Aire Loewe by Loewe

An ultra-feminine and timeless aroma, like an Inés Sastre strolling through Paris in a trench coat with soft gloss under the rain. It’s green, woody, and floral without being overwhelming, radiating naturalness, confidence, and sweetness. Insulting it is a sin; I deeply respect Chanel No. 5, and this is simply marvelous and unique. I adore it!

Oh my goodness, the comments… Loewe’s Aire isn’t for everyone and depends on who wears it. To me, someone sensitive to strong scents, it always seemed dignified and respectful. My mother and several aunts have worn it for 30 years; it’s soapy and clean, perhaps old-fashioned, but classic. I like people who move through life without fuss; that’s true elegance.

I wore it for over 15 years and loved the entire line, but I stopped using it in 2020. When I bought it back three years later, it didn’t smell the same anymore: it seems more unisex and less citrusy. I don’t like it as much now and don’t have another perfume for the moment.

A few days ago, I greeted the mother of a friend who was wearing this perfume. It wasn’t a happy or opportune moment, and I couldn’t tell her how much kindness that hug and the aroma enveloping it conveyed. Sometimes people make things beautiful, and not the other way around… So it created in me the need to rediscover this perfume, simply because beautiful things shouldn’t go out of style… My surprise was when, while browsing Fragrantica reviews as I always do before buying a fragrance, I saw that the poor thing couldn’t be more aggrieved. So, dear Aire, here is my review to try to convince those who criticize you: (I continue in the next review)

I laugh thinking that for years I was smelling like a mummy with bad breath from Serrano without knowing it. It’s a fragrance I like because it ‘means something’ to me, memories of a stage in my life. I suggest trying it to appreciate it. As for the reviews, yes, a minimum of substance and respect is necessary. Blunt and histrionic opinions lose weight. Tomorrow I’ll wear Aire to scandalize a bit at the supermarket, maybe with a pearl necklace, although my memory says I don’t have one. It’s irony.

With apologies, sometimes it’s better to smell like ‘old lady’ or ‘grandma’ but know how to read aloud, use manners, know that a cloth handkerchief is useful, and put a brake on spoiled grandchildren. Many older women are more respectful and cultured than the young ones who faint or vomit when they smell ‘Aire,’ ‘Eau,’ or ‘Poison.’ Half the world doesn’t know what Calle Serrano in Madrid is or what it means, yet they use it with gusto. The world is big; perhaps a bit of open-mindedness and writing useful reviews is a good start to give a humility cure. Being older isn’t bad; being radical can be.

My mom used to switch between Aire and Agua by Loewe, and even though she ended up keeping the Agua, I recently bought a dupe of the Aire just to remember it. It fits me perfectly—I’m not an old lady, and I love it. I think it’s more of a winter scent because in summer it can be a bit heavy. Maybe I’ve aged out of it and it feels a bit behind the times, but it’s rich and doesn’t smell like stale vintage like so many from that era.

