Those familiar with Turin-Sanchez Perfumes (The A-Z Guide) know the quippy little labels they use at the top of their reviews. They write things like "cheap iris", "fruity barbershop" or "not gardenia" and it helps you place the perfume on an imaginary spectrum of good vs. dreck. Were I to do the same thing, this review would have been titled "hardly tuberose". Unoriginal yet true.
While Prada's first Infusion, Infusion d'Iris had a certain charm in its quiet woody watercolor paleness with just enough iris to not make most of us cranky, other Infusions didn't fare so well. Week, meek, as synthetic as they come and composed in a way that made it painfully obvious they were catering to the kind of consumer who like the name Prada a lot more than he or she like to wear real perfume. And speaking of painful, murdering the idea of a tuberose is criminal, and not in a Tubéreuse Criminelle way (lame pun, I know).
Infusion de Tubéreuse is exactly the opposite of everything I think of the style and aesthetics of Prada. I remember the first time I ever saw some ready-to-wear Prada in person and touched the clothes. None of the items were actually my style, but I could not deny the inspired concepts and colors. I was captivated. Don't bother looking for it in this perfume. The notes (via Perfume Shrine) are Indian tuberose, petitgrain bigararde, Italian blood orange and dynamone (a faintly ambery aromachemical). But, seriously, they could have put whatever they want in that list. Infusion de Tubéreuse smells like a pale and watery floral nothing with a vaguely musky base and a hint of greenish fruit.
As one would expect, Prada Infusion de Tubéreuse has a very limited sillage. It is surprisingly tenacious, though. Just like the case with Infusion d'Iris, you think it's long gone but if you pay attention, even 8 hours after application you realize that the annoying slimy thing that has been following you all day making you borderline cranky is this pale and supposedly humble perfume (why am I thinking about Uriah Heep?). It just won't go away. It's interesting to note that my skin there's barely-to none tuberose, but if I spray some on my clothes or linens I can actually smell a faraway ghostly trace of the flower. Not very satisfying, I assure you.
Prada Infusion de Tubéreuse ($100, 3.4 oz EDP) is available from most department stores. The bottle I have was part of a gift bag at the FiFi Award breakfast.
Art: Ghost Flower by Kristina Layton.