02.04.06
Jo Malone’s Pomegranate Noir
There is a mysterious heart beneath the pomegranate’s earthy redness, more of music’s nature than of muscle. Opened up, a cache of abundant seeds is revealed. They look like the seeds of Indian rubies, like spessartites bearing secret fire, like tourmalines from the crepuscular arteries of the underworld. They are mouth-wateringly fragrant, sweet and staining to the tongue, and good at helping purify the body.
The pomegranate is also, completely unapologetically, a potent symbol of sexuality, both male and female… and hermaphroditic. It is associated with life and death, love and war.
In Jo Malone’s Pomegranate Noir, the heady but subtle aroma of the pomegranate is touched by raspberry and plum and dusted, lightly, with frankincense and patchouli. This may or may not give you some idea of what it “smells like”, but in the end you are bound to miss what it’s like to wear Pomegranate Noir, and not only because the drydown is different for everyone.
![[image]](http://verywide.net/blog/wp-content/images/misc_others/jomalone_pomnoir.jpg "Jo Malone's Pomegranate Noir")
So let me try it this way….
Seen in broad spectrum, Pomegranate Noir is the first moment you enter the candlelit bath chamber where your lover is waiting. It is that moment when the warm, humid air envelopes you with its rich caress, not merely inviting you in - but seducing you with its promises. In its application, Pomegranate Noir comes on strongly, a kiss on the mouth by lips that have bruised wine. It is an embrace as soft as the lover’s bed but equally as potent as a symbol for the love to be laid in it. In its drydown it takes on, in fact, the chemistry of the wearer, thus affirming the adaptive and personal nature of the cologne’s base.
In my experience, the drydown comes with a mellifluous (if I may call it that) release of highlights reminiscent of handmade candles, the presence of oft’ read books, and an exotic fruit parfait served in crystal on a mahogany tray. As the day (or the night) goes on, the scent becomes more woody, more den-like, more the gentle, warming weight of the 380 thread count duvet than the still slightly damp sheets, more the soft smile and fathomless eyes than the moans and kisses. Pomegranate Noir is a rich night contained only so long as it remains in its bottle.
Don’t you want to release it?
