L'Air de Rien

Before I try to describe this thing, I just want to say that this fragrance is...it. Not a signature scent, exactly, because I don't always want others to smell it on me. L'Air de Rien - "The Essence of Nothing" - is the one perfume I would keep if I had to throw out everything else. It does something for me that the others just don't. Experiencing different fragrances had been such a major hobby of mine for years. After I discovered this, I quit exploring for the longest time and now only sample on rare occasions. I'll skip the history with Jane Birkin, but what an enchantress she must have been for this masterpiece to be made for her. As far as the individual notes go, it would be completely and utterly useless to read them if you're trying to imagine what LAdR smells like. This is an extremely well blended piece, and it also isn't one that dramatically changes over wear time. It smells like...many things to different people, depending on who you ask, because the scent has such a personal and intimate nature. The common comparisons are: Powder, pencil shavings, antique store, sex in an attic, worn pants/underwear, dust, saliva, moss, home. All of those comparisons are technically correct, but they don't capture the full experience of wearing LAdR. To me, above all else, this is a HUMAN smell, which is so rare and difficult for any perfume to pull off properly. It isn't a primal/pissy animalic in my opinion, but it also isn't a truly safe "skin scent". It is atmospheric, effortless, and mysterious. Languid and complex. It is soft and doesn't project especially far, but you still feel a little exposed wearing it in public. It is inexplicably addictive. My absolute first impression was caution, because I detected powder and I'm not big on that. But then I kept sniffing and picking up something...else, something spiritual and warm, and then it was like I never hated powder at all. Before I knew it I was fully indoctrinated into its weird little cult that makes you not want to wear anything else. I spray it on myself pretty much every night after I shower, and it's perfect. It doesn't smell the exact same every time, but it's always beautiful. Sometimes, it's the patchouli that most sticks out. Sometimes, it's the oakmoss. Sometimes, breath. Or straight powder. Always, an ethereal warmth, like an amicable ghost that's content to share its home with you. It's called "intimate" for good reason. It really does smell like you're standing very close to someone, or sharing a hug. Some reviews call LAdR very sexual and dirty, but I personally am not getting that. Do I feel sexy when I wear it? Maybe a little, but in a "lounging on the sofa in a T-shirt and undies" way. It's not a wild romp. Wearing this feels calming, easy, great for bed and lazy days. It smells like closeness and sighs and whispered secrets. This is an unsafe blind buy. It is not for everyone. But if it is for you, congratulations, your hunt for other fragrances will stop or significantly slow down. It's difficult for me to imagine anyone just mildly enjoying this perfume. It's either complete envelopment, or rejection. This stuff is soul in a gorgeous little bottle.

After sampling (and loving) a few scents from Perfumer H, I‘ve become increasingly fixated on the talents of Lyn Harris (I’ve also ordered some of the scents she produced for Trudon), but I had yet to try any of the offerings from the house that she previously founded (and then sold), Miller Harris. L’Air de Rien came freighted with praise so lavish that it attained a nearly mythic status in my mind before I was able to smell it, not least because it ranked highly in some lists of fragrances that evoke old books, and I’m eagerly searching for the perfect library/bookstore scent. This wasn’t easy to get, either—I had to prevail upon a stateside relative to procure this vial for me (so many eBay sellers won’t ship to Canada!). All this to say that expectations were high. My first sniff was a mix of thrill and disappointment: it’s a ravishing, beautiful smell, and the press and marketing don’t lie—it really does feel as intimate as a lover’s embrace, with a mix of sensuality and private quietude. It smells like skin and hair (not sweat or body odour, just the natural sweetness of a person), a tiny bit spicy, with an ever-so-slight warm, vanillic mustiness, as of slept-in sheets, a dusty room, or—yes—a stack of old books. Imagine an afternoon tryst in a sun-dappled attic full of chests of leather-bound volumes and antique furniture draped in sheets. The description of "watching dust dance in the light as you lay entwined” is amazingly accurate and feels like a remarkable avhievement: such a subtle and specific thing to evoke. The idea that this was composed for Jane Birkin (in 2006, when she would have been 60) also lends this perfume an aura that’s quite different from the Perfumer H signature, which is decidely British: minimalist, sober, artfully serious. L’Air de Rien is warm and languorous, sexy, chic, and graceful. It smells like what I imagined Musc Ravageur would be like, before I tried it (and didn’t like it). So all that accounts for the thrill. Whats the disappointment, then? The thing is, on the first spritz, I thought, “Oh, I love it, but this isn’t for me.” First off, I feel like it leans a bit more feminine than I want, but more importantly, it immediately made me feel guilty . It’s absurd to say, but it smells so much like the physical presence of a person, and not my own body. It also isn’t the familiar smell of my girlfriend, so it gives me the overwhelming sensation of having been intimate with someone else . It’s as if I expect to be accused: “Where have you been? Who were you with?” I protest: “I was just at the library! I mean, the bookstore!” "A likely story!"

