Don't Cry For Me

Don’t Cry For Me is being fifteen in a bottle. I exclusively used chamomile baby shampoo for most of that year, and a cheap perfume bottled in pink plastic that could be found next to jewelry patinated with stories and dust older than I. I’d smell the aldehydes in my hair to pass time and escape the droning voices of teachers who always questioned my saddened, apathetic disposition, but whose words were never of any consolation. I was inconsolable and grieving—what? I do not know. Grief was the true subject, waiting alongside petals so precious they did not even know of it, and the warmth of my skin. Don’t Cry For Me is the spring of a young woman’s life, a scent that quietly comes into force, a murmured plea. I knew nothing but felt as if the sorrow I carried was truer than life. I reinforced this through naively reading Nietzsche because some tenured man thought it would be of help. I find a great postmodern irony in the juxtaposition of such florals coupled with sadness. I am reminded of sneaking off to the shed in my backyard, smoking the Marlboros I stole from my dad while listening to The Velvet Underground and Nico’s vampiric voice, which was a comfort, still smelling like I carried a bouquet of front yard flowers in my pockets. I was cautious not to let embers fall on my stockings so my mom would have one less thing to worry about than me shamefully smoking in an attempt to cure what I now know as the disclosure of Dasein and the anxiety that follows—though back then I would’ve never read Heidegger, as to fifteen-year-old me he was German, boring, and dense (I now love him). I was named anxious; that only drove me toward a final absolution that never existed outside a draft in my head. This perfume is all of that which has been described and more: it followed me into every room and filled the noses of people from my past. It's ignorant of its own sweetness in a way that's endearing, it's fresh and fittingly warm. It's distant and vulnerable in the way a 15 year old who's holding back tears is. I could never wear this now, only read it—like reading myself in a language I once knew. edit: as I was writing this I grabbed a diary/journal of mine from that time, I both cringed at the off page annotations of Adorno and Deleuze but smiled at the press flower that fell from its pages.

This is so good. On my skin I can't detect any powderiness or vanilla, other than that the other listed main accords are spot on. This one is soft, fresh, floral, and it has a perfectly subdued sweetness. It has something else as well that is hard to explain, and it made me get a full bottle. It smells like a hint of sharpness or bitterness that keeps it from getting dull or flat. This is, for me, one of those rare instances where I felt a fragrance was "me" after trying a sample, and I couldn't stop thinking about it. On my skin it lasts forever, albeit a skin scent after several hours, and I got whiffs of it all day. It's not loud at all, but I wouldn't want it to be. If you liked the discontinued Green by Byredo you'll surely love this one as well as they're extremely similar. I love Green, and still have it, but I have to admit that this one surpassed it. My fragrance journey might have ended with Don't Cry For Me.

This is a first impression based off of a sample vial I got from Lucky Scent. This fragrance reminds me a lot of a favorite of mine from my collection of Aerin mini-bottles: Mediterranean Honeysuckle Mimosa. I see from the "This perfume reminds me of" section above, I'm not the only one who has agreed with this comparison. Given I will not likely buy from Aerin any longer, I may buy a bottle of this fragrance if I run out of MHM.

Starts off as green tea and petals, then a few hours in the feminine sweetness comes out. Really nice floaty kind of scent and doesn't kick everyone around you in the face with flowers. Since it's light but still there I'd say you could probably layer it with the right cologne or something if you wanted more of "you smell nice" rather than "I smell flowers somewhere".

I love this for the ambrette dry down. It’s an optimistic, hyper-clean, watery floral with no sharp edges. A quintessential shampoo/dollhead fragrance in the best way possible. Sometimes it leans jasmine, other times it’s rose. I can’t get enough of it. You may not notice it after a bit, but it lasts a long time.