Coco Chanel

Coco Chanel is a fragrance that refuses the binary. Jacques Polge has crafted something that feels simultaneously classical and idiosyncratic—a floral that bristles with spice rather than genuflecting to it. The opening volley of coriander and pimento announces itself with almost savoury intent, as if you've wandered into a spice market before stepping into a florist's shop. What emerges is a dense, honeyed floral core where ylang-ylang and jasmine wrestle with cinnamon and angelica root, creating an almost alimentary quality—this smells like it could be drinkable, like something you'd encounter in a perfumed tea or a baroque pastry.

The magic lies in how the base furnishings prevent this floral from ever becoming gossamer or precious. Benzoin and tonka bean add creamy sweetness, yes, but patchouli and civet ground everything into something altogether earthier and more sensual. There's an incense-like quality courtesy of frankincense that prevents the florals from cloying; instead, they acquire an almost liturgical weight. This is a scent for someone unbothered by convention—someone who wears florals precisely because they're unfashionable, who prefers her elegance textured rather than smooth.