Everyone who loves L'Artisan Parfumeur Skin on Skin needs to become familiar with L'Air de Rien. They remind me of one another but each creates its own unique aura within the universe of fragrances that shine a spotlight on musk. While both Skin on Skin and L'Air de Rien are unquestionably "my skin only better" scents, they're different enough to justify having both. To me and on my skin there's not a hint of raunchiness in either one, no "morning after" sheets, nothing suggesting a shower is needed or overdue. I think of both as scents of warmth, closeness and comfort. SoS is warm and quiet, a "come nuzzle my neck" silky musk. L'Air de Rien's musk has a bright, sweet aspect that seems fluffy rather than silky -- like the difference between the soft, warm fragrance of the fur of a short-haired cat and that of a long-haired one. Skin on Skin is kitten's fur while L'Air de Rien is a mama cat whose favorite spot to curl up in is a warm lap. L'Air de Rien's oakmoss is warmed, sweetened and brightened by both amber & vanilla with patchouli providing depth beneath the musk. I find it has a wider sillage than Skin on Skin and lasts far longer. Also, I get no vanilla in Skin on Skin so that might in fact be the major difference between the blends with vanilla being the note in L'Air de Rien that creates the unmistakable and oh, so pleasant scent of old books. I've had a 5ml sample of L'Air de Rien for several years but each time I wore it I somehow persuaded myself I didn't need it. My 100ml bottle arrived a few hours ago and I realize I've been wrong... I do need L'Air de Rien and I've needed it all along. (I understand 2 versions have been produced so, for reference: the box and bottle I have both differ from the photo at the top. My bottle matches the one showing today on the MH website. The front of the box is dark green with black print/graphics & has no flower, just an angel on the right, curving slightly around the corner. Clearance priced from Fragnet.) Edit 2/8/20: My bottle arrived yesterday and I wore it outside the house today for the first time. First stop the UPS store -- complimented by the guy behind the counter AND the woman behind me in line. So, definitely no dirty laundry and no BO, just "You really smell great!" Score!

