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Having ventured into fragrance writing in the early twenty-tens, I quickly became immersed in a sea of criticism aimed at the house of Creed. The brand was relentlessly mocked for its supposed historical inaccuracies, questionable claims about its elite clientele, and its army of "swivel-eyed" chads who swore by their "panty-droppers."
Yet, to my mind, Parfums de Marly feels far more geared toward the chad demographic than Creed ever was. I can't scroll through my YouTube subscriptions without stumbling upon a slew of men extolling the virtues of the latest PdM fragrance. It even sparks considerable female-driven content; if I hear one more woman rave about how sexy Layton is, I'm buying a one-way ticket to Međugorje and taking a vow of chastity.
That said, Valaya is a name as beautiful as the bottle it graces, a fragrance crafted by the accomplished perfumer Quentin Bisch. With the evidence mounting that PdM is here to stay, it's time to delve in. The brand's website gushes: "Fresh top notes of bergamot, mandarin, and sweet white peach lead to a blend of white flowers, settling on musk and ambrofix sensual base notes." This description leads me to expect a swoody-floral musk, and at $177 per ounce, I want those floral notes to shine. And they do—sort of.
The copy holds true when it comes to the top notes: a burst of warm citrus, followed by a hint of peach, rosy, transparent, expertly done. In our post-Covid world, where so many noses have been compromised, perfumers have resorted to powerful ambers and musks—notes detectable even by the most damaged of olfactory senses. Thankfully, I’ve never had Covid, so my nose remains sharp. It embraces the initial notes of Valaya before noting their rapid transition to a radiant, intensely powdery white musk, which carries echoes of the fruity opening but cloaks them in a soft, almost arid veil of freshness. I think it's Ambrofix, a Givaudan material touted as the best substitute for ambergris.
The muskiness is multifaceted, with hints of amber, vanilla, and white florals, including an orange blossom accord elevated by a silvery, muguet-like quality. There’s elegance to Valaya, though I find that it "flattens" around ninety minutes in, evolving into a linear, dryer-sheet amber for the remainder of its impressive ten-hour wear. Stylistically, it calls to mind CK One, that iconic citrus-floral, still available for around eight bucks an ounce.