Cherry Fever by Lunio

The base smells like Mancera, both in style and quality. It’s a pity I’m not a fan of cherry, so it’s not for me, but it’s a good fragrance and lasts a long time. If you like that note, give it a try.

I bought the Lunio discovery with excitement over the beautiful trinchina and indigo suede, but I approached Cherry Fever out of curiosity. The opening was an expansive lollipop sweetness, as expected. The surprise came in the dry-down: delicious and elegant. The cherry melted into a very well-orchestrated woody and amber base. Hours later, although the cherry had faded, the resins and woods were still present. It’s the second fragrance from the brand I’ve liked most; I’ll get a larger decant.

To judge it, I’ll be brief: probably my favourite cherry perfume. It was a surprise when I tried it last summer. I had fallen in love with Tom Ford’s Lost Cherry, but the price and performance didn’t convince me. I tried cheaper options with limited performance or generic dry-downs. Until Cherry Fever arrived: lasting acidic cherry for over 6 hours on the skin, wrapped in amber and slightly smoky notes. Since then, cherry has been in fashion, but I’m not changing my Cherry Fever. I found the perfect cherry. The price is fantastic for a niche. The cherry scent is synthetic, like chewing gum, and that’s exactly what I was looking for. Daniel Josier achieves a perfect balance that doesn’t overwhelm. I can’t live without it now. Scent 10, Longevity 10, Versatility 10, Originality 8, Overall 10.

Cherry Fever is a journey from childhood scraped knees and lollipop licks to adulthood. It takes us from light to darkness, becoming something seductive and intimate. A ripe, juicy cherry dances with smoky notes to create a setting for personal and shared enjoyment. It invites closeness, seduction, candlelit dinners, or nights on the sofa. It’s a warm caress that makes us forget the child of the past to play at being adults.

This perfume has just arrived in Mexico, where we have a cherry caramel palette called Tutsi; this scent reminded me of the Tutsi cherry boot I used to get as a Christmas present as a child. That nostalgia is pleasant because I hadn’t recalled that smell in ages, but wanting to smell like this all day long seems absurd. Furthermore, the sweetness offers little versatility: it’s a cloying caramelised cherry and vanilla. Does it improve with drydown? Unfortunately, it gets worse; the sweet, grating cherry that assaults you at the start fades, only for the worst facet to emerge. It’s a gourmand perfume, a vanilla cherry with heliotrope that I simply dislike. Edit.

This perfume has just arrived in Mexico, and here there’s a caramel cherry palette called Tutsi. It reminded me of the cherry bottle they gave me as a child at Christmas. The memory is pleasant, but wanting to smell like that all day is absurd. The sweetness doesn’t give it versatility; it’s a cinnamon and vanilla cherry that is cloying. Does it improve in the dry-down? Unfortunately, it gets worse. The shrill sweet cherry fades, and the worst facet emerges. It’s a gourmand perfume, a vanilla cherry with heliotrope that I simply don’t like.

Antonio’s groupies are very committed; writing such reviews just to defend a product is so sweet. But I’m not a fan of reviewers, nor do I buy into a brand just because the guy selling it is likable. So, let’s give it a go. This perfume arrived in Mexico a couple of weeks ago, and being very sensible, I bought a decant instead of a full bottle, as I did with Neroli Nostrum (which I like but wouldn’t wear, it’s too feminine, especially when dry). This cherry shit doesn’t suit me even for gifting. Here in Mexico, we have a cherry caramel palette called Tutsi, and this perfume reminded me of the Tutsi cherry boot I got at Christmas. That nostalgia is pleasant because I hadn’t recalled that smell in ages, but wanting to smell like this all day long seems absurd. Furthermore, the sweetness offers little versatility: it’s a cloying caramelised cherry and vanilla. Does it improve with drydown? Unfortunately, it gets worse; the sweet, grating cherry that assaults you at the start fades, only for the worst facet to emerge. It’s a gourmand perfume, a vanilla cherry with heliotrope that I simply dislike. It lasts a long time, to the point of being annoying; I managed only four sprays and could still detect it for hours, unfortunately. BUY A DECANT, DON’T RISK A BLIND BUY, THIS DOESN’T DESERVE IT.

