Dense with rich, perfumed dimensionality.
Subsumed; proffering sun-dipped, velveted flowers, spices, balsams, and a filthily indecorous lick of costus, Fille D’Eve, in vintage extract, comes as something of a shock in the usual held back politeness of Nina Ricci.
Costus, an animalic-smelling note of plant origin, is often compared to the smell of unwashed hair ( a smell I can’t endure personally but can understand the compassionate human magnetism of), but as a perfume ingredient it is a note I have loved very much when used in the warm, subliminal undertones of such sensual scents as pre-reformulation Kouros, Cabochard, Parfum D’Hermes, and Vol De Nuit.
Without this anchoring, lustful, invisible lower layer the perfumes seem to fall apart at the seams when you smell the versions that have been ‘cleaned up’: as though the ingredient, when utilized carefully, is the ingredient that is holding the scent together.
Here, in Fille d’Eve, it is used in really quite shocking amounts. An absolute overdosage from deep within the scent that just gradually creeps up on you; undercutting, taking the perfume from behind.
On application to the skin, a plethora of other perfumes arise up to me. Femme; Mitsouko, Mystere for a certain dank forestedness, even Chamade for a moment, for its classical, beating heart. We are most definitely in the realm, here of the Classical Perfume.
Fille d’Eve surpasses all of them in carnality, though. Once she blooms, and oh how she blooms, this product of ‘original sin’ – the act in her very DNA, we see that this perfume is unabashedly erotic, while somehow maintaining, just, the usual Ricci decorum. The perfumer (Richard Hy, author of such beautiful classics as Ivoire, Calandre, and Rive Gauche), ingeniously, if quite provocatively, somehow managed to combine, in his gorgeous composition, an exquisitely complex bouquet of notes that while suggestive, and seductive (to say the least), still remain dignified, mysterious, and very beautiful.