Lanvin
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
Pepper arrives with bergamot in a blast of cool, almost ozonic freshness that prickles rather than warms. The spice reads metallic, industrial even, cut with citrus that's been stripped of its zest and sunshine—this is fruit processed through a minimalist aesthetic, all sharp edges and transparency.
Gardenia emerges scrubbed nearly unrecognisable, its usual tropical weight replaced by something spa-like and diffuse, whilst that milk accord creates an odd lactonic haze that smells simultaneously nourishing and sterile. Rose floats somewhere in the background like a watercolour left in the rain, its pigment diluted to the palest pink suggestion.
Iris and sandalwood converge into something that lives in the space between powder and cream, a second-skin musk that's intimate without being remotely animalic. What remains is quietly persistent—the olfactory equivalent of expensive cashmere, soft but substantial, recognisable as perfume only when someone leans quite close.
Oxygène captures that peculiar millennial obsession with transparency—the fragrance equivalent of frosted glass and brushed aluminium. Morillas strips away baroque complexity in favour of something almost aggressively uncomplicated, opening with pepper that reads more like cool metal than heat, bergamot scrubbed clean of its usual citric sweetness. The heart is where things become genuinely intriguing: gardenia rendered not as tropical indolic lushness but as something crisp and nearly soapy, suspended in a bizarre milk accord that suggests both lactonic creaminess and the cold, mineral quality of oat milk left in the fridge. Rose appears as an outline rather than full colour, a ghostly impression of itself.
This is a fragrance for people who find most perfumes exhausting, who want to smell like they've just stepped from an expensive shower using products you can't quite identify. The aquatic element isn't the calone-drenched mess of typical marine scents; instead, it's more like standing near a humidifier, that sense of moisture in the air without any briny simulation. Sandalwood and iris create a base that's paradoxically creamy and dry simultaneously, whilst musk adds a skin-like quality that borders on the anaemic.
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3.6/5 (130)