Black Orchid is fittingly dark, glamorous, rich, full of textures and tonalities and spoiled things. I get semi-rotten fruit, but only marginally, and not even enough to say there's a "fruity" element. I get some sort of odd lipstick note, which smells really trite, sweet, chemical, greasy, and like nothing a heterosexual guy would gravitate to. I get bubblegum, I get makeup powder, I get grape candy. There's a very twangy and cold (read: frigid) orchid note, tempered with creamy ylang, and rubbed with indolic jasmine, but nothing smells overripe, per say. Just blotted. Densely mixed. Heavy. Acrid, even.
This is a convoluted, aggressive, feminine, dramatic perfume. It boasts a darkness that few other perfumes in its class ever deign to convey. You wear this to the opera, and you wear it as you pull that silenced Browning Hi-Power from your cummerbund and aim it at the Sirroccan who sits, under the mistaken assumption that Americans give a crap about diplomatic immunity, three boxes from your cross hairs with his wife. The curtain call comes early for him tonight.
These are the first impressions I get from Black Orchid. More to follow. Stay tuned.