It took a very long while for Orris Noir by Ormonde Jayne to grow on me. From its name, I’d expected it to be all gothic punk femme fatale, so when I sprayed it, and the gorgeously rooting, earthy iris that first greeted me whisked itself away within 5 minutes, vanishing completely, I was understandably peeved. “It’s not very noir, either,” I thought to myself, perplexed that Ormonde Jayne had gone down the Le Labo path of serious misnomers. And so I put it away, somewhat disappointed that the house I’d admired so much for ingenious masterclass perfumes such as Ormonde Woman (I really should get down to reviewing it, but I don’t believe words adequately express its beauty!) had come up with something such as this.