Already enticed by the name and notes, I literally said a prayer that I would not fall in love with Carnal Flower; after all, having even one love (Lys Mediterranee) in the Editions line is enough to render one penniless. But alas, from the moment I opened my tiny sample vial of Carnal Flower, I have not wanted to be without that scent; I want my air to always be perfumed by that scent. My heart is nearly broken from the beauty of it.
Having grown up in Asia, my memories are laced with tuberose. They were in a garland around my neck on my first birthday, draped on my sister's bridal thrown, and always softly present, perfuming the air from Calcutta to Hanoi, from rapture to heartbreak. When I smell Carnal Flower, while it is clearly tuberose, I do not think of that same flower of my memories; it, though sweet, seemed much greener, the sweetness interrupted by the sappy smells of leaf and stem, stale water and plastic wrapping.
Carnal Flower, strangely, reminds me more of the jasmine sambac-infused syrup that is used to flavor and perfume Thai coconut milk and ice desserts. I can sense the coolness of the ice and the sweetness of the syrup perfumed by the lush yet delicate floral scent that saves the whole composition from becoming too sickly sweet. There is even the hint of coconut milk, lending a creamy delicacy.
Carnal Flower is not quite carnal; the sensuality of the bloom is definitely there, but rather than being carnal, I find that the true miracle of Carnal Flower is that it manages to capture the haunting beauty, the inexorable sadness, to borrow a phrase, of white flowers perfuming the night air. Too often the scent of white florals is heightened, brightened, blended, and bouqueted until we lose the poignancy and all we smell is effervescent sweetness. Sniff at your own risk.
Notes: bergamot, melon, camphor, tuberose, ylang-ylang, jasmine, orange blossom, coconut, white musk
Purchase @ Barney's
