Max Mara by Max Mara

Majestic! Truly queen-worthy. That citrus and ginger blend makes it a wonderful, one-of-a-kind fragrance. My first bottle was a gift, and I had to go to great lengths to get the second one. I really hope I can get my hands on it again.

Well, I owned this twice, and the second time I got the bigger bottle. It was when I bought the second one that I realized it was marketed as a women’s fragrance. I’ve always said, and I always will, that scents have no gender or age; it just depends on how you wear them. To me, this Max Mara was sweet and floral, but that didn’t make it feminine. In fact, many women told me I smelled amazing. What I remember perfectly is that no one, not even God, smelled as good as I did. Haha.

My girlfriend’s perfume back in 2004. All those citrus-floral scents that were all the rage then, bottled into a fragrance with no personality, no backbone, no identity—essentially stateless. And yet, damn it, it smelled incredible. It’s 2005 now; the world feels like a distant memory. Social media hasn’t hooked us yet; we still read books. The 21st century has arrived, yet it feels surprisingly less modern than promised. No clue about any coming crisis; everyone’s running at full power. Everyone’s driving a Mercedes that blows your mind, every goddamn person has a modern apartment with a glass shower and an island kitchen. Meanwhile, you’re just lounging on your sofa, a trendy chaise longue, watching a movie and eating junk food, while your girlfriend lies across your legs. A stray lock of hair brushes against you, releasing a scent of lilies, magnolias, and honeysuckle macerated in citrus and oily musk, with a hint of raw, sexual human skin. Sure, that impersonal, flat, monotonous, fucking addictive aroma might be a bit too sweet when it dries down, but who cares? It smells like white citrus florals, erotic, with nuances of both cold and warm talc, spicy and musky all at once. It’s one of those soft yet dense mists, reminiscent of some kind of transparent, heavy floral muslin, like a piece of intensely narcotic ozone. This Max Mara is one of those bland perfumes that smelled like death—the era when sweet scents were still bearable. Think of it as a white-floral-focused version of J’Adore, with a crunchy, unisex ginger twist. It reminds me of another similar one, V Valentino, which was less sweet and had a beautiful cool consistency. That’s about it: a zero in poetry and art, with a distinct catalog perfume vibe from the time. Divine sweet-floral mists in beige and white tones, musky and warm, also making me think of floral, spicy, fragrant blooms like lilacs and wisteria, but in golden hues. Bottled glory. Every time I remember it, my mouth waters. I wouldn’t pay a single extra cent for it. But sometimes the best things are simple, and this was perfect in its only job: smelling amazing.

An elegant, delicious fragrance (nothing cheap or overly sweet), sparkling, with great longevity and a beautiful trail.