Guerlain - L'Heure Bleue (vintage)

(cackling to myself while caressing the bottle: yeah, motherfuckers!) But really . . .

I THINK THIS BOTTLE IS BEYOND REVIEW. Like with other beautiful but probably horrendously preserved vintages, it fills my mouth with a cotton-ball, tangible inhalation of musky silk and powder, moth scales, and cobwebs. Difficult to discern a distinctive "perfume," for all I can taste is mahogany must (comparable to my poor dear bottle of also orange-rust L'Origan). Heavy clove, carnation, and violets.
Forty minutes later, waverings of hazelnut, light milky sugar, like seeing a filmy petticoat underneath swishes of a suffocating evening gown. Violets lining a parasol, unglazed porcelain.