This is soapy like an incredibly high-quality bar of French-milled hand soap. The earth in question is a field of thyme with a soapmaker’s cottage in the middle. The yuzu really shines in Oyedo, with the various other citrus notes supporting it and keeping that big yellow hot air balloon tied to earth. Of any other citrus fruit, I’d liken it most to the sparkling golden juicy nature of mandarin oranges and clementines, but a dash more of the tempered sourness of a lemon. It’s a little fizzy, like a bright citrus soda. Instead, there’s a crisp, uplifting brightness to it. It’s more yellow than a lemon, and lacks the sour tang. It’s clean, bright, and elevating, more than any orange, lemon, or lime. If you don’t know what yuzu smells like, imagine the brightest, bubbliest imaginable citrus. Only now does it become apparent that Oyedo is all about yuzu. ![]() Slowly, however, the citrus accord miraculously edges away from that hard-candy-sweet artificial intensity towards something that feels more natural, softer, soapier.īy half an hour in, we’re far closer to that childhood yellow soap box than we are to the childhood tube of multi-colored Pez. There’s always a certain artificial candied over-sweetness lurking in the bottom of the scent. They’re still there, lurking in the very background, and they never entirely go away. Within five to ten minutes on the skin, the intensely orangey-sweet and artificial-hard-candy qualities of Oyedo calm down significantly. When it’s freezing out, on the other hand, the hard-candy sweetness sticks around indefinitely on my skin, making Oyedo a cloying, saccharine number whose citruses never evolve past vague fizzy orange flavor. Jolly and sunny and orange like a lollipop, in my experience this saccharine candy quality is more prominent in cold weather it seems like in hot weather something in the bouquet of sweet aroma molecules never fully gets to develop, skipping right to the yuzu soapiness with less toothache. Sweet and comforting, but also slightly cloying in its plasticky-hard-candy intensity. This isn’t candied orange rind, it’s Pez. The overall shape feels over-sweet in an artificial, small-hard-candies sort of way. There’s an edge to the candy note in Oyedo that almost feels like it might be the indoles of neroli and orange blossom. Indeed, the opening super-sweet orange Pez candy note in the two fragrances is almost identical to me, minus the heavy honeyed beeswax in the latter. At the very least, this is some type of orange hard candy in a shiny opaque casing.) But it feels like an accurate comparison. It smells like Pez - orange Pez specifically - in almost the exact same way as in L’Artisan Parfumeur’s Seville a l’Aube. In the vial and when first splashed on skin, Diptyque’s Oyedo smells intensely sweet like artificial orange candy. ![]() (I waxed poetic on this same literal and figurative soap box in my review of Veronique Gabai’s Eau du Jour, another citrus scent that reminds me of childhood with its bright yellow sparkle.)īut let’s rewind to before that citrus soap nostalgia takes over. ![]() This is that same exact soapy, sunshiney yuzu in a vial. I actually had a dream about the box a few days ago, and took it as a sign to review Oyedo. Looking back, I suspect that soap box shaped my early interest in fragrance. Despite the orange on the side of the box, I recognize that lasting note now as yuzu. ![]() It’s a bright yellow-orange sort of smell, all bubbles and sunshine and laughter. Even decades after holding any soap, the box holds a trace of effervescent citrus. The thing I liked most about the box was the way it smelled.
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