In my ongoing saga of “Hmmm, perhaps I need to rethink that opinion”, along comes Solange Cosmic, a luxury fragrance created by perfumer Lyn Harris (of Miller-Harris fame) for London/New York jeweler Solange Azagury-Partridge.
Cosmic is the second fragrance crafted for the Solange brand, following Stoned, a sweet, powdery perfume that smells like money in a pair of high-heeled strappy sandals and allegedly containing ground diamond dust for that extra special jolt of exclusivity. I ragged on Stoned initially, yet felt compelled to change my tune once I introduced it to a powder-loving friend who went nuts for its smooth, soft and supremely feminine wiles.
“Okay,” I thought at the time, “I’m obviously not the Solange Stoned target market, so I need to keep in mind that just because I wouldn’t wear it myself doesn’t mean its a bad perfume.” That particular experience with Stoned helped me gain a better perspective on uber-feminine fragrances as a whole.
And then there was Cosmic.
Cosmic’s claim to specialized fame is ground meteorite dust in the bottle instead of the diamond dust found in Stoned (Solange is a jeweler, after all, so some kind of rock or stone ground-up and included in the mix makes sense in an abstract kind of way), and if that’s your kind of thing, then woo-hoo! You’ve finally found your olfactory match made in heaven (literally — or in Lyn Harris’ basement, whatever the case may be), but ground meteorite dust is the least of what’s interesting about Cosmic.
The box itself is a pleasant enough gleaming silver on the outside with its angular star logo and a clear stone serving as the “o” in “cosmic”, but as you’ll be able to see from the following photo, there was a complete lack of attention paid to the interior, with no stabilizing or support material included for the bottle during transit, with the unfortunate result of the bottle banging around inside the box during shipment.
Once you’re able to wrench your eyes off the bottle itself (which is beautiful, I know!), note the dents and scrapes in the box’s interior:
Another unfortunate side effect of the lack of stabilizing material — I was standing up when I opened the box, and the heavy bottle tipped right over the shallow box-edge to plunge to the floor, banging and clattering across the stone tiles.
I think my scream was even in slow motion.
Thank god the bottle wasn’t made of fragile glass, or I’d of been cleaning that up for a week, but the bottle for Cosmic is tough — it merely dented and scratched where other lesser models would have shattered upon impact. The heavy durability of the thing makes it a bit more awkward to grasp and hold, but you certainly don’t need to worry about breaking it . . . ever. I have half a suspicion it was co-designed by NASA to survive atmospheric reentry.
The “cosmic” theme is overtly represented in jutting, repeating star shapes that comprise the shell of the bottle, with the neck and cap pushing upward (or outward, depending upon the angle of the bottle) to resemble a single shooting star. The bottle is silver, reflective, gleaming and cool as deep space — it’s also severely pointy and sharp, which could make for a very effective self-defense weapon should you be caught in the middle of a home-invasion with only your perfume collection to save you. #1) Spray the burglar in the eyes with the perfume; #2) Bean him over the head with the bottle; #3) Call the police.
As for the fragrance itself, I’ve gone round and round in my head about how to possibly describe it. Here’s a brief snatch of an SMS conversation I had with Marin just last night:
ME: I’ve been wearing Solange Cosmic for the last week. It’s fascinating and weird and I’m not sure I can adequately describe it. I can post photos, but the accompanying text will be composed of mostly “Uhhhh” and “Uhmmmm” . . .
MARIN: I like “Uhhh”.
ME: How else do I describe something I can’t stop wearing yet have no ready phrases to summate?
MARIN: Ooooh . . . that’s actually pretty good right there.
ME: Cosmic makes me think of Luca Turin’s snooty “It’s luxury, not chic!” comment because Cosmic smells like luxury, yet odd and avant-garde at the same time. Is that even possible?
MARIN: Anything is possible. Weird, but possible. Improbable, but possible.
And so on.
Listed fragrance notes for Solange Cosmic are: bergamot, galbanum, rose, jasmine absolute, iris absolute, patchouli, vetiver, labdanum, opoponax, myrrh and vanilla. The first three hours are where it’s whacky and strangely wonderful — the powdery iris absolute is distinctly present, along with a candy-ish vanilla, but the more chilly and vaguely sour elements of myrrh, opoponax and galbanum do the tango with the sweeter materials in the mix to create a sort of leather-lite scent, as if Solange Cosmic lives half its existence as a version of Serge Lutens Cuir Mauresque for the candy-floss crowd.
I know — strange. But it’s also the first time I’ve encountered that leathery scent in a mix and didn’t want to run screaming from it. The interplay here of sweet and sour is what keeps me so interested a
nd on the edge of my seat.
Once past the first three hours (or so), Cosmic drops registers and transforms into one of the most attractive resinous drydowns I’ve ever had the pleasure to experience, with the dramatic tension throughout the first half entirely worth the resolution. In fact, the drydown of Cosmic reminds me a lot of that softly sweet, woods & incense mid-phase to Andy Tauer’s Une Rose Chpree that I said I wished I could bottle all on its own. Well, now that I have Solange Cosmic, I don’t have to just wish anymore.
Longevity is excellent (8+ hours, with the majority of the time spent on patchouli and resins, like a meteor that flares its way through the atmosphere and then cools down for the rest of the trip), and despite its richness and potency, Cosmic wears very close to the skin. I was initially concerned, from its notes list and heady opening, that it would fill a room and choke out all the air if I wasn’t careful, but even after generous application (six sprays of EDP), the scent was noticeable on me, but not overpowering in my environment (even on an elevator, which I’ve used several times while wearing Cosmic).
So despite my introductory mishap with the bottle (and the people at Lucky Scent very generously replaced the bottle for me, even though they had nothing to do with what I felt was a less than fully considered packaging design), I’m glad I took the opportunity to rethink my position regarding Solange, and especially Solange Cosmic.
I likely have my peers at POL to thank for helping me wrap my brain around fragrances that initially seem foreign and/or bizzare to me, and especially regular reader/commenter Tara, who can usually get me to revisit a position should I come down harshly on a fragrance and she replies with a comment that she likes it (as happened with Cosmic).