L’Air de Rien sent me into raptures. This doesn’t just smell like a bookstore. It’s the scented aura of much older books inside an artisan library... the pages are rough, you can see and feel the fibers meshing together if you look close enough. These pages have a slight wax-like texture and emanate the scent of vanillin. There’s sunlight seeping in through the windows, the dust pirouettes within the beams of light after flicking the aged, vanillic pages. L’Air de Rien smells lived in, like an unmade bed and clothes that have been worn. A hoodie your pet has nuzzled itself into. Your child’s favourite blanket. A long hug that entices the purest soul connection, one where you inhale the scent of that person you love and it is just heavenly to you. Home. It is a multi-faceted experience and on my skin unravels such beautiful complexities in its evolution. In the crooks of my elbows the scent of neroli lingers the longest, on my wrists the powdery and dusty nuances are the most pronounced, as the fragrance delves into the skin and warms gently, I sense the dry vanilla and animalic musky tones. Moss and patchouli meandering throughout, complimenting the dusty feel and adding a quiet bohemian “forest green” earthiness. The musk hums above the skin in a silken haze. This scent is so intimate but very much there, alluring and spellbinding without having to try at all. Heartwrenchingly contemplative. I didn’t think I’d ever find a perfume like this. This is the first perfume I’ve ever properly applied on my son. He is two years old and bears witness to my utter enthralment by perfumes every day and I pray that he will follow suit. He sees me smell everything, he watches me as I organise my bottle shelves and looks on intently when I apply my perfumes. He wanted to try this beauty on the inside of his arm after he saw me spray. He had never asked me to do this until L’Air de Rien. All day he was putting his nose to his arm, smelling and smiling to himself, completely enchanted—he never knew I was watching him. L’Air de Rien now has such a significant, warm and tender memory woven into it for me, too. Forever etched into my heart.

I'd been curious about this fragrance for quite some time, particularly given its history, concept, and reception. Well, I finally managed to acquire a bottle, and I am impressed and enchanted! Impressed, since out of all the fragrances I've tested (which number far more than they probably should, ha), I can't say I've ever encountered another like this. And enchanted, precisely because the singularity of L'Air de Rien lies in its paradoxical marriage of the strange and the familiar. If I try hard enough, I can distinguish mossy, musky, vanillic, and lactonic notes, but no clear separation between them, or progression from one to another. For me, this isn't a bad thing: the blend is superb and lasting. Most striking, however, is the way L'Air de Rien merges with that not unpleasant muskiness that sometimes emanates from clean skin and hair which, over the course of a day, have accrued a kind of residue of air, light, heat, and evaporated transpiration. It's as though the fragrance—which to me smells like a comforting yet sultry combination of old books, dusty spices, worn wool, and dried saliva—refines the body's natural odor, neither amplifying it to artistic effect, nor ineptly attempting to mask it. It feels like hugging an old friend, or perhaps like meeting somebody who is sure to become one. It's truly marvelous. I think L'Air de Rien might suit the cooler months slightly better, given the gentle warmth, fuzzy rounded fullness, and slight sweetness of its aromatic presence. It projects well but never becomes overwhelming, and lasts an eternity (especially on fabric), becoming a tad more vanillic in the drydown. Anybody of any age or gender could—and should—wear this. In terms of occasion, it feels almost too friendly or intimate to be worn in a formal setting, but depending on the venue and crowd, it might just work. This is the kind of perfume that keeps me excited about the future of fragrance. I’m eager to try more from Miller Harris!

Just received my new flacon today (Oct 2022) from MH New York. I had last owned a flacon circa 2010. Spritzed some of the new jus on. The opening attack is much, much more brilliant, nose-prickling and sparkling with aldehydes than my old jus was! This gives the new jus a kind of super-glam sillage it did not have before. It is immediately clear, though, that this new jus is considerably lighter in body and scent profile than the old jus was. It has a sparkle and "life" on the skin it did not have before, thus it is arguably more glam now and less "funky" and static and dully waxen than it used to be. I like this new sparkling quality, and can get on board with it. The usual suspects make themselves known: a sebaceous, slightly stale note of 1960's men's hair pomade, like Mennen WILDROOT cream or the oldschool "generically masculine" smell of 1960's RIGHT GUARD underarm deodorant, or the sandy 1950's androgyny of Dana AMBUSH; hay-ey like agrestic wistfulness; that curious hint of dirty feet, not unlike the smell of peas cooking; an unmistakeable suspicion of wintergreen (methyl salicylate), which always gives a 1950's-retro feeling when it appears, like Necco wafers or vintage Lepage's children's school paste; a vanilla-amber quality, almost-but-not-quite gourmand-sweet, which seems to refer to unwashed human skin, and yes, possibly after sex. In time, these various, highly distinct notes coalesce into the most exquisite, inviting, unisex skin-scent. This is truly a magical and amazing perfume, unlike anything I have ever smelled... Because who would even THINK to marry these curious notes together in the first place? I can't fault the new jus... Full marks from me, and highly recommended to those who love funky agrestic, nostalgic and musk scents. L'AIR DE RIEN is irresistible, and definitely says: "Hold me now!"

