Heaven Can Wait
Editions de Parfums Frederic Malle (2023)

Heaven can't indeed wait. It's already here. Not many people like this, and it seems to be primarily because it wasn't what they were wanting in terms of olfactive expression; many wanted a rich buttery iris but instead got put-off by carrot seeds and the super dry clove. They also seem to be Malle purists that have a bone to pick due to the sale to Estee Lauder and the brand's change of creative direction - which, I do too, to be honest, but I try to be as open minded as possible. The brand is ~25 years old and was sold to a conglomerate: change was inevitable and guaranteed, whether sold or not. Bemoan it, or roll with it and hope for the best. I'm the latter, though EL is not giving me much reason to be.

Anyway, onto the perfume, which weirdly for a Malle doesn't quite fit the brief - perhaps part of the criticisms people are levying against it. This is less about iris than it is the rest of it. The opening of ambrette and carrot seeds and fleshy tree fruit is wonderful, a warming orange glow of light. This is Ellena and what he does best, especially when given a lot of latitude by a brand/director. The ambrette and carrot is very rich and photorealistic but, in keeping with JCE's signature style, they have a weightlessness, light filled, and breezy texture to them. Like two separate air particles existing in a cloud it's impossible to see where one starts and the other ends. The orange light begins to dim to reveal a new foreground that maybe many - most? - did not see coming, which is very dry and hot cloves, dried potpourri-like iris, powdered vanilla, and sandy musks. The orange glow at the start has warmed everything up to be almost hot to the touch. But, before you go thinking this is going to be a warming winter spiced latte type scent, this is Ellena, remember. There is absolutely nothing thick, cloying, sweet, looming or large about any of these heart and base notes. The dryness of it allows Elena to stay true to his unique and exquisite style of keeping proceedings weightless and light filled - and he does it so well here. HCW seems to hover over the top of my skin rather than sit on it. I feel like I'm glowing, like the orange light that was cast on me from the start is now making me radiate with a burnished glow. It's powerful without being loud, large without taking up a lot of room, confident without being arrogant, relaxed but focused. It is so effortlessly elegant and luxurious without, at any point, feeling like it's too much or calling a lot of attention. This is absolutely superb, and one of the best things Ellena has made in the last couple of decades.

Light and airy.
Light leathery Iris.
Light and complex!

The juxtaposition between cold, rooty iris and warm clove in Heaven Can Wait is charming. Its texture? Also a delight. Despite a notes list that promises a battering ram, Heaven Can Wait has all the heft of a handkerchief. Initially, it reminds me of the delicate, gripe-water musks of L’Eau d’Hiver and the thin, hawthorn-ish suede of Cuir d’Ange, with a faint brush of Superstitious‘ green-copper acid over top. The plum is more plum skin (umami, bitter) than fruit and the magnolia doesn’t add any of its usual honeyed lemon cream. More Parisian greige than Dior’s Gris Dior itself, this is weightless elegance at its best.

But elegance alone is not enough to sell me. I have plenty of elegant perfumes, including Cuir d’Ange, Chanel No. 18, Iris Silver Mist, and a dab of Poivre extrait, all of which are references I would call upon to describe this scent. What makes Heaven Can Wait special is its weirdness, which you only catch glimpses of as it rounds the corner on the drydown.

It is down there that something extremely dry and gippy ‘catches’ at the corners of the scent, threatening to unspool the thin silk. The freshly-poured cement aspect of cashmeran, perhaps, or the raw, parnsippy character of the orris lingering long after the topnotes have burned off. The earthiness of the carrot seed is a contributing factor, for sure. But I suspect that there is also a fair amount of (unlisted) benzoin here, as this is a material that smells – to me at least – like the doughy-but-dusty aroma of potato flour just as you begin to add water to it.

To be less arcane, Heaven Can Wait kind of ends up smelling like the art room at your old secondary school, the air thick with the smell of pigments ready to be mixed into white paint, paste glue, plaster of Paris, and so on. An alluringly odd mix of the organic and inorganic, chemical and vegetable. I’ve seen the stupid ‘sexy’ advertizing images that were released with the perfume but I think the brand missed a trick by not leaning into its whole ‘Parisian high society lady slumming it in art school’ vibe.

Even the clove note is a quirky. Unsniffed, you might expect it to smell ‘red hot’ and sweaty-metallic like Eau Lente or the original Comme des Garcons EDP, or alternatively, like the frothy, frilly carnation accord from Caron’s Bellodgia. However, the clove in Heaven Can Wait is unmistakably that of an old-fashioned clove rock. Now, I think this is funny – borderline adorable – though others might not, given the almost $300+ price tag. But it is this clove rock note, mixed with the scent of art room pigments, that serves to keep the perfume feeling clean and modern, rather than ‘retro’.