Sitting at my laptop to review Chloé Love Story, a dilemma immediately arises: I can write a full-blown pan, including my snarky telling of the “love story” that must have inspired the fragrance.1 Or, I can try to make something practical of the review. (I realize that a third option exists — just don’t review Love Story — but Chloé is a major brand, and this is a major release, and I feel a responsibility to weigh in.)
I’m choosing the “practical” option. I’ll quickly run through Love Story’s basics, then we can examine how the heck this thing ever made it to market.
Love Story was developed by perfumer Anne Flipo. Its notes include neroli, orange blossom, stephanotis and cedar. In brief, it smells like orange blossom-scented laundry detergent. On first sniff, a hint of wet green, like a tight rose, permeates Love Story, but the fragrance quickly skips to sharp, detergent clean and stays in that groove, wafting with vigor. A hint of cedar sharpens the perfume further, until the whole thing dies about five hours later. I don’t smell any development or depth to speak of. At its best, Love Story is boring. At its worst, offensive.
There are so many better orange blossom fragrances out there, even sharing shelf space with Love Story at the department store. For a restrained, elegant-yet-casual orange blossom, try Bottega Veneta Knot. For a lush, more oriental take on orange blossom, Elie Saab Le Parfum and Hermès 24, Faubourg await. Jo Malone Orange Blossom is pure and straightforward. Houbigant Oranger en Fleurs is a feminine, almost Victorian orange blossom.
So, why did Chloé foist Love Story on us? Perfume can make a fashion brand good money. I understand why they keep the fragrance coming. But why this one? Why not something with character or, given its price tag, at least something that smells better than a guest soap floating in a chlorinated swimming pool?
First, I think orange blossom has a reputation as a safe fragrance for Americans. We’re known for our love of “clean” smells, and orange blossom has scented our soap for decades. It’s an easy, low-risk fragrance to sell.
Next, marketing sells, and maybe the company that owns Chloé figures that's good enough. Love Story claims to be inspired by the locks lovers fasten to Paris’s Pont des Arts. (This may not be such a dreamy story. The estimated 700,000+ locks caused one of the bridge’s parapets to collapse.) A glamorous French actress fronts the perfume. The bottle is cute. And many sales associates will tell the shopper that Love Story is “beautiful” as they hasten to the cash register.2 By buying Love Story, many people might feel they’re bringing home some of the aura of Chloé’s California-girl-in-a-French-boarding-school style.
Which brings me to my final point: some people may not have the confidence in their own taste — or maybe the experience with fragrance — to reject Love Story. It’s easy to feel dumb about perfume when you're hearing romantic stories and mysterious terms like “headspace” and “neroli,” and when Chloé's chic stands behind it. It’s so easy to be convinced. And some shoppers want to be convinced. It's a high to buy an expensive, beautifully packaged unit of glamour like a bottle of perfume.
I say, keep smelling, and keep making up your own mind about scent (and keep being willing to change it). Take samples home and get to know them. Spend your money on fragrances you're sure thrill you. This way we challenge mainstream perfume to up its game.
Chloé Love Story Eau de Parfum is $75 for 30 ml, $105 for 50 ml, and $130 for 75 ml. It’s available at many department stores and also comes in bath and body products.
1. Perhaps you adore Love Story. I’m glad, and I don’t judge you. Please comment and tell me I’m missing out!
2. The salesperson who gave me my sample did no such thing, I’m happy to report.