This is a rich and pretty musk on me. For something called l’air de rien it has quite a substantial feel to it. It opens quite innocently with dusty neroli which does carry through the life of the perfume but takes a back seat after a while. It quickly gets dirtied up a bit by the pungent oak moss and patchouli. I’m no lover of clean musks, and LDR is certainly not a clean smelling perfume, I adore the deep musty, ever-so-slightly funky (in the best possible way) muskiness in this. The amber is very, very nice too and gives it some warmth and cosiness. Like many Miller Harris perfumes It has a classic perfume quality whilst also managing to be contemporary, and very wearable. I like to wear it on my torso and underarms to really warm it up so that it mixes with my skin chemistry and becomes kind of me, but more. I find it very sensual in a cosy and intimate way. Although I wear perfume primarily for my own pleasure, if others like it too then that’s peachy - I have had very positive responses to this one from the male of the species ;-) This does seem to be a bit of a polarising fragrance and I think that could be about what your skin does with the oak moss and patchouli in here, there is something about the base which your body chemistry has to like for it to work. I’ve got quite a few of Lyn Harris’s creations from the early 2000’s and I really like the bases she was using at the time, (well, I like everything she was doing really) they just work well for me and I’m so happy about it. I get moderate sillage and great longevity from this, as the hours pass it becomes a little softer and sweeter with warm vanilla coming through the musk more. MH is one of my favourite perfume houses. I love L’air de Rien and it gets top marks from me.

What an understated, sophisticated, simple and, dare I say, sexy perfume, and even mysterious in a way. I also adore the existentialist (at least in my perception) name of it. L'Air de Rien... I think Jane Birkin, with her understated allure, quirky style and natural beauty, is a perfect representation of this perfume. Non-bimboish kind of sexy. I won't say I have never smelled anything like this. In fact, L'Air de Rien reminds me of Eau des Merveilles quite a lot, another masterpiece of modern perfumery, which, however, annoyed me a little bit because of its strong citrus-ness (just a matter of taste). L'Air de Rien and EDM, to my nose, share the same saltiness, and the same "texture", so to speak. But I see that I'm the only one who thinks these are similar :) Thankfully, there's no citruses in L'Air, but it still reminds me of salty skin and seashore. And, yes, old libraries and old world without electronic versions of everything (books, communication, you). It's an old book, a vinyl record playing, and your lover's unwashed shirt on your bare skin (you just don't want to wash it because it smells sooo good)... (Why am I thinking about young Serge Gainsbourg right now?) As to the notes, I think it's amber and musk what I mainly get from it, and vanilla later on. There's no separate note of either patchouli or oak moss to me. I'm a rather typical modern perfumista with quite marked aversion to any distinct dirtiness. My nose detects NONE here. There's is something animalic about this perfume, but more like "clean furry domestic kitten" kind of animalia than anything dirty. A masterpiece and quite a discovery to me! Many thanks to emily7, who kindly shared this fantastic perfume with me.

