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Tabu
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Dana's Tabu is an oriental floral fragrance for women. Launched in 1932, this composition was created by perfumer Jean Carles. The top notes unfold with spices, orange, coriander, neroli and bergamot; the heart reveals cloves, ylang-ylang, narcissus, jasmine and rose; while the base notes settle on amber, galbanum, benzoin, sandalwood, patchouli, musk, oakmoss, vetiver and cedar.
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3,692 votos
- Positivo 76%
- Negativo 20%
- Neutral 4.4%
Pirámide olfativa
Estructura completa de la fragancia: de la salida al fondo.
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Another timeless classic and one of my absolute favourites: exotic and sensual. It reminds me of later orientals like Dioressence, Opium or Cinnabar, sharing powerful notes of amber, spices, oakmoss, sandalwood and resins such as benzoin. The scent is strong, warm, woody and has an animal touch from the civet and musk. These ‘wild’ notes blend perfectly with the clove and coriander, and with other ‘dirty’ notes like patchouli and vetiver, giving it that bohemian air that perhaps explains its resurgence in the 60s. To all this are added flowers like ylang-ylang and rose, whose carnality the civet enhances, just as in Chanel No. 5. It turns out slightly sweet and fruity, with a honey note similar to Kirtash, but nothing like those modern sweeteners. The sweetness comes from the sandalwood, spices, ylang and orange. Delicious, but not edible. They say Dana asked Jean Carles to create a literal ‘whore’s perfume’. It’s not for the timid, and I love that in 1932 they sought that subversion. I don’t see it as vulgar, but as passionate; it’s no surprise that Ava Gardner wore it. Today it’s sold as a drugstore bargain, cheap and with simple packaging, which makes it undervalued and surprising in terms of quality and longevity. Despite its image, it’s a jewel at a ridiculous price compared to brands selling ephemeral scents at outrageous costs.
A scent of memory; I hadn’t smelled it until the name on my childhood advertisement made me search for it. Tabú is intense, not for sensitive noses. Spices dominate, especially clove. Although it doesn’t appear in the notes, I perceived honey, something similar to the animal note in Animal. As the sweetness fades, the oakmoss and civet provide that animal touch. If I had to mix something similar, it would be Opium with Animal. A potent and direct combination.
This is where my perfume adventure began thanks to this sweet aroma that my grandmother taught me. My first Tabu came with a floating vanilla pod inside, what lovely memories… Today I got the one I bought online, and with just one drop, it instantly brings all those sweet moments back to mind.
Another gem from the creator of Miss Dior, Shocking, and Ma Griffe. Javier Sierra had an ambitious vision to create an international hit and chose Jean Carles to bring it to life. Tabu was created to provoke, awaken the most erotic side of a woman, and make her feel desired. It is a warm, friendly, intense, and lustful fragrance, nothing cold or vain, more like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. It shares eight notes with Narcisse Noir by Caron, such as narcissus, orange, rose, jasmine, and ylang-ylang, but Tabu stands out for its cloves and spices. I recommend it to lovers of vintage orientals. Instead of criticising that it smells like an older person, contextualise its era and enjoy playing with the past.
This is my mother’s perfume, the one that brought me into the world and my outings with friends. I kept it like a treasure and, secretly, I would wear it before going out. Many years passed, I found it online, and bought it to gift her, but it doesn’t smell the same… the one today smells odd, even rancid. The old one was strong but clean; the new one smells dirty, I can’t explain it, when it sticks to clothes I feel like showering with it on just to get rid of it. What a disaster they have made, but I keep the good memories it brings back.
My neighbour gifted me a spritz on the back of my hand and wow! I thought for years it was just an ordinary little perfume until I smelled it: it reminded me of Ungaro by Ungaro and I fell in love. What a distinguished and refinedly elegant aroma, very much in the tradition of Coco by Chanel, Majorelle by Myrurgia, and Opium, but it reminds me most of Ungaro and a little of Diorissimo. I must have it; it fixed itself wonderfully on my skin. Royal Secret by Germaine Monteil and Ciara by Revlon also come to mind for this olfactory delight. Simply fascinating and charming, with captivating and enveloping notes. It is not vulgar, but very erotic and lustful; so much so that it can become addictive and unforgettable.
