Purple Love Smoke

Violet Smoke, a photo by crankykoopa on Flickr.

Purple Love Smoke is the most accurate way to describe this perfume. And only goes to show you what a powerful outcome and wonderful possibilities there are when a scent artist has a complete freedom with their art form.

Like all of Liz Zorn's natural perfumes, Purple Love Smoke has an intense yet subtle complexity. Even when you smell an ingredient, you can never be quite sure if it's there or not. There are a lot of different facets and aspects to this perfume and it evolves on the skin and keeps changing. Even at the point when there is non to be detected by the nose, you might still feel its presence.

It opens with an intoxicating candied sweetness that would have been overpowering and sickening if it wasn't for the fact that it is accompanied by an entourage of its exact opposite: smoke and mystery. What would have been a fruity bubblegum of the worst kind in the hands of a celebrity-controlled laboratory is instead intriguing and fabulous.

The initial notes are mysterious yet familiar; floral yet warm and spicy. It has a fruity sweetness not of one particular note, but bring to mind the sweetness of pink magnolias on a warm April day, drizzled with sunny maple syrup and a dash of rum. It's like the girly version of a single malt scotch: one that is redolent of red fruit, berries and perhaps some other unfamiliar exotic fruits mingling with the peaty, smoke-like qualities of highland scotch. It's also strangely reminiscent of a bakery, but not of a particular pastry, though rye and caraway come to mind; and also reminds me of antique teak furniture and hand-printed ethnic textiles in a dark room. What I'm smelling in the dryout is mostly immortelle absolute, with its maple and curry-like qualities, and more-than-decent dose of real vanilla absolute.

A couple of years ago, I ordered a few samples from Liz Zorn, and Purple Love Smoke was one of them. Now that I've finally spent some time breathing it from my skin and have wrapped my head around it - I see that it's been discontinued, which is a shame. But who am I to speak? I'm just about to discontinue more than half of my collection and I should know more than anyone else that the reason for discontinuing a scent are as complex as the relationship between an artist, his pieces and the audience. Not to mention the scarcity of some raw materials, and the gradually diminishing space as time goes by. In short: it's inevitable. I'll savour the little sample I got and enjoy its fleeting beauty as long as I possibly can.