2 a.m. on a sweaty dance floor. A super hot, sexy man makes his way up to you and begins to move with you in rhythm to the music. He looks like Olivier Martinez, and when he leans in towards your ear, he whispers--in his heavily French-accented English--into your ear: "You are so freaking sexy." (Pause--would Olivier Martinez actually say, "freaking?" I digress) "What perfume are you wearing, you unbelievably hot and sexy woman?" Without missing a beat, you breathe, "Jus d'Amour," into his neck. Scenario 1: the music screeches to a halt and he pulls away. "Love Juice? Mademoiselle, what kind of disgusting joke are you making?" Scenario 2: he pulls you closer and pants, "Love juice? Ah, you dirty girl. I love a woman who does not shower after making love to another man."
OK, I'm sorry. Is this a family website? Kids, are you reading this? Sorry, kids. But this is the thing. I'm a writer and I write what I think, and I can't help it if this is where my mind goes when you give me a perfume called Jus d'Amour to review. Love juice?? Love juice!! One quick Google search reassures me that I am not the only one whose mind goes there. Don't click on this link, aforementioned kids. Or do, but make sure your family friendly filter is turned on first.
I think I'm belaboring the point: whatever this fragrance actually smells like, the creator seriously needs to consider changing its name in order for it to be taken seriously by anyone with rudimentary knowledge of the French language (or even the ability to read the menu in a French restaurant--you know, "au jus" and the like).
Because here's the thing: it actually smells quite good! You know that a fragrance has some credibility to pass the discerning noses at LuckyScent.com, one of the sites where it is available for sale online. The notes are perfectly respectable: coco palm, aqualeaf accord, night-blooming jasmine, violet, Tahitian vanilla, sandalwood, and cashmere woods. At first breath, it's dusky, leathery, and even a tad smoky; like a sexy, androgynous biker chick (think Jenny Shimizu or the fictional Lisbeth Salander of Girl With The Dragon Tattoo fame) rushing from the cold night into a warm, dark bar and shrugging off her smoky Balenciaga motorcycle jacket. Underneath the jacket, she's more of a paradox: sweet pikake flowers tattooed over one shoulder and down under the corner of a camisole, its edges of vintage lace tattered and slightly torn, slipping over the musky skin underneath. This fragrance is dark, masculine, gritty, and sweet, and I find that it smells differently on my skin on different days. Sometimes it's all fresh aqualeaf accord; today it's all spice and smoke (my husband says he doesn't like it; "too spicy." It's hard to sell a new fragrance on a longtime partner, though; your scent is your identity, and it seems to me that people who know you want you to keep on smelling like the person that they know--not someone different). It's actually very wearable, reminding me of the now defunct Casmir by Chopard, and I imagine that it's an especially apt background scent for a big personality, taking on its character from the essence of its wearer. It could be even more intriguing on a male, though again I invoke its unisex quality and would love to smell it on an Adam Lambert / Freddy Mercury type.
When you actually smell it, you begin to wonder if the scent's creator, Mercedes Ganon, didn't know full-well what she was doing when she called it "Jus d'Amour." What I at first assumed was the result of linguistic and cultural naivete might in fact be an incredibly shrewd name choice along the lines of the cult (read: terrifying) fragrance Secretions Magnifiques ("Magnificent Secretions") by Etat Libre d'Orange (a fragrance that actually is designed to emulate the smell of one's...love...juices...). Thankfully, there is nothing as overtly carnal about Jus d'Amour; as the Lucky Scent team agrees, it's more of a comfort scent, though I would argue that it can be far edgier than their reviewer suggests depending on the wearer's level of, for lack of a better word, swagger.
I think I am going to wear it today.