With a name like Iris Silver Mist, one builds up such romantic notions in the imagination, a spritz ought to conjure up Galadriel from behind a mallorn tree, or at least, irises silvered with an early spring frost, something tranquil as Berthe Morisot's Reading:

Certainly others have discovered great things in Iris Silver Mist, but I smell a bunch of carrots, fresh earth still clinging to them. There's a little iris, but it is quite overwhelmed by the vegetable aroma. A short review, it just doesn't work for me, not even intellectually.
Labels: perfume reviews, serge lutens
Post a comment (NO SPAM)
Links to this post:
Create a Link