Chanel No 5 Eau de Parfum

cold-hearted and unsmiling, i have never encountered a more simultaneously reviled and misunderstood fragrance in my life. i say cold-hearted because Chanel no. 5 is as biting and sharp as a frigid, arctic chill; the aldehydes supply to this impressionistic and baroque floral bouquet an austerity nearing on soapiness (a comparison which always kept me from purchasing it hitherto my final plunge. it reminded me of a cleaner used at my high school with too many unpleasant memories attached to it of adolescence). the florals embody every bouquet: powdery iris, indolic jasmine and lily, jam-like rose, and earthy ylang-ylang that consolidates into one nondescript, non-delineated sensation of foreign, avant-garde abstraction. it is, idiosyncratically, a celestial and unreachable kind of beauty not unlike a white cloud in a blue sky. i say unsmiling because, beneath those effervescent and angelic qualities, there lies an earthy, smooth sandalwood and civet with all of its warm and balsamic qualities intact and pulsing. it is alive, hibernating beneath the snowy white of the baroque tinctures, requiring nothing but the passage of time to reveal its nature. i picture brown, crunchy leaves nestled inside the grooves of the bark over a tree coated in a fresh powdered snow; something that was once warm and enveloping now, itself, enveloped. its coldness, which once repelled me in my adolescence, draws me to it in my young adulthood. in less words, i cannot disagree with the distinction of Chanel no. 5 as a “grandma” fragrance, but i have always, personally, been fascinated by my grandmothers. it is not until age creeps up on us that we ever respect it and it is not until experience becomes ours that we ever understand it. that is to say that not a single person i have ever met has smelled my bottle of the EDP and left the room with the same opinion they entered it with on Chanel no. 5. from my best friend to passing visitors - from my mother to utter strangers - anyone who has ever smelled this fragrance, either freshly sprayed or in its drydown stages, finds themselves suddenly retracting their previous prejudices or indifference on the scent. it is amongst my most complimented, and the usual response when told that i am wearing Chanel no. 5 resembles something similar to “wait, really?” because beneath her austerity - her smearing red lipstick and vintage talc face powder - is a soul that was once young and magnetic. if you search deep into her character - waving dust particles out of the air and walking through strands of akoya pearls and stacks of antique novels - if you can find it in your heart to sit down with her, ask her a question about the year 1952, and listen to her speak, you will find the hibernated creature is not even asleep. it is awake, it is aware, it is cognizant of all changes and clings to its obsolete habits like snow to soily earth. a thousand lives that are not my own flashes before my eyes whenever i partake in the antique ritual of just a few drops of Chanel no. 5. i am simultaneously very connected to and so distant from eras far from me. it is concurrently borrowed subsistence from all of those before me and life that is wholly and utterly my own. wisdom i’ve taken and wisdom i’ve created. time passed by and time borrowed. lessons learned and lessons taught. perhaps, if i am very lucky, i will one day be as aged as this scent makes me smell.

Picture it: I'm 31 years old (35 years old now), and I am the new manager of a Chanel Beauty Counter for the City's largest department store. An accomplished, older woman comes in, and she is fantatstic- a real boss, and everything I aspire to be. She is in her late 50s and stands tall, with a fresh, voluminous "power blow-out" defining her golden blonde, shoulder length locks; she's wearing very smart & stylish business attire. Throughout our conversation, she reveals she is an investment banker about to go on holiday to a private island (the same one Mick Jagger goes to she said) for a week with some of her clients. She said she needed enough No. 5 to take with her without bringing her full bottle. She's a regular customer, so of course, I am happy to help- because honestly your service shouldn't end with your purchase IMO. So, I make her several, and I mean SEVERAL deluxe sized samples because she said she wears quite a bit and that she is known for smelling of No. 5 and receives many compliments. Up until I began pumping the golden liquid that is No.5 into the glass, deluxe sized samples, my ONLY known contact with No. 5 was when I was 18, smelling her ONLY from the nozzle at the counter & not liking her at all. However, as I was making the samples, something shifted. I found myself intoxicated in the best possible way by the glorious mist wafting from the No.5 bottle. This time, I was truly EXPERIENCING this timeless, captivating fragrance known simply as No. 5- and so in LOVE! The gorgeous opening of lightness makes way for the most beautiful of vanillas in the base, as she fragrantly wraps me in her exquisite essence! I kept thinking I knew this wonderful scent from somewhere!! Come to find out, this was my grandmother's "special occasion" scent! And for anyone that calls No. 5 a "Grandma Scent", you have NO IDEA how accurate you are- just not in the way intended. I say this because my grandmother wore No. 5 & she was glamour personified as a gorgeous, Elizabeth Taylor look alike who drove a vintage 1960s Porshe. She was well-traveled, married for love, was an eternal student who continued taking classes well into her 80s, an accomplished artist, a loving mother who had so many friends/was a great friend, and she was humble & grounded with a wonderful spiritual foundation. So, yeah, I WANT IN ON THIS "GRANDMA SCENT" because to me, No. 5 REPRESENTS a life well lived- one that is both inspirational and aspirational! May we all live as well and smell as good as our glamorous grandmothers- Cheers!!

