After the first, sharp whiff of mandarin and citron (a relative of lemon), L’Eau Ambrée feels like an olfactory version of the emperor’s new clothes: have you really just sprayed this on?
The scent is so faint at times it seems to have seeped through a wormhole from a parallel universe where Miuccia Prada lords over swarms of chignoned size-zeros with triple-digit IQs in the galaxy of the Dour Fashion Dowagers.
But then a whiff of warm wood or creamy gardenia catches you unawares, and you do a double-take to see who’s walked by. It’s you, wrapped in a suave smell tinged with herbal bitterness and moss… L’Eau Ambrée’s namesake amber has shed every particle of the original Eau de Parfum’s back-from-Marrakech headiness: it is, rather, a delicate rendition of the earthy/powdery/saline smell of natural ambergris.
If Patrick Süsskind’s Jean-Baptiste Grenouille – the man born without a personal odour – had to mix himself a scent to blend into a crowd of smart, fashion-conscious power players, he’d probably come up with Daniela Andrier's L’Eau Ambrée. It’s the ultimate stealth scent: the kind even you might forget you’re wearing. As though you exuded it naturally. Oddly compelling. But it begs to be tried on its own – spray any area of skin with another scent and as soon as it perceives an alien molecule, it’ll depart in a huff. It'll be your fault.
For a more detailed analysis, click here to read 1000fragrances.
Image: Prada Ad and Bus Stop Reflection, from JohnnyB4's Flickr photostream.