Greenley (Parfums de Marly)

This perfume went through some name changes before Parfums de Marly settled on Greenley. Its original title was "Sutton," and you can still find pictures of boxes with that label from late 2019 and early 2020. The story goes that another company had something that went by "Sutton" (gee, wonder which one it could be?), and it politely asked PdM to reconsider. Then they road-tested "Epsom," which is an odd one, although there's virtually no evidence of this to be found online, so I don't know how true it is. Eventually they went with the color of the packaging, the safest (and lamest) choice. 

My take on Greenley is that it faces a few insurmountable challenges. Its main problem is that it inhabits the Creed price bracket at $355 for 75 ml, and Creed does green better than every other niche brand in existence. Want something fresh, green, clean? Original Vetiver. Want something manly with a perfect grassy/green apple accord? Green Irish Tweed. Looking for an edgier fruity-green? Silver Mountain Water. These frags are expensive, but they're expensive for a reason: they smell miles better than anything in the designer realm, and they're made with top-tier synthetics. For Greenley to stack up, it needs to match or surpass the Creed standard by using equivalently good materials in an equally-great composition. Unfortunately, it falls short. Like, $300 short.

Greenley smells remarkably close to Banana Republic's Grassland, and I suspect the latter is a straight-up clone. Both fragrances are directly predicated on a familiar cast of sweet-green violet-leaf-and-ginger things popularized by Green Valley (1999, another Creed). Both open with a translucent mélange of green apple and citrus, both pop and fizz their way into serene grassy-woody handsoap hearts, and both end up on simple bases of Cashmeran and white musk. Greenley's apple is perkier and its heart is pinier, but it's undeniably a waste of cash. For soapy-green, get Grassland instead. 

Valaya (Parfums de Marly)

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.