Ah yes, another review below that mistakes indecision for profundity. We begin with several paragraphs explaining why the reviewer can't possibly review the fragrance, only to end up writing a medium long articøe about it n the end. Apparently not knowing how you feel is now a literary device. The scent itself is described less as a perfume and more as the contents of a forgotten estate sale: grandparents' closets, motel lobbies, hunting trophies, dusty books, loose change, and—because why stop there—the family dog. Oh yes... At some point you stop wondering what the fragrance smells like and start wondering whether the reviewer simply wandered around sniffing random household objects for inspiration. Then comes the predictable pivot into perfumery jargon. After insisting technical descriptions would be pointless, we're suddenly treated to neroli, costus, tree moss, amber, and enough terminology to remind everyone that the author owns reference books. The contradiction bites its own tale in the end. And finally, the grand conclusion: it's a masterpiece that everyone should experience... despite the reviewer openly admitting they don't even know whether they like it. Nothing says "must-try classic" quite like a recommendation built on chronic uncertainty. The review ultimately reads less like an evaluation of a fragrance and more like an audition for the role of "the most contemplative person on the perfume forum." Sometimes a perfume just smells good or bad. It doesn't always have to trigger an existential journey through your grandparents' attic. If you know, you know....

It smells like home -- after you've been away for awhile. You know when you walk in the door and inhale deeply and think "ahhh home! I love the smell of being home!" Well this perfume somehow elicits that effect, when your anosmia to your "home smell" has dissipated due to lack of exposure. It is comforting. Even before I tried it, I had what other reviewers had written impressed into my brain, and I can still agree with the other descriptions below. I will stand by the fact it would work amazing on a cozy, rainy day just reading or chilling at home. I get the old book references, the dust, old shelves, and the smell of a person's (or bed sheets) natural odor. But to me, all I can think of is, it smells like home. In saying this, I kind of find it amusing in contrast to her description in Elena's article "Another Skin Above." Stating L'air de Rien's "Heavy sexual gravity" and that it's the "polar opposite of clean white musks, like Narciso Rodriguez For Her and Sarah Jessica Parker Lovely." Listed among the your-skin-but-better scents. Maybe I'm not as expert as these Fragrantica editors, but if I were trying to come across as sexy, I would likely put on a NR fragrance rather than this one. L'air de Rien seems more of a personal fragrance for comfort, than exuding sexiness to me. But hey, fragrance is completely subjective. Maybe if it smells nostalgic to me, but like bedsheets to someone else, it can work in different situations! Who am I to decide?

From the box: "Created by Lyn Harris for the iconic Jane Birkin, this fragrance evokes the nostalgia of dusty libraries and old books." ....and that it does. What an absolute stunner of a fragrance. Of course, it is another fragrance that seems quite polarizing from the reviews and could be a serious challenge to the mainstream enthusiast—it may be perhaps too cerebral and conceptual for some, but this one inspires awe in me, much like my first sprays of Mouchoir de Monsieur or Eau d'Hermes. Spectacular. The opening is simultaneously vanillic and animalic, with a neroli burst that subsides into downy mossiness and a sebaceous, unctuous musk, sensuous yet wistful at the same time. How is that possible? The vanillic element really reminds me of the decaying lignin of old books that have gone from tawny to amber. I am also reminded of old wooden furniture, the passage of time, the stasis of antique spaces, lovelorn mustiness. I detect an accord that reminds me of "Amber Sweetie", a distillation of labdanum that is similar to dynascone that I have in my perfumer's organ. Even though it is not listed in the notes breakdown, I also discern a touch of costus. As it dries down, the musk prevails, spellbinding to the most primitive receptors of my nose. My skin but only betters as hours pass...I haven't been this enthralled with a fragrance in some time. 10/10

This is a perfume for those who are fundamentally committed to the naughty and perverse. I really don't think that anyone who isn't will feel comfortable wearing this out of the house. L'Air de Rien opens as a simple, deconstructed riff on the fur-coat enhancing skank monsters of the 1940s -- wet neroli, sharp oakmoss, and an odd, breathy, humid musk at the heart. Then the heart notes reveal a salty, raunchy vanilla-inflected amber that smells like the platonic ideal of dirty panties. At this point, the neroli up top can give a sort of public bathroom or port-a-potty effect, which is either unpleasant or hilarious depending on whether or not this is your sort of joke. I don't get much musk from this. I think that the overall effect achieves what people expect from the idea of "musk," i.e., shameless body smells, but there is none of musk's smoothness or unctuousness. It's drier than that, salty, and indeed very much like stale sex effluves. I think it's great, but I don't wear it very often. I've had a few people love it on me, and a few people who were a little freaked out. It seems to demand the sort of person who would wear this everywhere -- to work, on the subway, to their parents' house -- without any self-consciousness. Not me, unfortunately, minus a few days a year when it's just right.

