La Danza Delle Libellule (‘The Dance Of The Dragonflies’) is a strawberry vanilla whimsy, rich in its base à la Kenzo L’Eléphant: fruity, ambrosial, reminiscent, vaguely of quality, peachy bath bubbles – the kind of luminous, splashabout spheres that ensure you will forget your troubles once your get in, conscious that when you emerge, slippery, from the bath tub, towelling yourself down with your fluffiest, you will slip into those childhood-like, thick cotton jim-jams: sleep, nectarous, sweet-scented, as a baby.
Though the softly sugared, fragola-confectionery zap of the opening accord (apple, cinnamon, bergamot, light florals) might possibly have many reaching frenziedly for their sickbags (this is sweeeeeeeeet), the innocent, ambered funbag of the musk/patchouli/ coconut, and the entangling, intertwining strawberry shoelaces that fail to entirely entrap those winged, zigzagging dragonflies in the top enable a cute, and rather charming, gourmand perfume that to my mind is not really like any other (and which for some crazed moments there I have even considered buying) .
The drydown of the perfume – high quality, and thus expensive – is long-lasting and skin-bedded; more adult, arranged; sexually aware. It’s all a question, really, of your feelings on that opening: those callanetic, strawberry-winged creatures with glittering, fairy-tale eyes, that hover, carefreely, over the perfume’s nose-thumbing overture; dart down occasionally to alight on their sugarcube castles; swooping, suddenly up again, to resume, gleefully, their naïve, syrupy ballet.
The Black Narcissus 