur.
jesus.
going to go splash my face with cold water now.
oh. btw, that is not a criticism of the review.
ReplyDeleteif you can get that kind of visceral response from your writing, it's definitely a testament to your talent.
Love the review! Except, like Frida, I'm having some trouble with that little gagging issue. You're right. T3, which I initially liked (in the cold of January) started to sicken me after a few wearings. The syrupy plum, tobacco and immortelle combination can't be safely worn inside a heated structure. And wearing it in a crowded opera house? Blugh. Best sound effect I could think of.
ReplyDeleteI shall take it as a high compliment that I have revolted you all - har! m61, like you, I'm drawn to those rich, baroque, Mara-Hari perfumes, and I did have high hopes for T3. But it just didn't work out between us.
ReplyDeleteonesmalldog, I think T1 is definitely man-tastic. When I was wearing it the other day, I picked up the extreme dry down (lightly aromatic suede) and suddenly couldn't remember which "masculine" I was wearing. And it was indeed T1.