Discussing Dana’s Tabu is a great way to break down prejudices in the perfume world. First and foremost, it is an eccentric, exquisite, and formidable fragrance, the predecessor to YSL’s Opium (the 1978 original, not the modern version). It is one of the most aggressive and well-crafted oriental scents ever made. Its creator, Jean Carles, was explicitly asked to create a scent fitting for a prostitute (this was a direct order, not an interpretation), and it is ironic that today it is more elegant than almost anything launched in the last five years. Its price is ridiculously cheap, which hits hard at those who believe that if it smells expensive, it must be good (and experience says the opposite). In itself: it begins with a spicy, peppery shock, a haze tattooed with ‘Oriental’, followed by cloves, a floral-fruity backdrop with resinous and flamboyant touches. The base, the most scandalous part, is an animalistic burst dominated by civet, sandalwood, benzoin, and the coarsest, most herbal patchouli. It has depth: citrus sparkles, woody breezes, creamy floral sighs, and potent but fleeting hits of cypress. No one had tried it before; it was a hit in Spain and the US, resembling Opium (1978), Youth-Dew, and even a bit of Cinnabar. Despite being an eau de cologne, it lasts and projects well. With this scent and price, being stingy with a re-application would be absurd. Tabu has the traits of great classics and, being created by the same woman behind the first Miss Dior, its execution remains eloquent (the current formula tends more towards chypre).
Talking about Tabú by Dana destroys prejudices. It is one of the most eccentric, exquisite and formidable fragrances, the predecessor of Yves Saint Laurent’s Opium (1978, not the current version). It is one of the most aggressive and well-crafted orientals. Its creator, Jean Carles, received the order to create a scent typical of a prostitute, and it is ironic that today it is more elegant than many recent launches. Its price is laughable, a hard blow for those who believe expensive means good. Tabú begins with a spicy and spiced shock, a tattooed mist with ‘Oriental’, followed by cloves, a floral-fruit background with resinous and outrageous touches. The base is scandalous: an animal discharge dominated by civet, sandalwood, benzoin and a coarse, herbal patchouli. It has citrus flashes, woody breezes, creamy floral sighs and fleeting cypress hits. It was a commercial success in Spain and the US, and Opium resembles it quite a bit, as does Youth Dew. Although it comes in cologne, it lasts quite a while and projects strongly. With this scent and price, being stingy would be unjust. Tabú has many characteristics of great perfumes of the past, executed eloquently by the creator of the first Miss Dior. The current formula tends more towards chypre.
I bought it together with the body lotion in a red box. It’s hot, enveloping, exquisite, long-lasting, animalic, and magical. I never expected such a delicious result, and it hasn’t disappointed. It’s a unique, sensual, and eternal perfume, something that Cleopatra herself could wear.
Finally, I have it thanks to a relative who brought it from abroad, as it stopped being sold here in Uruguay years ago. I’m a fan of old orientals, and Tabu gathers everything I’m looking for. I knew it from 1950s ads as the ‘forbidden perfume’ and from an old bottle with a ‘luxury tax’ label. It’s sweet and spicy at the same time, dominated by cloves and intense, rich patchouli. Don’t be fooled by its low price; it’s a seduction weapon that evokes madames, French jazz, and luxurious cabarets. Every collector must have it. I recommend using it to seduce or to let yourself be seduced.
Thanks to your reviews, I’ve rescued this perfume from my memory trunk. It’s hard to find in Barcelona now, as although it’s Spanish, it’s made in the US and sold at a ridiculous price. My mother used it in a beautiful bottle, I think the EDP, but I only managed to get the EDT. Upon opening it, what a marvel! Despite being a cologne, it has incredible longevity and sillage. What I love most is its evolution: distinct top, heart, and base notes, something rare in expensive perfumes which tend to be linear. It’s worth far more than its cost, like the good Puigs. It has a great resemblance to Opium, but I prefer Tabu. I’ve already bought a 15ml spray advertised as EDT, and I’ll tell you how it goes.
