Starry Nights

Starry Nights announces itself as Montale's answer to the fruity-floral crowd, but there's something deliberately artificial about its construction—a deliberate shininess that reads more nightclub smoke machine than celestial canopy. The opening apple is heavily synthetic, that crisp Granny Smith sharpness rendered in high-definition plastic alongside bergamot that sits politely in the background. Within minutes, you're enveloped in a rose-jasmine duet that's been amplified to stadium proportions, with the Bulgarian rose leaning towards soap and the Egyptian jasmine veering into that peculiar Montale territory where white florals become almost aggressively clean. The Sumatran patchouli doesn't provide its usual earthy darkness; instead, it's been scrubbed and sweetened into submission, acting more as a structural support beam than a starring player.

This is unabashedly synthetic in the way mid-2010s fruity florals often were—there's no attempt at naturalism here, and frankly, that's part of its charm. The white musk and amber in the base create a soft, pillowy sweetness that borders on laundry detergent, whilst powdery notes ensure everything settles into that slightly chalky, makeup-compact finish. It's the fragrance equivalent of Instagram filters—everything smoothed, brightened, and just slightly unreal. This is for those who want their florals loud, their fruit candied, and their projection unapologetic. Perfect for someone who misses the unsubtle confidence of mid-decade department store bestsellers but wants that Montale longevity behind it.