Chanel
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
The pimento and coriander arrive with almost peppery immediacy, sharp and slightly dusty, while mandarin orange attempts to brighten the mood before frangipani intervenes with a creamy, almost narcotic undertone. Within moments you're suspended between spice rack and flower market, something thrumming with vitality rather than refinement.
Ylang-ylang and jasmine bloom into something honeyed and indolic, whilst the cinnamon-iris duet creates an unexpected powdery spiciness that feels almost cosmetic in the best sense. The orange blossom weaves through everything with a bitter-almond elegance, anchored by that creamy benzoin base that prevents the florals from ever feeling delicate or fleeting.
Patchouli emerges more prominently now, earthy and slightly animalic thanks to the civet, whilst tonka bean sweetness and frankincense create something almost smoky-amber on the skin. The fragrance settles into a soft, resinous whisper—still distinctly there, still entirely itself, but now intimate rather than projecting, like wearing a vintage cashmere sweater perfumed decades ago.
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.
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3.8/5 (148)