Despite the heaviness with which its detractors try to talk us out of it Cherry Fever isn’t a bad perfume. It’s a lovely scent I enjoy quite a bit with excellent performance. The opening is fantastic with lots of cherry reminiscent of lollipops or Chupa Chups Kojak and a touch of cereal. When dried the scent becomes slightly darker with soapy and smoky aspects and a base that faintly reminds me of Ambre Tabac but without losing the cherry smell. Although I like its evolution I’d be thrilled if it stayed at the opening. It’s completely unisex; on my skin it has moderate sillage and lasts about 10 hours. I see it as perfect for night outings and will wear it with short dresses boots and a leather jacket. Scent 7.5/10 Longevity 10/10 Sillage 7/10 Value for Money 8/10 Versatility 7.5/10 Packaging 7/10. Would I buy it again? Perhaps.

A coquettish cherry regardless of sex it’s addictive and striking. Its sweetness is like Zara Cherry Smoothie without honey adding finesse on a supreme woody base that gives sighs. I use cherries from TF Room 1015 Kayali etc… In little time of having it I can’t stop using it more because I adore the combination with leather and benzoin; it ends up powdery and pleasantly talcum-like. It has excellent performance and fixation undoubtedly a good purchase.

A real problem when reviews are so rubbish they could be printed as a PDF in a bible-sized format.

Personally, I don’t care whether a fragrance is launched by a YouTuber, a singer or a famous actor. I prefer to try them free of prejudice, focusing solely on the scent itself, and I have loved it. Neroli Nostrum was clearly a daytime scent for the intermediate seasons, capturing the spirit of some classic Italian perfumes. In contrast, Cherry Fever is more playful and nocturnal, less ‘academic’ and much sexier. The opening is explosive and can be a bit overwhelming, but the dry-down is delicious, neither excessively sweet nor overly acidic. The performance is notable and I see it as perfectly unisex. Excellent work by Josier!

I heard about it in passing when a friend brought me a decant (I already had it reserved). I am eager to try it more thoroughly and will publish a detailed review later. The scent is lovely; the opening is certainly kojak-musk, but shortly after, the woods and skin notes emerge, making it absolutely delicious. Although this post is not much of a review (I will do so later when I have tested it in depth), I want to join Juanjiniko’s opinion: just as with Jeremy’s fragrances, there is a bombardment of negative votes from haters for this one from a YouTuber. People who haven’t even tried it vote ‘I hate it’. What a pity that this fantastic hobby is tarnished by hatred towards the person or perfumer, rather than focusing on what unites us: the appreciation of scents. I can’t imagine myself wearing a fragrance with a note I hate, like bitter almond, just to complain. If it is something I dislike, I simply don’t try it because it’s not for me.