Tabu is a forgotten jewel that used to be found in every chemist’s. It came to me via an exchange, and it was a mistake not to appreciate it sooner. It opens with sweet orange and warm spices, nuts, honey, and a hint of cola, followed by subtle flowers and a heavy base of amber, vetiver, and patchouli. It’s a dense, hot, and sensual gourmand for the brave who aren’t afraid of the oriental. It lasts over 12 hours and stains white clothes, so wear it on skin or cotton. It reminds me of my Aunt Teresa, the black sheep who lived by her own rules, travelled in a caravan, and smelled of this perfume while telling us stories. A free, bohemian, and powerful woman who got ahead of her time, whom we called Tabu at home.
Tabú is a timeless jewel that has been undervalued and available to everyone in drugstores. It came to me through an exchange, and although I had smelled it before, I didn’t give it importance: a gross error. It opens with a sweet, ripe and warm orange, mixed with spices, nuts, clove, cinnamon and honey. I barely notice flowers, except for ylang-ylang and jasmine. In the base, a heavy artillery: amber, benzoin, oakmoss, vetiver, galbanum and patchouli, along with a hint of cola refreshment, all in perfect harmony. It is oriental, gourmand, makes you want to taste it and is unisex for the brave. A rich, potent, mature, sweet, dense, hot and enveloping scent. Without reservations, sensual. It is darker than Diva or Casmir and closer than Youth Dew, Obsession, Cinnabar or Opium. Ideal for cold weather, with a wonderful trail and more than 12 hours of longevity. The bottle is violin-shaped, with cognac-coloured liquid that, when emptied, reveals the teacher and her pupil. One drawback: it stains white clothes orange and tans the skin; better to be prudent, use cotton on the skin and avoid direct contact with clothes due to its oiliness. Created to smell like a prostitute, I’m amazed they made baby powder with its scent. They thought of an affordable oriental for drugstores, alongside Myrurgia and Vanderbilt. It gave husbands a thrill that women wore it; it took women out of their routine and served young women to provoke. It reached all ages, although some prejudices prevented it. It reminds me of my dear aunt, the unnamed one, the black sheep who ran away, never a wife or mother but a companion and lover. Unconventional, she lived in a caravan travelling the world. When her partner died, she came with us, living alone with her cats and memories. My cousins and I, skipping our father’s prohibition, would visit her; in exchange for affection, she gave us tea, told us stories, let us try her saris, colourful dresses, heels and we listened to Jazz, Edith Piaf or Jacques Brel. In the air, Tabú. She lived by her rules: live and let live. Of great character, sure, independent, bohemian, nostalgic, hippy and solitary, but never sad. A wise and powerful woman. She, her dresses and her kittens emanated that scent. In my family, talking about her was a taboo. My favourite aunt, a woman who got ahead of her time and whose name was Teresa.
It’s my first true oriental, in every sense of the word. Fortunately, I have both the EDP and the EDT (the violin one), and while they are siblings, they are entirely different worlds. The EDP is an aromatic bomb: intense, elegant, and with that bitter touch of civet that makes it lustful; it smells like a spice shop in Marrakech, powdery and creamy, nothing like those current sweet gourmands. It’s mysterious and powerful, lasting around 12 hours. The EDT is softer and more versatile, exploding with pepper and cloves before leaving a sweet base of orange, cinnamon, and ylang-ylang. The EDP is for confident, successful women on nights when they aren’t afraid to be looked at; the EDT is for day wear without looking like an older lady. It’s a bold yet comfortable icon, ideal for someone with their own character who knows how to keep their manners inside.
