It opens with the most evocative note of rum, gently, sweetly alcoholic. But focus… Calm down… There’s more to it than that. A quick excited whiff coupled with heart palpitations for having found the perfect vanilla might have led me to think this is just like vanilla absolute, but somehow better the first minute or two. Oh yes, it’s all there, recreated in the most beauteous manner. The way its seeds smell when scraped out: spicy, fragrant, teasing the nose, exciting the taste buds. The way its soft yet resilient texture succumbs to the knife with ease.
Its thick, dark as stained ebony, slightly oily skin. Havana Vanille is an ode to the precious vanilla pod: when you smell it, you have no trouble imagining it in all its glory. Imagine how it will unfold on skin, before I ever spray.Īnd it was magic from that first sniff of the cap – the kind of perfume magic that forces you to close your eyes unwittingly, almost swooning with pleasure. My own ritual: Uncap the bottle with the minimum amount of (at least obvious) greed as I can afford to… Bring the cap close to the nose and inhale, first gently, to discover the nuances, then deeply to get lost in the scent’s world. So do perfume lovers, addicts themselves in a way, slaves to their sense of smell. Addicts have rituals which they engage when they indulge in their chosen sins. And yet I was still surprised when I had it in my hands not only was it something I’d never seen before, but it was a brand new vanilla as well. I bet my subconscious knew exactly what I was doing. Yes, I made a grab for it, not quite knowing why. The undoubtedly plastic memory has translated the excitement I felt upon seeing the bottle as a rude swoop for it. Who knows what it was that subconsciously triggered me to home in on it. All L’Artisan bottles are created equal and look almost the same, yet this one glowed. A beautiful room paneled with gorgeous dark wood and a round tiered table in the middle covered with niche, exclusive and rare perfumes.
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