Joy, despite its legendary iconic status as one of the world’s classical grands parfums, is very much an acquired taste.
You can lust over this perfume, with its luscious, almost lascivious, natural rose and jasmine essences, its hints of tuberose, aldehydes and pear, then suddenly find it too much – its tremulous, civeted in your faceness.
And this happened to my mother. A true jasmine lover, in her garden, or on her person, she has worn Joy or Eau De Joy (vintage, sent in the post by me), off and on for years, but then recently found that one day it suddenly repelled her and that she could no longer wear it, and so, instead, she has been sticking to her other trusted jasmine consort, First by Van Cleef & Arpels, surely an orchestral, vivacious grand parfum if ever there was one.
I myself think that Joy is a…
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