It is a peculiar affliction, this fixation of mine. So peculiar, that it has compelled me, once again, to set down these words. The object of this gentle mania is, as ever, Chanel No. 5. And the occasion is flimsy and necessary: my bottle, a venerable 100ml of the Eau de Parfum from the year 2015, has at last been diminished to the halfway mark. A state of affairs I deemed sufficient to justify the acquisition of a successor, a bottle in waiting, as it were. A decade has slipped by since that first bottle came into my possession. A decade. And one must wonder, does a scent, like a memory, undergo a subtle alteration over time? I can report, with the authority of a seasoned connoisseur, that it has not merely endured; it has been refined. The current incarnation, the 2025 Eau de Parfum, is, I would venture, superior. It has drawn itself nearer in spirit to the holy of holies: the Parfum Extrait. I would go so far as to claim that this new EdP is the closest one may presently get to that rarefied essence. A claim made all the more poignant by the fact that the Extrait itself has vanished from the shelves of the Rue Cambon and its authorized acolytes. I contacted the house myself, and they, in their polished ambiguity, could not say when, or if, it would ever return. This modern EdP is a more baroque composition. Its scent profile is low compared to the sparklish, chattering soprano of the EdT, which carries with it, one must admit, a certain masculine twist. Though the Eau de Parfum was a child of the eighties, I can see her—Marilyn, of course—wearing this. Not the effervescent EdT, but this. For it wears closer to the skin, a secret shared in a crowded room. It is, in its final effect, precisely like the Extrait—a profoundly personal luxury. It must be said, however, that the EdT, for all its lack of subtlety, possesses a brute strength, a longevity that the more refined EdP politely declines. Chanel No. 5. It exists in that rare stratum of legend, alongside the lady Monroe herself, the iron lace of the Eiffel Tower, the starry, frantic night of Van Gogh. It is not merely a perfume. It is the very scent of a certain life—the life where one sips champagne in bed for breakfast, in a room of an old Parisian hotel, the morning air still carrying the ghost of a French soap from one’s bath.

I have made a rather gaudy, and frankly, unsettling discovery about myself. It concerns my collection of perfumes, which has grown to a rather absurd proportion, a veritable boudoir of bottled aspiration. And I observed a curious thing: the larger this glass and crystal menagerie became, the more fleeting was the satisfaction provided by any new arrival. A brief, shimmering moment of triumph, a spritz upon the wrist—then, silence. The feeling evaporated, leaving not a trace on the soul, only a ghost on the skin. One might, and I have, consider this the tell-tale heart of a shopping addiction, beating its guilty rhythm beneath the floorboards of one’s propriety. The sadder truth, the one that arrives uninvited and sits in your best chair, is this: no sooner had the mist of some new, beautiful scent settled than a longing would begin for Chanel No. 5. And it produced in me a peculiar sense of infidelity, as if I had, in the very act of seeking novelty, betrayed a great and abiding love. One feels a perfect fool, spritzing some coquette from a gilded bottle while one’s heart belongs to a monument. I have come to understand why. Chanel No. 5 simply is. It possesses a magnificent, glacial permanence. It does not smell of any specific summer, or of a forgotten dance card, or of a particular room in one’s past. It is not seasonal; it does not fret with the weather. It is appropriate for any hour, any occasion, a constant in the variable algebra of one’s day. When I wear it, I am not haunted by the fear that some unpleasantness—a harsh word, a piece of bad news—will forever burn the scent into memory, tarnishing it. One cannot say the same for, say, the exquisite melancholy of L'Heure Bleue, which is so precious, so fragile a thing, I keep it sequestered at home, a prisoner of its own beauty, lest the vulgar world lay a claim upon it. It was, among other things, my late mother’s scent. And yet, remarkably, it does not smell of her. That is its final magic. It does not speak of another. Instead, it performs a quiet alchemy upon the skin, blending with one’s own essential chemistry until it becomes not a borrowed thing, but a revelation of the self. It becomes, in the end, rather like one’s own fingerprint. Invisible to the self, but utterly, definitively singular. My own DNA, in a bottle.