Tabu is brilliant; I can’t ask for more from a perfume, it’s impossible. In these times, it’s very bold to wear it because it has an ancient scent locked away in a denser, more aromatic era than now. I detect it so sweetly addictive; it’s becoming the oriental I adore most. On my skin, it doesn’t spoil; it doesn’t take on a dirty or acetone-like tone like others in this trend. I still don’t understand how an Eau de Parfum of 35ml plus its body cream for €4.99 can last so long and project so far… it lasts much longer than others and remains an integral scent for 12 hours… or are the big houses fooling us with their marketing? Because perfumes worth twenty times more and labelled as powerful don’t project strongly like this, not even a bit. I don’t know, but with Tabu, I think many hyper-cheesy and established houses are pulling our legs, but well done. Tabu is the absolute example of an absolutely accessible perfume; its price is more than laughable, lasting far longer than almost everything I own… if you don’t check it yourself. For the price mentioned, it’s worth going crazy over what it smells like and, provided poisonous perfumes taste good, otherwise don’t even look. Tabu is a Giant.
Tabu has not been given its due; it is a beautiful perfume undervalued as the wonderful creation it is. Its fragrance is very much in the style of Opium, Youth Dew, and Cinnabar, a proper and beautiful oriental. It evokes mystery and sensuality, is very intense, and has a strong personality. I vividly recall that what I appreciated most were the cloves, pink pepper, amber, sandalwood, civet, benzoin, ylang-ylang, and some white flowers. It’s a complex perfume, well-made, perfectly structured, smells refined, has quality, and I don’t understand the reason for its price. It’s for a night of magic, for a woman with a seductive presence, in a sensual dress, holding a touch of distance and intoxicating everyone. Tabu envelops with its fragrance; it’s beautiful. I recommend it totally to those who love orientals; don’t let the price fool you, the quality and beauty of its fragrance are indisputable.
If you are looking for quality/price, forget Samsara, La Nuit de l’Homme or Black Orchid; buy Tabú by Dana. It reminds me of Shalimar and Obsession Woman by Calvin Klein. They are sweet, intoxicating and simple to assimilate, pleasing everyone. They are timeless and unisex, like their references. Today, with aromatic oriental and gourmand praline and candy scents in vogue, the line between masculine and feminine is blurring. I believe scents should be enjoyed without categorising by sex, as Arabs did centuries ago. In Tabú I note honey and patchouli, or a honeyed patchouli, more rose and jasmine. As it dries down, elegant woods appear, probably cedar and benzoin. Longevity, trail and performance are extremely high and the price is almost a gift. Scent: 9, Trail: 9, Longevity: 9, Performance: 10.
If anyone were to guide themselves by value for money, they wouldn’t buy Guerlain’s Samsara, Saint Laurent’s La Nuit de l’Homme, or Tom Ford’s Black Orchid again; simply buying TABU by Dana would suffice. Note, I mentioned value for money first. TABU reminds me greatly of Shalimar and its cousin, Calvin Klein’s Obsession Woman. They are perfumes of an intoxicating sweetness, extraordinarily easy to assimilate because their scent appeals to everyone. It’s timeless and tremendously unisex, like the other two. Of course, they are unisex today, past the fougère and chypre fashion, and fully immersed in the era of aromatic oriental, spiced, and gourmand scents, both the severe ones and the sweet shop and praline types. Fortunately, the boundary between masculine and feminine fragrances is becoming a thing of the past, although tuberose, neroli, or plum florals remain that will take time to enter the unisex category. I believe it’s about scents being liked without further sex categorisation, and Arabs have been crafting perfumes without distinction for centuries. In TABU, I primarily detect honey and meliferous patchouli, along with rose and jasmine. As it dries down, very elegant woody notes appear, probably cedar and benzoin. Its longevity, sillage, and performance are very high, and its price is almost a gift. SCENT: 9, SILLAGE: 9, LONGEVITY: 9, PERFORMANCE: 10.
