A scent fit for one of Boccacio’s naughty heroines in The Decameron, Fendi’s Theorema conjures up deliciously rustic refreshments such as eggnog and honey mead as well as the spiced-orange pomanders hung in doorways to ward off the plague. The opening fizzes with orange, tangelo, and a smidge of sprightly jasmine that soon knocks over an entire kitchen spice rack in its rum-sodden ebullience. A soothing vanillic swirl of sweet cream, amber, and dry woods rounds out the base, conjuring up the woozy excitement of sitting in front of a fireplace in the country while a bunch of boys tell you dirty stories. Plague? What plague?
Neither coy nor brazen, Theorema is a scent of unchecked laughter, generous quantities of alcohol, good company, and feeling warm and safe while the rest of the world, with all of its complex dangers, blusters around outside without you. Theorema can hardly be faulted for the fact that its lasting power is roughly equal to the duration such a cozy feeling is possible. Oh, well. If re-spraying constantly is all it takes to keep the plague of life at bay, I will gladly carry the entire 3.4oz bottle of the EdP around in my purse.
Described as a white floral fragrance with notes of jasmine, muguet, tree moss, and musk, Heaven Eau de Toilette from the Gap is no more cerebral than a dryer sheet. Its fresh, airy simplicity is as soothing and wholesome as a clean white towel that’s been hung out to dry in the sun. Worn at bedtime or on hot days in the summer when a heavier scent might seem burdensome and overly complicated, I find that Gap’s Heaven fills a slot in my perfume collection emotionally equivalent to opening a window in a stuffy apartment.
At $14.99 for 3.4 oz, I’m pretty sure there’s neither a single natural ingredient in this blend, nor more than two or three different aromachemical compounds. It’s so light that you could probably spray half a bottle of it all over yourself before sitting in a hot, crowded car without garnering much notice. Completely linear from first spritz to its rapid dissipation, Gap’s Heaven is the kind of atmospheric scent that would be equally at home pumped through the air vents of a Japanese hotel as it would be sprayed onto one’s body or clothing.
Although there are four notes listed in Heaven’s makeup, I only smell two prominently: the soapiness of muguet/lily of the valley and clean, inoffensive musk. Jasmine softens the “scratchy” rough qualities of muguet without predominating, and tree moss adds a gentle aridity to the already neutral purr of musk. It chimes softly without disruption, like the muted background music in the facial room at a spa. Gap’s Heaven is no Enya or Yanni, though, rather it is a CD purchased at a health-food store with a waterfall on the cover, something that features muted a capella chanting accompanied by windchimes. If one’s idea of heaven is that of a place where no distractions are possible, Gap’s Heaven would probably fit the bill.