Here's to all the reviewers who read the note breakdown, know EXACTLY what to expect, and then still get bent out of shape when they get EXACTLY what they KNEW they were going to get. And then feel compelled to come write an idiotic review spinning that same, stupid tale ad nauseam. "like omg grandma fr so old and stuff" To put it in terms you'll understand, it's like going to Taco Bell and crying because you can't order a Whopper, and then demonstrating in the reviews that you're not bright enough to find your way home at night. MAKE IT MAKE SENSE. Anyway, if you actually appreciate perfumery, you realize that No. 5 is an abstract floral masterpiece even if you don't necessarily like it. Unlike the parfum, the aldehydes here are sharper, brighter, and more approachable. They melt perfectly into heavy, syrupy ylang-ylang and peach before drying down into creamy sandalwood and vanilla. It's pure grace. If all you know are linear gourmands and synthetic hooker body sprays, you won't know what to do with a fragrance that has actual structure. It's not my favorite by any means, but you have to respect a perfume that companies are still desperately trying to mimic over a HUNDRED FRIGGIN' YEARS after its creation. If you want to smell like a fatherless vanilla cupcake, why bother with this in the first place??? Don't spray this masterpiece and complain in the reviews that it smells like...wait for it...CHANEL NO. 5. In a hundred years this will still be sitting on store shelves while whatever syrup you're pumping will be long gone and forgotten. And if I may close with some parental advice that some of you were evidently never given: Life isn't a competition to see who can demonstrate the greatest depths of laziness and stupidity in as few characters as possible. The most basic way to present yourself in writing as a literate, employable person who wants to amount to more in life than an embarrassing tax burden is to use actual sentences with normal capitalization and punctuation. Parading abject laziness and performative stupidity as a badge of honor is not an accomplishment, nor is having a glaring lack of pride and self-awareness. Be better.

Every time I try to write a review for this classic I end up feeling like I'm not doing her justice. So I won't be doing that today. What I will be doing is addressing a common critique of this and other aldehydes. This does not "smell like a nursing home." It doesn't smell like moth balls. It doesn't smell like anything other than a perfect blend of aldehydes, florals, and oakmoss. It is so fucking ugly to use elderly women as your frame of reference for what is "bad taste." Those of us who will grow to be old are the lucky ones. Many will not get to treasure that gift. The reason you associate chanel no 5 with elderly women is because it is a fragrance that has been around for a very long time and therefore it was around when your grandmother and her friends were young and buying trendy fragrances. Your Kayali in 20-40 years time will become the new grandmother smell, and what was old will become new again as young people look to break away from established popular trends. The people who are hopped up on gourmands now and putting down the classics do not seem to realize this. Chanel no 5 cannot be judged on a piece of paper in sephora. You actually have to wear her to unlock her layers and understand what she's going for. She's different on every single person. She's a work of fucking art. She certainly doesn't smell of sterile neglect like a nursing home. Stop saying this lame, trite shit.

Funny story. I went to Belk to test Coco Mademoiselle, but her big sister (No. 5) was sitting right next to her. So I tried them both, and found Mademoiselle to be an ok scent since I wanted some Chanel in my life. I purchased the big bottle like a boss! I got home, and was laying on the couch watching tv, when this wonderful fragrance kept floating up to my nose. I thought to myself "is this No. 5 that is blowing my mind", "is this the granny smell that everyone says about this one"? I kept sniffing my wrist, closing my eyes, and throwing my head back at the whiff of it. I jumped back in my jeep, and flew back to Belk. The sales associate said "you're back, you didn't like it"? I said yes ma'am I did, but I am back to buy Chanel No. 5 please. She smiled and said, "I love it". They can say what they want about this scent, but it is like wearing several fragrances at once. It kept on changing, and I was there for the ride. It is truly one of those scents that shouldn't be dismissed too quickly. You may be surprised.