Last night I dreamed I was returning to Manderley… last night I dreamed I was returning to TABU. I’m reviewing the Eau de Cologne by Dana again. What an incredible fragrance! 105ml for just €14. Sometimes I don’t understand this market. The sillage and longevity of the Eau de Cologne are comparable to Joop! Homme and far superior to Shalimar, Calvin Klein’s Obsession Woman, and even One Million or Invictus. And it’s an eau de cologne! There’s no noticeable difference from the Eau de Parfum; the honey, patchouli, rose, jasmine, and orange blossom notes remain. In this version, I don’t detect that woody cedar and benzoin note, which gives it a more dressing-table feel and less of an oriental touch. I first applied it to my arm, but then I couldn’t resist spraying it on my neck and chest, where the intoxication truly began. I feel it in warm, overwhelming bursts that transport me to that cherished sensation, close to a sensory faint. The French call the refractory period after orgasm ‘la petite mort’. That moment of spiritual olfactory transport is my little death. It’s curious that I don’t dare to wear Kouros due to its scandalous provocation, yet I feel so comfortable with this feminine fragrance that feels as unisex as Le Male by Gaultier. Why not dedicate themselves solely to creating these beauties instead of weapons and wars? A human capable of creating sonatas, capitals, perfumes… SCENT: 9, SILLAGE: high, LONGEVITY: high, PERFORMANCE: high.
Finally managed to get my hands on a small bottle of the EDP version, and honestly, I absolutely adore it. It’s much sweeter and more wearable than I anticipated. I thought it would be a bombshell like Kouros for women, but instead, I’ve found a powerful and incredibly rich fragrance. Unbelievable value for money. Scent: 10, Longevity: 9, Sillage: 8, Value for money: 10, Versatility: 7, Overall: 8.
I took my time to dare to try it; I had the impression it would be very potent, intense, and difficult to wear. Today I finally sprayed it on my wrist… what a surprise! It is intense but wearable, dry, elegant, and classic. It seems suitable for the evening and has that slightly masculine character that I find so sexy. It has many similarities with Opium. The dry-down is a very pleasant spicy amber, nothing sweet or youthful. Finally, I love it. EDIT: Over time, it becomes a classic work that I’m in love with. When I want it sweet, I add Choco Musk by Al Rehab, and it’s a wonderful combo. Despite having more expensive perfumes, for a sensual night date, it’s a winning horse. Scent 7/10, Longevity 8/10, Sillage 8/10, Value for money 9/10, Versatility 5/10, Packaging 5/10. Would I buy it again? Perhaps.
I own it because it’s a mythical fragrance, a must of the 20th century and a current jewel. I came for curiosity; my mother said it was the perfume of a gallant life, and I had to verify it. I was born in the 80s and don’t recall any advertising linking it to me, so I did the fieldwork. It doesn’t disgust me. Yes, it smells of a cabaret from the 30s, 40s, and 50s. Very Beat Generation. I don’t wear it on my skin because it’s heavy, but I love perfuming my room and wardrobe with it.
At 87, it is the ancestor of almost all current oriental fragrances. I suppose it has been reformulated and some ingredients are synthetic, but it hasn’t lost its mystique. I tried it with fear because Opium, Obsession, and Poison used to overwhelm me; I think my nose wasn’t ready. The opening is sweet, reminiscent of the 80s Opium, then the spices emerge: clove, sandalwood, and patchouli. It is a high-quality oriental with great longevity; it must be applied with moderation. An undervalued classic with excellent value for money. Winter only, due to its potency and warmth.
It’s a marvel. I don’t know if it’s its age or mysticism, but it smells incredible. On my wrist, it transports me to the wild 1930s: rebellion, scandal, night, and excess. To me, it’s very feminine, nothing delicate; it smells of sex in a burlesque dancer’s dressing room. I wish it were rougher, with more tobacco or patchouli; right now, it feels too ‘womanly’. The opening doesn’t suit me; the spicy clove note repulses me, but after half an hour, the heart is lovely and the dry-down is another level. The price is a joke, an insult. It should cost a fortune. Less than four dollars for 18ml (laughs). An ideal autumn/winter classic for intimacy.
I’ve always walked past vintage perfumes, but I bought this one for the legend behind its creation, thinking only to add it to my collection. What a mistake! It smells of a sensual, elegant, classic woman, as if discreet lust is seeping through the pores. I can see myself wearing it at 25 on a winter night with black stockings, a skirt, and a leather jacket. In this summer heat, it would burn me, but on cool nights, it’s worth every penny.
