Ghost Deep Night by Ghost

This is a two-drummer fragrance that works like a charm. First, let’s clarify: all Ghost scents share a common, everyday finish; don’t expect refinement for discerning palates. Ghost makes normal perfumes; their only goal is to smell good, not to gift you an orgasmic experience since that’s not their price point or intention. Not everything has to be perfect—some fragrances just do their job and that’s it. With that said, Deep Night has its own thing. It belongs to that family of cheap perfumes that surprise you, like Jessica Simpson’s Fancy Nights or JLo’s Glow. It costs little but delivers more, with real personality. Alongside plain Ghost (a bitter, unappealing, powdery, super-British rose), it’s the most interesting scent from the brand. Remember that trend where brands announced gothic perfumes that were just fruit juices, cheap patchouli, and Monster High pajama party vibes? Ghost embraces a certain gothic romanticism but avoids that fake dark girly taste aimed at everyone. Deep Night is gothic, sexy, but above all adult, and I find it completely unisex, like seventies musks. To my nose, it smells like that—very different from its listed notes. It reminded me of those animal musks from the seventies, but spiced up with more elements to avoid being too linear. Many compare it to Dior Addict, which came out a couple of years later, but I don’t see the resemblance at all, even though they share powerful notes like night-blooming jasmine and vanilla in their first versions. Addict is insolent, street-smart, and super sexual, ruling with a dizzying, boozy vanilla. This one is a salty, pink, erotic musk—sensual, with a sharp hint of alcoholic kick, adorned with apricot skin, no fleshy fruit, just the skin itself: dry, twisted like fruit peels you forget in the trash for two days and pick up traces of fermented wine or alcohol. That dead fruit-skin finish plus a nice woody vanilla, zero gourmand, with echoes of nineties boozy perfumes, is what elevates the musk, which is surprisingly understated on the label. To my nose, it was one of those sensual, woody musks with hints of slightly dirty, nocturnal skin—post-sex vibes, smelling of fine, suggestive sweat. As the formula evolves (since the opening was a bit off), it becomes more carnal and sweet-salty, eventually melting into your skin until it takes on an anesthetizing, addictive animal sweetness that could be mistaken for typical soybean scent, whether in liquid or seed. A British roommate used it during our student years, and it didn’t smell bad at all.