I’m going to speak up in favor of this perfume, given the terrible comments from some ‘perfume Taliban’ who think if they don’t like it, it should disappear. I imagine that when they go to a restaurant and find a menu item they don’t like, they’ll also think it should be removed from the menu, I don’t know, I’m surprised by such little tolerance when the perfume world is infinite and tastes are as variable as people. A neighbor of mine uses a perfume that, I swear, smells to me like a mix of vomit and sweat. When I talk to her for more than five minutes, I start feeling sick. Sometimes I haven’t been able to eat if I ran into her right before a meal and had to stop talking to her. It’s impossible until that smell leaves my nose. However, for her, it’s not just that she likes it; she loves it. She literally bathes in that mess because it smells from afar and very strongly. So let the creature enjoy it; in these convulsive times, something like a perfume, even if it’s disgusting, that makes you feel good, is a gift. Watch out, those who complain about the smell of this perfume probably use scents that others absolutely don’t like. To each their own. Or smells, in this case. And perhaps we shouldn’t forget that when making critiques: our favorites probably won’t suit others, no matter how much they are a work of art for us. And let’s not forget that on every skin, the same perfume smells different. Said all that, I personally like this perfume. It reminds me of my university years, the wonderful 80s. It has a green air, and the aldehydes sit very well on my skin. Not all citrus notes suit me, but for me, the combination of notes is perfect for hot weather. It has excellent longevity on my skin, to the point that a single spray lasts hours. It’s not a perfume to spray a whole bottle of at once, but one spray is enough. The sillage is moderate; I don’t think it’s excessive. Personally, I think it’s a wild scent, like the countryside. It’s not sophisticated at all, nor do I see it as an elegant aroma, but rather wild, as I said before, rugged. Nothing like today’s taste, those perfumes that after smelling them for a while leave you stuffed, as if you’d gorged yourself on sweets. From the 80s until today, I’ve bought it in a fairly random way; I might have used it for a year in an entire decade, left it for five years, bought it again the next. It brings back good memories and generally seems like a perfume different from today’s taste, but I don’t want it to disappear, just as I wouldn’t want Don Quixote to disappear from bookstores because that literature isn’t trendy today.

I have a complicated relationship with Loewe Air: I like it, but only on mild days—neither cold nor hot—when my chemistry allows and I crave that classic lady scent. Green notes and aldehydes aren’t usually my thing, but here they hook me, perhaps out of nostalgia, even though I don’t recall anyone wearing it in my childhood. I love that soapy opening note; it’s hard to find. On the downside, it has a sharp edge that bothers me with sudden temperature changes. I know people see it as a perfume from another era—aloof and indifferent—and that’s exactly what it evokes for me. It’s not bad: there are days it fits that image perfectly, and I use it. I have little left in the bottle and no rush to finish it; it’s for personal enjoyment and very occasional use. I wouldn’t recommend buying it blindly or gifting it; that’s how it ended up in my hands.

When I spray it, it’s like an 80-year-old lady from Salamanca’s neighborhood suddenly sat next to me. I suppose Loewe refuses to retire its flagship, but I agree—it’s outdated. It’s overwhelming, and I can’t find any of the “air” from the name. It should feel like a fresh breeze (it doesn’t), but with something more, fitting an ambitious perfume (also not). It needs a major update or should disappear entirely.

I see the same problem here as with Chanel No. 5. It’s outdated. It’s a floral with too many aldehydes, yet it has huge projection and longevity.

I feel bad for it, but the scent reminds me of room freshener—maybe because that’s how they’ve made it since. I know this because I once worked in an office where they bought it. I used it once, years ago, because it reminded me of my grandmother; she wore it and it smelled amazing, like all her perfumes. She had incredible skin that made any fragrance shine.

Stinky, too heavy, ‘grandma-ish’. A very polarizing perfume: you either hate it or love it; there’s no middle ground. I hate it. It smells like incense, and on my skin, it’s worse, as if I walked out of a witch’s session with all the ingredients spilled on me. It’s a heavy scent that you don’t know whether to wear in summer or winter, without smelling like the witch from fairy tales. It’s a piece in my collection that came as a gift from my boyfriend, who paired it with another I liked, Aire Sutileza. Since it was a gift, I can’t get rid of it, even though the poor thing is laughing at me.

I’ve tried this perfume many times and never liked it. At first, I didn’t understand why, because in the 80s I was practically a teenager, and a classmate whose parents had plenty of money wore this and talked about it as if it were a great miracle. Back then, I could only afford colognes like Eau Jeune. But whenever I had the chance to smell Loewe’s Aire in perfumeries, I still didn’t understand how they could spend money on that. And no matter how many years have passed, I still think the same.

Neutral fragrance. It’s the concept of wearing perfume to feel fresh. I could categorize it as unisex or even childish. If someone told me it was a 2L shower cologne, I’d believe it. I like it, but it doesn’t convey anything about the person wearing it. It adds nothing.