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Lost Alice Masque Milano

"Eat me," says carrot cake with orange marmalade.

"Drink me," echoes fragrant herbal tea with rose petals and milk.

"Smell me," says a small vial of Lost Alice Masque Milano, and suddenly, eyes glow with delight and happiness spreads warmly through the chest.

Even before I realized how complicated everything was, I dreamed of finding a perfume or even, who knows, participating in its creation, woven from emotions and tactile sensations. Not from scents, but from wild or quiet joy, from warmth and all those elusive butterflies in the stomach. I wanted the journey to be very short: fragrance is happiness, without the obstacles of press releases, reviews, and pyramids. I'm still dreaming, and Masque Milano, perfumer Mackenzie Riley, and evaluator Ermano Picco have done it. They've created an indescribably beautiful and tranquil perfume.

Lost Alice really lacks diffusion (certainly in our climate). To follow the perfume's development, you literally have to run your nose over your skin or a blotter. But every inhalation is pure childish delight. Lost Alice opens with a radiant, tart aroma of orange marmalade, warm milk (plant-based, for vegans), and crumbs of spicy carrot cake, a nod to the spice-heavy Krishna cuisine. The black pepper blend is quite subtle, but it doesn't burn; it seems to warm from within. The pepper is echoed by rose and a smoky, gray, saddened iris, a slightly animalic note of clary sage, and cooling tannins. All of colonial Britain, once great, in one short and beautiful tale.

Something tells me Lost Alice will sell poorly, and when it disappears, the world will be filled with the wailing of the outcasts.

Lost Alice Masque Milano,

Mackenzie Reilly

Bergamot, ambrette seeds, clary sage, black pepper, carrot seeds, iris concrete, tea, white roses (dyed red), sandalwood, broom, milk accord.

P.S. The moment when the rose meets the bold black pepper reminded me of Nu EDP by Yves Saint Laurant.

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