Sprayed on my watch and fabric, this is the heavenliest, creamiest sandalwood, silken and voluptuous, like swimming in a vatful of custard. It lasted a full week.
On skin, however, it doesn't exist. Disappeared into the ether, or somehow got deflected off my wrist. A tremendous disappointment.
EDIT JUNE 4: A tingling cassia red hot sweetness that prickles my tongue, crossed with an Ikea manufacturing plant. Something is wrong with my hormones these days - I can see why in medieval Europe menstruating women were kept away from dairies. This is the second time I've hoped for Tam Dao to replicate the unforgettable milkiness I fell in love with - now all I get is a flurry of love-bites - where is the doe-eyed sandalwood my dreams are made of?
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