Francesca's
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
The coconut arrives as pure, unapologetic sweetness—the kind that makes your teeth ache—whilst the Italian bergamot flickers like a citrus strobe light trying desperately to cut through all that cream. There's an almost Play-Doh-like synthetic quality that's oddly nostalgic, recalling those plasticky vanilla scents from mall stores circa 2008.
Jasmine grandiflorum emerges with its characteristic indoles, adding a fleshy, almost narcotic depth that transforms the initial sweetness into something more ambiguous and sensual. The heliotrope weaves through with its almond-tinged powderiness, creating this curious tension between clean and dirty, innocent and knowing, whilst the overall composition takes on an increasingly skin-like warmth.
What remains is a vanilla-dominant base that's been thoroughly animalised by that mysterious funk note—it's warm, slightly sweaty, unmistakably human. The cashmere wood adds a diffuse woolliness rather than distinct woodiness, making the whole thing feel like perfumed skin rather than perfume *on* skin, intimate and close-wearing despite all that initial bombast.
Wonder reads like Nathalie Lorson's fever dream of a beach holiday filtered through the lens of early-2000s gourmand maximalism. The opening salvo of coconut and bergamot shouldn't work—it's simultaneously suntan lotion and Earl Grey—but there's something deliberately synthetic about the coconut that keeps it from tipping into full resort-wear territory. This is coconut as *idea* rather than photorealistic rendering, all lactonic sweetness without the fibrous texture. The heart is where things get genuinely interesting: jasmine grandiflorum brings its indolic richness whilst heliotrope adds that peculiar almond-marzipan powder that makes everything feel slightly retro, like stumbling upon your mother's forgotten cosmetics bag from 1985. Then there's that intriguing "funk" listed in the base—whether intentional or a happy accident of how bourbon vanilla interacts with the cashmere wood, there's a lived-in quality here, something almost musky and skin-like that prevents the sweetness from becoming oppressive. It's the scent equivalent of wearing a vanilla-scented jumper that's absorbed a day's worth of body heat. This is for those who want their gourmands with a bit of grit, who understand that truly sensual fragrances need a touch of the animalic to make all that sweetness feel human rather than confected. Not polite, not particularly sophisticated, but utterly committed to its own peculiar vision.
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3.6/5 (183)