Slava Zaïtsev
Slava Zaïtsev
483 votes
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
The aldehydes strike first—a bright, almost astringent sparkle that makes your nose prickle—quickly followed by peach that's been macerated in bergamot, creating a fuzzy, citrus-soaked sweetness. Orange blossom hovers at the edges, indolic and faintly soapy, like hands scrubbed clean with expensive soap that still smell vaguely of sweat.
The white florals surge forward in a dense, almost suffocating wave: tuberose's creamy flesh, jasmine's urinous sweetness, ylang-ylang's tropical headiness all fighting for dominance whilst heliotrope dusts everything with powdered sugar and crushed almonds. Lily of the valley adds a brief, green shimmer before being swallowed by the richness, and the iris—pale, rooty, slightly earthy—struggles to carve out breathing space in this lush, overcrowded garden.
What remains is a skin-warm amber that's been dirtied by civet, giving it an intimate, almost private quality—the scent of perfume on unwashed hair, vanilla on morning skin. Sandalwood and tonka bean create a woody-sweet foundation that feels both comforting and slightly melancholic, whilst benzoin's balsamic richness ensures the sweetness never quite disappears, lingering like a memory you can't quite place.
Maroussia is a creature of contradictions—a peachy aldehydic floral draped in Russian fur, named after the heroine of Dostoyevsky's *White Nights*. The aldehydes here aren't the soapy fizz of mid-century classics; they're sharper, almost metallic, cutting through the sweetness of peach and orange blossom with an edge that feels deliberately confrontational. This is 1990s maximalism filtered through a post-Soviet lens, where abundance meets restraint in uneasy harmony. The floral heart is dense and syrupy, with tuberose and jasmine creating a heavy, almost narcotic sweetness that the heliotrope amplifies with its powdery vanilla-almond facets. Ylang-ylang adds a banana-like richness that borders on overripe, whilst iris attempts—and only partially succeeds—to introduce a coolness to the composition. The base is where Maroussia reveals its true character: a civet-laced amber that smells of skin and fur, slightly animalic without being aggressive, wrapped in benzoin's resinous warmth and vanilla's comfort. It's less polished than its Western counterparts, rougher around the edges in a way that feels intentional rather than accidental. This is for those who find Shalimar too refined, who want their florals to leave lipstick stains and their amber to smell like it's been worn rather than bottled. It's a scent for dimly lit rooms, red velvet curtains, and conversations that last until dawn.
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Karl Lagerfeld
3.4/5 (305)