I own L'eau and intend to buy Eau Premiere this fall. It's already hot in Southern California so I am now wearing Chance Eau Tendre eau de toilette and it suits where my nose is at. All winter I was wearing Guerlain L'Instant Magic but most things seem too strong for me right now. I am just in a particular phase. At any rate, there is this very elegant elderly woman I have seen at Mass recently, very well groomed, and she smelled so wonderful today that I asked her what she was wearing. It was Chanel No. 5! I don't know why I didn't recognize it, as I was sniffing it only recently, but at any rate...what a gorgeous perfume. A bit strong for Mass, but you know what, I would rather smell No. 5 in the air than most modern perfumes. If not for the patchouli, I would skip Eau Premiere and go straight to the source. Alas, patchouli and I seldom get on. I think I will get a sample to test, though. It's so outrageously lovely. If it works, I will be buying a bottle later this year instead of the Eau Premiere.

The amount of people that are absolutely clueless on what fragrance really is about is baffling lol. It really is funny reading these reviews of people who don't even understand the basics of animalic elements or even something as simple as jasmine and aldehydes. Althair by PdM, an absolutely abysmal, sweet and sickening vanilla fragrance with less complexity than it's designer counterparts, will be praised as if it was some groundbreaking gourmand that nobody has ever smelled before, on here lol. The "niche" industry really does have a cash cow on their hands. All they have to do is make a mediocre amber, pump it with tonka and vanilla sweetness and put it into a fancy bottle, the right people will find it LMAO. Anyway...Chanel No 5, legendary. 10/10 masterpiece. I wear this as a man and i feel like a million bucks whenever i do. Try to broaden your horizon guys. You can't be a grown ass man, close to your 30s or even past and run around smelling like strawberry shortcake.

I made @ Lady Elma so fuckin mad with my review she sloppily wrote some cringe, hacky garbage about it coming from Chanel's grandmother pissing in a bottle, deleted that because she knew it was embarrassing, and then wrote a second, still clearly defensive review addressing mine lol. If you could point to where in my review I said you had to like Chanel no 5, that would be much appreciated. All I said was that it's a complicated fragrance that requires your skin chemistry to really understand (hence the line about paper in Sephora) and that comparing it to elderly women as an insult is in poor taste at best and hateful at worse. Never said you had to like it! Never said anyone had to like it! Never insulted gourmands, just used them as a frame of reference when talking about trends! My bugbear was specifically with the fact that people compare it to elderly women as an insult, which I thought I made clear was because of ageism and misogyny.

Do some reviewers even realize how insensitive they can be to other users who like a particular scent that they don't? Are they really that obtuse and unaware? Saying this fragrance can't be appreciated by someone other than an 80 year old, even though the reviewer may couch that they mean for themselves personally, is stunningly insulting. I happen to love this fragrance, and have ever since I was 5 when my father gave my mother a bottle for her birthday. Though that was decades ago, and way before I ever knew about status symbols, which is another charge often levied against lovers of this fragrance as if that is the only thing that drives their purchase, I still love the fragrance. So do my daughters, one of whom happens to be a teen. So all I have to say is if this is how an 80 y/o lady smells, then there are a lot of classy old ladies out there. When I reach that age, I will be proud to be one of them too.

It has been my favourite childhood perfume. It's clean, soft, womanly, elegant, timeless and sophisticated. Sadly it has been tarnished for me by all the unpleasant women in my life, who also happen to wear No5 and nothing but No5. All of them mean, image-driven, hyper-opinionated nasty old ladies. All of them people, who gossip behind your back, judge you by your life choices and belittle you whenever possible. This is a shame as it's actually quite of a lovely scent. And I'm trying to smell and wear it here and there, so that I can lose its negative connection and form a new positive one. It's interesting how quickly something so positive can become negative, simply because of negative association. My aim is to like it again for what it simply is: A beautiful, timeless masterpiece of a perfume. Let's see if that is possible or if my memory will keep playing tricks on me.

This is the ultimate in sophisticated, sensual women. This IS the woman in the little black dress. The original in the Little Black Dress category of feminine confidence. Among the ranks in this category are such gems as Carolina Herrera's Very Good Girl, Calvin Klein's Deep Euphoria, Christian Dior's Poison, and Jean Paul Gaultier's La Belle. This is a fresh-from-the-shower, clean scent. There is no denying that. If you're patient with her, she'll tell you more about herself. The middle notes all have something to say, if you listen. The sandalwood and vetiver linger long after the cocktail party is over, and you're saying goodnight at her doorstep. Every note complements the other. The perfume has harmony and requires exercising restraint. A little goes a long way, which is what you want out of a quality perfume. No need to waste money over spraying here.