Second perfume of the perfect symbiosis between Antonio as the public face of Lunio and master perfumer Daniel Josier. I’ve spent several days dissecting this magnificent beast that is Cherry Fever, and I can say I’ve enjoyed every revealed layer, every nuance, and every unexpected twist. Cherry Fever is alive: it changes, dances, hides, and even winks at you, alternating between mocking and lewd. It’s so alive that I swear I’ve seen the bottle breathe out of the corner of my eye. In its initial burst, I receive a hit of pure sweet cherry, of a childish lollipop but far removed from the innocence it should possess: a little red cap enjoying her treat while staring fixedly at the wolf to see if she’ll eat it instead of her grandmother. That sensation lasts a minute, two at most, but it’s a guilty sensuality that cuts the breath. Then, the heliotrope, the modest violet flower that dreamed of being a fruity orchid, with its aroma of vanilla-imbued cherry, unfolds beyond that opening: the vanilla isn’t synthetic or plastic but creamy and airy, yet with a sweetness corseted by a palisade of roasted cinnamon—not ground, but of crunchy, woody bark, even with a spicy hint of pepper, which rescues the entire opening from any hint of excessive cloying. The agarwood isn’t intrusive or animalic; in fact, it’s imperceptible, acting as a prop that supports all the ethereal elements, giving it body and density. That mix generates an unexpected and delicious alchemical accord of sweet almonds, which will always remind me of the fate of reciprocated loves, correcting the ill-thoughts of Juvenal Urbino, and will remain stitched to the skin for the entire life of the perfume. An opening, in short, that skirts the gourmand line without crossing it, of a feline, lustful, and elastic sensuality, like the light caress of juicy lips outlined with dense, sticky caramel, those that remain tattooed on the neck as a reminder of a reckless kiss. And then comes the magic in the dry down; a first phase, appearing around the one-hour mark, where the authentic fruit finally embraces the heliotrope and lends it a touch of acidity that amalgamates against a subtle, fine leather—far from the well-groomed young master’s suede, but a rogue leather from a fine jacket, well-polished and shiny, left to the elements, over cherry trees laden with flowers and fruits. At this point, around 3-4 hours, they join the chorus: a kaleidoscopic amber, those that gild the transparency of light, over which a benjoin resin smokes, oily, reddish, and primitive, reminiscent of weathered shamans and bonfires of wood roasted to a bright red, where, to their love, the leaves of a liquorish and earthy patchouli sizzle, forming a sort of smoked and feral kirsch. Here, the perfume transforms into a lurking animal: it envelops you, seems to abandon you, and when you move, you feel clawed by intense aroma, sometimes sweet, other times smoky and even alcoholic but always cherry, though in different parts of its journey, which ends on my skin at 7-8 hours from its start. Cherry Fever is a Red, warm, and hot perfume, of a dark terracotta-humid sensuality in different layers that change like a loving heart, with an insulting and guilty sexuality, of a rogue gaze at the bride on her way to the altar, of liquid cherry dripping down the inner thigh of a leg, seeking to be licked to its very root, of a children’s story in full adolescence, wolf in sheep’s clothing, shared liquor lip to lip, warm and pungent. A fleeting hummingbird tongue soaked in nectar. Cherry fever is guilty love, more desire than love, more love than lust, depending on the day and its heartbeat. It’s a perfume that kidnaps. I warn you, if you wear it, call the police immediately. I’m already lost.

This is my second fragrance from this brand and by the same perfumer, Daniel Josier; these folks at Lunio certainly do not have bad taste. I will not deny the obvious: yes, it opens with a scent reminiscent of Kojak lollipops, but this lasts only about five minutes, at least on my skin. Soon afterwards, a suede note appears, followed by exquisite leather, then wonderful woods, always underpinned by a hint of cinnamonised cherries, before turning into something sweeter while maintaining the suede and wood. It is like an old wooden box of noble quality, lined with leather, with suede where ripe cherries have been kept inside, and the scent endures. The dry down is cinnamonised, ambered, resinous, and woody, with the right amount of sweetness and the proper dose of sun-ripened cherry. It lasts the whole working day without issues and without over-applying. Its projection and trail are not excessive, respecting what its creators say: intimate pleasure scents for the people accompanying you, not for every diner in a restaurant or attendees at an auditorium, and I am in favour of that. My congratulations on this fragrance; it is very versatile for autumn-winter and pleases and comforts me as much as Ambre Tabac by Josier. Perfect fragrances for those who enjoy warm, ambered scents with a certain sweetness but without cloying. Great work by Lunio; I wish them long life as long as they continue to look after the perfume, the creative line, the quality of the juice, and the high-level packaging without ostentation. BRAVO LUNIO, BRAVO ANTONIO AND DANIEL, CONTINUE ON THIS GOOD PATH. P.S.: I am struck that yesterday my rating was 4.7 and today it has dropped to 3.58 with less than double the votes. It seems the voters today either did not like it at all or let the haters out of their dens… this at Fragantica is a right mess.

I gave it a quick whiff from a decant a friend sent my way (I already had it pre-ordered) and I’m itching to try it in depth and write a fuller review later. The scent is lovely; the opening is certainly kojak-cherry, but within moments the woods and skin notes emerge, making it absolutely divine. Although this post isn’t primarily a review (I’ll do that once I’ve tested it thoroughly), my aim is to join Juanjiniko’s observation that, just as with Jeremy’s fragrances, this one released alongside a YouTuber has been subjected to a barrage of negative votes from haters who haven’t even tried it, simply voting ‘I hate it’. It’s a pity that such a fantastic hobby, which brings us so much joy, gets tarnished by hatred towards a person or perfumer, rather than focusing on what unites us: the appreciation of scents. On another note, I can’t imagine myself wearing a fragrance with a note I despise, like bitter almond, and then bad-mouthing it. If I hate something, I simply don’t try it because IT’S NOT FOR ME.