Tuberose, usually waxy and pungent, is a love/hate note for me when it comes to perfume. Done well, it’s fleshy and warm. Done poorly, it’s clingy and saccharine; the stereotype of ladies who lunch (and behave) feminity. The scents I love that include tuberose (usually Gardenia since the two flowers share similarities) use it subtly, drawing out other florals and emphasizing their beauty with tuberose as an accent. Until recently.
Frédéric Malle’s Carnal Flower, created by Dominique Ropion has changed my mind. There’s no getting away from the tuberose in this scent. It pushes at you, dares you to turn away from it and reminds you that underneath the delicate petals of its bloom, it has a sinewy quality that reinforces life in a way you can’t ignore. Reportedly, this perfume contains the highest concentration of the flower on the market today.
The first blast once dabbed on is a heady menthol; cool, sharp and almost medicinal. Then the tuberose slides in and you feel the heat of it before the smell even hits your nose. I’m here, it announces and wraps itself around you. As it starts to drydown, the smell shifts again and suddenly there’s a faint trace of melon that wasn’t noticible before. A watery honeydew maybe. Barely perceptible beside the even lighter coconut note. It gives it a tender, sweet touch. It’s dense, and opulent without being overwhelming. Beautiful. Unapologetically sexy; never fragile.
The first time I ever saw a woman I wanted to be desperately it was Dorothy Dandridge playing Carmen in her now famous film Carmen Jones. There she was, fire and ice, passion and steely gaze, willing to say anything she thought and unwilling to compromise — unless she was protecting her freedom. The way she’d tilt her chin and focus those eyes on you for the longest moment. I sat breathless in awe of her and wanted to become her all at once.
When I wear this scent, I think of Carmen and Dorothy herself. Ready to be bloodied for being who she was, but she’d take you with her. In her good time.
