Ghost Deep Night by Ghost

This is a two-hander that works brilliantly. First, let’s clarify that all Ghost fragrances share a common, everyday finish; don’t expect refinement for discerning palates. Ghost makes straightforward perfumes; their only aim is to smell good, not to gift an orgasmic experience, as that’s neither their price point nor their intention. Not everything has to be the bee’s knees – there are fragrances that simply fulfil their function and that’s enough. Having accepted that, Deep Night has its own thing. It belongs to that family of cheap perfumes that surprise you, like Jessica Simpson’s Fancy Nights or JLo’s Glow. It costs little but offers more value, possessing real personality. Alongside plain Ghost (a bitter, unpalatable, powdery rose with a distinctly English vibe), it’s the most interesting offering from the brand. Remember that fashion trend announcing gothic perfumes that were merely fruit juices, flash polos, and patchouli with Monster High sleepover memories? Ghost embraces a certain gothic romanticism but steers clear of that false taste, that mass-market dark girly appeal. Deep Night is gothic, sexy, but above all adult, and I find it completely unisex, like seventies musks. It smells exactly like that – far removed from its listed notes. It reminded me of those animal musks from the seventies, only seasoned with more elements to avoid being too linear. Many compare it to Dior Addict, which launched a couple of years later, yet I find no resemblance whatsoever, despite sharing powerful opening notes like queen of the night and vanilla in their first versions. Addict is insolent, streetwise, and super sexual, ruling with a dizzying, boozy vanilla. This is a salty, pink, erotic musk – sensual, a musk with a sharp sting of raw alcohol, adorned with apricot skin rather than fruit flesh, dry and twisted like fruit peels forgotten in the bin for two days, absorbing fragments of fermented wine or alcohol. That dead fruit skin finish, paired with a lovely woody vanilla, zero gourmand, with echoes of boozy nineties perfumes, is what elevates the musk, which is oddly understated on the label. To my nose, it was one of those sensual, woody musks, with memories of slightly dirty skin, nocturnal and post-coital, smelling of fine, suggestive sweat. As the formula evolves – because the initial dry-down was somewhat unpleasant – it becomes more carnal and sweet-salty, eventually melting into your skin until it takes on an anaesthetising, addictive animal sweetness that could be mistaken for typical soy scent, whether in liquid or seed form. A flatmate of mine used it during our student years in the UK, and it didn’t smell bad at all.

I tried it a couple of years ago and it’s a beast – very potent with a strong presence. It’s incredible for evening wear and bears a close resemblance to Dior Addict Eau de Parfum. I believe both are queens of the night, sharing that same magic.