While it’s true that I’ve begun to appreciate sweeter fragrances, there are some lines I was never meant to cross. This morning, when I was rummaging around my sample basket, looking for something I haven’t tried yet, I came across Miss Dior Cherie, and thought, “Why not?”
Why not indeed.
How I acquired this sample, I do not know. I think there’s a rule in horror movies that says you should not play with things that just “appear” out of nowhere into your bedroom. If my life was a movie, the watchers would have been squealing, “Don’t touch it! Run Away!” But then there wouldn’t be a movie, and dang it, you paid twelve bucks for the show.
The first blast is a blast-your-face-off deluge of hyper-sweet strawberry. I’m led to believe that this is what is referred to as a “fruitchuli,” but I don’t notice any balancing, earthly patchouli tempering this electric juice. I’m hypernosmic to patchouli, usually, so maybe the version used in this perfume is what’s called a “clean” patchouli.
For readers with greater sophistication than I posses, let me recommend Robin’s review at Now Smell This.
For those of us with a more perverse streak: Miss Dior Cherie smells like My Little Pony ate Rainbow Bright, then puked her up on a rainbow on mid-summer’s day. Yeah, awesome.
Please remember that this is my personal opinion, and is by no means a declaration that the perfume is, in fact, bad. I just hate it.