I'm 19 years old, and i really don't understand why does everybody talk shit of N°5, i remember that i watched a video of chanel "for the first time" talking about N°5's history back when i was 14, and ever since, I've been in love with this fragrance, it is vintage, obviously, but remind me of sun shine, fresh chanel wrapping, cold air in some morning, i really enjoy this perfume, and everytime i remember i own a bottle of it, i just feel very happy! this perfume is one of my all-time favorites, i even have a necklace with a N°5 charm on it! i just think anyone had to try it first and discover for yourself, because i did it and i like it till today, nowadays people are MASSIVELY influenced by everyone else and simply doesn't allow themselves to try just because someone said smells like "old gramma"

God. This is my signature scent. I’m 26 years old and it’s like breathing fresh air when I put this on. Soapy, lemony and clean in the beginning, and then it settles into this warm jungle cat. Woodsy, carnal and almost pheromone like. If Michelle Pfeiffers Catwoman has a scent; it was this. It has a dampness in the dry down, like beaded sweat. I’m thinking that’s the oak moss and patchouli. God I love this fragrance. Unlike anything I’ve smelled before. Not too powdery, not too sweet, not to bold, not to deep, not to clean, not too dirty. Just right in all the good places. Putting this on doesn’t smell like putting on perfume, it smells like I’m spraying my pheromones on. When I first smelled it, it was like I was remembering an old friend from a past life. Like it’s always been there. ❤️

I see perfumes being described as warm, along with "warm" being an accord of its own. But what about cold? This perfume is cold. There's virtually no warmth to be detected in Ms. Number 5. It conjures the imagery of spring blooms being engulfed in snow, but somehow they aren't withered or dying. Vibrantly hued and fragrant, just trapped under ice. The aldehyde notes makes me think of showering with Imperial Leather soap however. It is not a crowd pleaser. As the world we know remain hypnotized under the spell of the great beast known as sugary gourmands, people forget that perfumes weren't always meant to make you smell like milkshake, cakes or the colour pink. Number 5 wears red lipstick, powders her face and smacks you with her hand fan for slouching at the dinner table.

Chanel No. 5 is pure magic in a bottle. I’ve loved many fragrances over the years, but nothing compares to her. Don’t just spray it on your skin, mist it through your hair too. The warmth of your skin brings it to life, while your hair carries the scent in the most beautiful, delicate way all day long. And somehow, the best part comes later. There is nothing quite like catching a hint of Chanel No. 5 on your clothes the next morning. It’s almost unbelievable that a fragrance can smell even better the next day, soft, elegant, and impossibly luxurious. Every scarf, sweater, or jacket becomes a beautiful reminder of the day before. Timeless, sophisticated, and unforgettable. Chanel No. 5 isn’t just a perfume; it’s THE PERFUME. My absolute favourite.

Chanel No. 5 is the perfume I always return to. It’s like a best friend, always there, waiting patiently. Honest and bold at first, but soft and warm the longer you stay around. I feel hugged and completely at ease when I wear it. No matter how many other perfumes I try, I always come back to this one. When I get bored with everything else, a single spray of Chanel No. 5 brings me back to center. It’s clean, elegant, and timeless. This perfume is considered a masterpiece for a reason, its versatility. Like a chameleon, it wears differently on everyone. On me, I notice soft woods, subtle fruits, and delicate florals. To those who only smell the infamous "pee" note: just move on. Perfume is chemistry, and not everything works for everyone.

It's an aquired taste. I too, at first, found myself repulsed by the old hag smell it emitted. I did let it sit, and over time it became a plain flower scent on me. So, I let the mini i had sit in my display for a bit, and used it with layering to make my other perfumes smell more aged. But as of late i just had to gave it another try, and i became mesmerized. It smelled of aged wild flowers and honey. Chic, classy and just a little bit excentric. I finally understand the love for Chanel No'5. And she now is among my most priced perfumes. I have a full bottle now. I however, have not yet decided if its a signature or a mood scent for me. I suppose time will tell. Anyways, j'adore!

Classy and timeless but rather heady and can trigger a migraine if over sprayed. Starts off sharp and slightly like toilet cleaner 😅 settles into a warm, heady, very powdery, clean, white floral scent. Not for the faint of heart. Can be construed as an "old lady scent". I happen to enjoy these types of scents these days. But I have to say mademoiselle is much more favourable than 5 imo. I remember smelling No 5 when I was around 12 years old and absolutely hated it. I'm now 35 and although I wouldn't use it everyday, I have come to respect and enjoy it on occasion . Definitely a scent that every woman should try at least once but it is an acquired taste in these times.