Sandflowers (Montale)

Here’s the thing about Sandflowers: I wanted a "true" aquatic, something that evokes the cold, briny wave of the ocean crashing on icy boulders and the gritty, coarse texture of New England sand, ground fine by centuries of waves and worn shells. Frigid, salty, with spray drifting in the air, it should carry heady notes of iodine and seaweed, but nothing of the typical funk of low tide, except perhaps the most delicate hint. And that is exactly how Sandflowers smells. No sweetness. No flowers. Salt water. Period. End of story.

What accounts for this fragrance's precision? How did Pierre Montale, known for his dense rose/oud blends and heavy, sweet musks, manage to craft something so seemingly out of character? By what act of grace did an anonymous perfumer in a Parisian lab offer up this peculiar tribute to a Connecticut beach in December? For me, it’s a hauntingly beautiful composition, the ideal aquatic for trips to Maine, where even miles inland, the air carries the cool, clean scent of the Atlantic, filtered through pine needles and campfire smoke. Sandflowers is as ethereal as that, a light, salty draft on crisp, winter air. And contrary to the consensus of many reviewers, I don’t detect anything sandy in it. For sand, one would be better off with Mario Valentino’s Ocean Rain.

Sandflowers smells salty, like skin after a day on the open ocean. But it needn’t be the frigid Atlantic of Maine. In 2004, I rented a speedboat with friends to explore the grottos of Capri, where we glided over gentle green waves in ninety-five-degree heat. The water was oddly salty, even by oceanic standards, its spray drying on my skin in a layer of salt that flaked off in the sun. By the end of that day, I smelled exactly like Sandflowers. Montale has put great care into this fragrance; aside from a fleeting, almost antiseptic alcoholic top note (mated to cinnamyl alcohol) that evokes the smell of a razor sterilizer, the composition is a resounding success, and a dream for aquatic lovers. Excellent work.

Vanille Absolu (Montale)

I don't usually go in for gourmand fragrances, but Vanille Absolu is something special. This is my first Montale, and I intentionally avoided trying the ouds and musks, mainly because everyone and their brother talks about them. I wanted an unconventional review for this brand, and Vanille Absolu seemed like a good bet. Let’s see how well Montale does vanilla! I was excited to wear it.

I found that Montale doesn't really take vanilla very seriously. The mysterious Pierre Montale is certainly no real-life Jean-Paul Guerlain. I expected a severe overdose of vanilla frosting when I applied Vanille Absolu, and for a few seconds, that's exactly what I got—intensely sweet extract, sinus-searing in its sweetness, with the bright muskiness that upholds most mall-rat vanillas. Somehow, the neon vanilla fails to endure, and within a minute, it evolves into something a bit more original: cotton candy. There has to be at least 85% ethyl maltol in Vanille Absolu. How else could it smell so strongly of cotton candy for so many hours? I don’t know, but I really like it. I don't know why I like it either. I should hate it. Vanille Absolu should be the antithesis of everything I strive to smell like or wear. Yet I can’t help wanting more of it, frequently digging out the sample. It carries itself with a cheeriness that you simply don’t get from standard-issue feminines. Paris Hilton did not think to slap her name on Vanille Absolu. (Her masculine scent is actually great, by the way, a gorgeous meditation on mango -- call me, Paris.)

As it dries down—about six hours later—the sweetness burns off, leaving a rich, bourbon-like vanilla musk. Remnants of the candy still linger, even eight, nine hours later. It's so friendly that it makes me hungry, and I’m not usually one to think with my stomach. Vanille Absolu is a little niche offering from a very controversial brand, and it’s a conceptual fragrance (concept being "vanilla") that succeeds at executing the vanilla idea, while offering something more, and possibly something more fun. It is a success and a great thing to wear on the weekends. For $120, it better be.