There are perfumes that manage to move something, where smelling a piece of history acquires an unexpected meaning; sensations, emotions and surprise upon trying this elixir (thanks to Rebecavpf) blend into a pleasant experience and a desire to get it. In its youth, Tabú by Dana must have been a beautiful and extremely sensual woman. I met her now, at 89 years old: a pleasant, kind grandmother with a strong personality, with an essence that follows you for hours. They say she had a young, cheerful character, knew how to relate to all men with glamour and charisma, and many love her today. This perfume evidences a radical break with the female decorum of the time. It was supposed that women wanted to be desired, but didn’t reach to desire (consciously) consummate their romances. I suppose this Tabú was the ideal key to have both things. Revolutionary, it invited women to have a relationship with their own desire, to dream and fantasise about romance and sex. Ultimately, the taboo of Tabú was that a woman had control and power over her erotic fantasies. The sample was a revelation, not only compared to current pathetic proposals, but by allowing one to think about its relationship with subsequent oriental fragrances and the concept of open sexuality. It’s a complete oriental: sweet, amber, spicy and complex, with outstanding performance. The spicy notes, especially clove and coriander, take the lead, but not unpleasantly, while the sweetness comes from intoxicating flowers, clove, benzoin and amber, not vanilla. It’s a symbol of a strong and intrusive fragrance. Subtlety is not its characteristic; the performance is bestial, using it in a club will cause a disaster. It’s suitable for curling up on cold days and, unlike intimidating orientals like Opium or Magie Noire, it’s sexy and friendly like a girl who stops you on the street smiling. If any young person wants to try it, it’s not a cheap linear lady perfume, it’s the stuff of dreams. It’s incredible. I recommend closing ears and minds to those who think it’s unpleasant and cheap. Try it yourself, this matriarch. Don’t let yourself be intimidated by the initial explosion, let it dry and let it do its magic. You can fall in love again, just like me.
I go occasionally to the perfumerie in my neighbourhood to chat with the shopkeeper, try old things and take home a bottle. There I tried this Tabú by Dana and I loved it above the others. I asked if they would bring more to buy it, because they only had the test bottle with half the liquid and I didn’t see it as feasible. So one good day I said: if they didn’t have Tabú to sell, why did they want that solitary uncapped sample bottle? -‘Sell it to me, sell it to me!’ (as the song said, hehe) And so I got it. Very happy to have rescued it we left. Tabú is exquisite, sweet liqueur and deliciously cosy. Its white flowers, dry creaminess and warm, velvety texture like old makeup powders, create an essence that intoxicates me. Maybe it’s the perfume I miss most at home, although also for going out, but above all it’s the one I use most to sleep. With it I feel small, wrapped like a child in the arms of a great woman, beautiful and voluptuous, with full lips and red nails; her sensual flesh lulls me and I dream happier between her adorable and enormous breasts.
It’s a perfume most will call ‘musty’ without even combing their hair. Linear, very floral, where jasmine stands out more than narcissus, notes other brands have used to saturation, so it hardly won’t remind you of something from the past. It’s not current; it’s for a very old person (contrary to other reviews, I don’t see it on young people); feminine, it might remind you of your grandmother, mother or aunt ‘the one who stayed to wear the wedding dress’, and little else. Should I recommend buying it blind? Not on your life! Only suitable for those who like the retro and antique. It will put young people off, unless you like ‘old-lady’ notes. Those who say it transports you to the 30s or burlesque… it’s well written but doesn’t hold water. What’s white in the bottle is what it is. In short: musty, ancient, archaic, retro… something that should be buried by the advancement of fashion; fortunately, there are more versatile aromatic worlds. If you haven’t heard of it, it might please you, but if you already know it, it will take you back to a past era. You must like the combination, because buying it is a guaranteed risk. Subjective view.
