Ambergreen by Oliver & Co.

It’s quite a particular perfume, very niche, well aromatic and herbal. I absolutely love it, and it must be one of the few scents that lasts a long time on my skin and clothes. I insist, I love it, but I don’t think it’s everyone’s taste.

@La dame de Noir: It’s perfectly assembled to avoid smelling like salad, despite having all the signs. I generally dislike edible notes in perfumes, and this one, surprisingly with a very noticeable pepper note, never makes you think you’ve just put on a bowl of vegetables. It teases between green, herbal, vegetal, fleshy pulp, spicy, and fresh spiced notes, alongside vegetables, but also gaseous, sweet, and sour nuances that eventually dry down into a green lactonic cream with hints of muguet and tender wood, a beautiful adolescent sweetness. It has many facets and distinct phases, evolving gracefully through at least three stages. It doesn’t smell cheap or like a school experiment. I like Oliver & Co.; if each house has its own touch, I think they unify with a very luminous, solar, and cheerful nuance, with certain laboratory or orderly fragments of precision, but intentional, not synthetic. Ambergreen is my favorite and probably one of the best fragrances I’ve tried in years; it disorients, surprises, and seduces. It has the right dose of avant-garde and classicism. It’s perfect; I wouldn’t add or take anything away. Resina is less to my taste due to the amount of resinous excrement it carries, though I also think it’s good, just flatter and more linear. Mousse, while somewhat boring in its development, is a tipsy aromatic clove with sun rays, joie de vivre, and precious playfulness. They are expensive, yes, around seventy-five euros for 50 ml, but as an indulgence, it’s worth it.

I can’t stand raw notes or that boiled, soft morbidity of galbanum and soft herbs; I hate perfumes that smell like birdseed, boiled, and low scrub, that yellowish, faded green of certain seventies women’s sport potions. Ambergreen is a work of art… I don’t know how to define it; after trying it for two or three days, it left me amazed. It’s like a futuristic evolution of dynamic lotions from forty years ago, but it’s so well-made that it’s not that rupturous, empty fragrance that adds exotic notes just to add them; here the ingredients are nailed down precisely to create an almost childish green, not childish, but innocent and edible, moving between spicy and sweet, between vegetable and dreamlike, distancing itself from anything else without seeming like the nonsense of some enfants terribles who end up in smoke. This is beautiful and well-made. The opening is strong, an exact mix between a freshly broken green pepper and… surprise, a fat, trembling silkworm. Do you know that typical smell of the boxes where we kept silkworms as kids? That raw, green, sour, and addictively repulsive aroma coming from mulberry leaves and the worms themselves? Ambergreen smells exactly like that at first, and the surprising thing is that it works wonderfully, even fighting against the pepper that sings operas. It’s amazing that these two unusual concepts don’t cause repulsion but rather a desire for more. Soon, the formula picks up precious vegetable nuances, without losing the fat worm tone or the pepper, but it’s a gem because it sweetens, speaking of a natural, vegetable sweetness, with hints of very expensive and fine body lotions, gaseous and sharp tomato leaves, freshly cut grass, spotless, as if rubbed with a cloth. You can also feel the cilantro, but instead of being dry and invasive, it’s a delicate note, its sparkling and foamy air filtering into the sweet green of microscopic fauna. Everything speaks of a garden and invertebrates, and the beautiful thing is that at the same time it speaks of dreamy and relaxing perfumes. Mixing those two concepts is incredibly difficult, and ensuring one doesn’t eat the other. Ambergreen is nailed to face off against other more famous perfumes, a mix that is both classic and avant-garde, evocative and functional. Completely unisex, though it suits women or teenagers better due to its charming delicacy. I can’t stop thinking that this is how Chanel No. 19 should smell today. A beautiful gem highly recommended from Oliver & Co., and I don’t give a damn about my father, as Estrellita Castro said.