L'Air de Rien is one that really surprised me positively! I love musky perfumes - as much as I love ambers. In my quest for the perfect musk scent, I've been mostly disappointed. But this Miller Harris gem is one that saved my soul. Along with Bortnikoff's Musk Cologne (that uses natural musk), L'Air de Rien is on my #1 spot in this category. War and Peace by Areej le Doré (also natural) has a raw leather approach along with the musk, a very animalic approach. The Narciso For Him line is good, but is all about white musk. Musc Tonkin (Parfum D'Empire), Musc Nomade and Mazzolari Lui have basically the same musk accord found in L'Air de Rien. But the blend is what defines what the musky aspect is gonna be. Musk Tonkin is growing on my taste (because of its flowery aspect), Lui is still under test and Musc Nomade became something cloying and annoying as I wore it. I think this musk accord used on the three aforementioned is based on ambrette, which is not easy to appreciate, at least for me. But the amber and the moss present in L'Air de Rien found the perfect match for this specific musk accord. Beautiful composition: ethereal, silky skin feel - that intimate skin scent - mildly sweet. Just so very beautiful. 10/10 Edit.: my number 1 perfume of all time (for now). Absolute LOVE for L'Air de Rien.

**** one of a kind. smells like an old apartment from the 60s or 70s, a nostalgic place that hasn't seen much daylight or fresh air and it's still filled with the memory of its past and its former occupants. thus it smells both like a place and like unclean but sexy human skin. this is achieved by a faded dirty vanilla accord with old musky facets and the softest touch of musty patchouly and oakmoss. it's genius in its achievement and jane birkin must've had one hell of a smart nose to choose this above of all the other offerings of her time. latest cleanliness trend of the 21st century is showering 3 times a day and making sure every object in the human environment is properly sterilized, but in the past the smell of a human body was still treasured and enjoyed with all its flaws and wonder. air de rien is a tribute to this, a pheromone kind of smell, it isn't fresh and clean and detergent-like but an authentic, natural aroma of the human. Like people and their homes and their sheets used to smell - before the scented room sprays and the cleanliness obsession that stripped people of their most basic biological identity - their smell.

Diiiiiiiiid not like this. And then I did, and then I loved it and still do. Had to keep an open mind about it in the beginning because I was first hit with what I imagined the Hare Krishna guys that handed out flyers at my university smelled like. But that quickly dissipated as the fragrance warmed and meshed with my skin. It's a skin scent, but not a molecule skin scent that smells like clean skin or the lingerings of a perfume that has been warmed by shower water (my fave kinds btw. Like those lipsticks that swipe on looking already blotted. The best.). This is like, yeah, skin skin. Imagery: If you were in the forest and you hugged your partner and nuzzled their neck they might smell like this. I absolutely love it. Can't afford it though RIP I make do with the 3 testers I bought of it. If I give in to the temptation of going abstract with it, then as others have mentioned there is something very solar about this, but not in a yellow way. It's like cold winter sun shining through trees or maybe a pocket of sunshine in a library or something edit: this also lasts very well, maybe cause it's mainly base notes

"Rien" means "nothing", but maybe it's everything. L'Air de Rien is not a perfume, it's a sensation. You feel to be understood, approved, loved. It's a perfume of yesterday, not of tomorrow. L' Air de Rien has a nostalgic, but protective aura, has the smell of human warmth, the smell of your baby's skin, of toys and favorite books, of lived in, of closeness and intimacy. It is a masterpiece created in 2006 by Lyn Harris for Jane Birkin. For the young singer, actress and above all a transgressive and fascinating muse for many. She did not like perfumes but was curious to find a fragrance reminding her of everything she loved. L'Air de Rien has an unusual composition, it's built upside down. The fresh top notes are missing, it starts from the end and seem to be enveloped into soft mistery dust. It's enigmatic and sensual embraced by the warmth of amber and musk, sweetened by vanilla and neroli on the base of earthy, woody patchouli and oakmoss. It is like an invisible veil of second skin, different from person to person who wears it.

It took me many years to dare spraying this one on my skin, the smell from the bottle is so misleading, i was too quick to dismiss it every single time! even after reading so many reviews about this perfume, i couldn't risk trying it on my skin, just because it smells from a bottle rather strange. How wrong was i! i tried it finally on my skin recently, oh mine, it is very soon i start to appreciate it and love it, the lingering smell. To me it is a "fragrant sweat" if i can put it in a way to describe the actual smell. In Chinese, we actually have such a word to describe lady's natural "aroma from bodily chemical mixtures", a "fragrant sweat", this is the closet to me to explain the abstract concept. It also ensembles a Japanese plum sake, the slight salty and sweet mixed perfectly and in a delicious yet not gourmand kind of way. I have rushed to shop to buy a 100ml. I regret discovering this so late. My other big love is Noix de Tuberose, in case anyone wonder my usual palette.

I just received my sample of the lovely L'air de Rein. Given that the majority of reviews seem to be negative, I was suspect when after I applied it, a wonderful warm scent kept wafting across my nose. Could it really be L'air de Rein? No smelly, funky, dirty, animal odor? On me it wears like creamy warm amber vanilla with a hint of floral sweetness. It's wonderfully calming and puts me in a pensive sexy mood. I keep waiting for the horror and disgust of this fragrance to upset my olfactory senses but the longer I wear it the more fascinating it becomes and me ever more enraptured. This is why I love the art fragrance so much!! What a fun and personal journey it is for each of us. I adore L'air de Rein. Can't wait to get a bottle. (By the way this fragrance reminds me a bit of Le Feu D'Issey in the way it evokes such polarizing reactions.). (Anyone know what note makes this so stinky on some?)

This smells so peaceful. I was reading a book, wearing this (I had a sample sentry to me by a very kind fragrantica member), smiling to myself thinking it does indeed smells of libraries and old books. And then... Then all of a sudden an image of last year's holiday in Croatia. Every night we would go for a walk by the sea, following a windy street leading to a small old town with beautiful old buildings and incredible yachts. And every night on that walk we passed some gardens and the most beautiful smell would hang in the warm night air. Neroli. I no longer smell books. I smell warm summer night by the sea, amber lights and moonlight upon the old churches, live jazz music on the shore. Time for a full bottle. UPDATE. I now own full bottle of this glorious scent of solitude. Tonight it smells like an old but clean library room, peaceful in twilight, hiding so many stories, smelling of books.

omg, finally! I have been searching for this for sooo long, and a friend sent me a vintage sample that I (almost) forgot about. Today was still unseasonably warm, in this apparently never-ending and brutal summer, but L'Air du Rien--a warm, fuzzy myrrh bomb that doesn't overindulge in sweetness or anything else distracting in the base--is working its magic now, a taste of dry leaves and fireplaces and the scent of a sweater with last year's amber still clinging to it, with a dry tobacco-leaf accord, and the scent of vanillan (the delicious aromachemical that forms as books break down) that speaks of cozy fall activities, even if I'm still sitting in front of my rotating fan instead of a crackling fire. I hope I'll someday be fortunate enough to get my hands on a bottle--for now, however, a small sample was just enough to cure the summertime blues.