REVIEW OF TABÚ BY DANA: The opening reminds me of Chanel No. 5, a well-dressed lady with pearl earrings. Within seconds it transforms into an Obsession by Calvin Klein (90s air) and finally becomes a fragrance for women aged 28-30-40. The trail is spectacular, lasts a long time and projects more than Obsession; a single mist on the wrists and I can smell it all day; it’s extremely enveloping. It seems sweet, woody and sensual as time passes. I bought it because my grandmother, a department store sales assistant, told me she sold a lot of it and that the most ‘libertine’ women used it to attract glances. She said it smelled sweet, sensual and left an incredible trail wherever you went, making men turn around. When I searched for it and found it, I had to buy it out of curiosity! There are modern perfumes today like Scandal by Jean Paul Gaultier that cause the same effect, but Tabú, being less usual, attracts more attention and is more serious. Both are heavy, so don’t abuse them. Good value for money; it cost me around £20 and has the bearing of a £60 one. I recommend it to mature and confident women because Tabú has character and attracts attention. Use it for late afternoon and dates. It’s a special perfume.
Most will categorise it as ‘musty’ without even combing their hair. It’s linear, very floral, where jasmine and cinnamon stand out more than narcissus, notes other brands have used to saturation, so it hardly won’t remind you of something from the past. As a retrospective experience it’s perfect, but for using it daily and expecting compliments? I don’t see it. It’s not current; it’s for a very old person (contrary to other reviews, I don’t see it on young people); feminine, it might remind you of your grandmother, mother or aunt ‘the one who stayed to wear the wedding dress’, and little else. Should I recommend buying it blind? Not on your life! Only suitable for those who like the retro and antique. It will put young people off, unless you like ‘old-lady’ notes. Those who say it transports you to the 30s or burlesque… it’s well written but doesn’t hold water. What’s white in the bottle is what it is. In short: musty, ancient, archaic, retro… something that should be buried by the advancement of fashion; fortunately, there are more versatile aromatic worlds. If you haven’t heard of it, it might please you, but if you already know it, it will take you back to a past era where ‘the older ones’ only wore this. You must like the combination, because buying it is a guaranteed risk. Subjective view.
The first carnival I remember was when I was seven. I enjoyed the colour, the drums, the mystery of a Taino exhibition and, of course, the smell. My mother, a free spirit, took me to places other children wouldn’t see, and so I met scents I now love: mahogany wood, incense, amber, spices, roses, jasmine… Common smells in the colonial area of the Dominican Republic that I find in Tabú (although it doesn’t say incense, I feel it). It is magical. I’m not a fan of retro scents like Youth Dew or Chanel No. 5, but Tabú is magic, beautiful and doesn’t turn stale. It’s surprising that young men like it, and if a girl wears it, she smells like a sexy lady who knows what she wants. It is very dual: feminine in her and masculine in him. It is not clean nor for spring; it is sensual, hot, potent, bordering on sexual. It smells like sexual witchcraft, like certain rituals in my country with flowers, incense and woods. I bought it blindly and it reminded me of the scent that fell in love with me that carnival night. I would recommend it to anyone looking for uncommon perfumes. It doesn’t smell like current trends nor its age; it is delicate despite its potency. It doesn’t slap you in the face, it embraces you like a winter coat. But be careful: don’t use more than 3 sprays. I put one on an arm and, after more than 24 hours and showering, it has barely softened.
I remember my first carnival enjoying it at seven years old: costumes, drums, mystery in a Taíno exhibition and, of course, the scent. My mother, a free spirit, took me to places other children wouldn’t see, and so I discovered aromas I now love. Mahogany wood, incense, amber, spices, roses, jasmine… scents of the Dominican colonial zone that I find in Tabú (although it doesn’t list incense, I sense it). It’s magical. I’m not a fan of retro scents like Youth Dew or Chanel No. 5, but Tabú by Dana is magic, precious and doesn’t smell musty. Surprisingly, young men like it, and if a girl wears it, she smells like a sexy lady who knows what she wants. It’s dual: feminine on her, masculine on him. It’s not fresh or for spring; it’s sensual, hot and potent. It smells like sexual witchcraft (reminds me of Dominican rites with flowers and incense). I bought it blind and it’s the scent that fell in love with me 30 years ago on that carnival night. I recommend it to those seeking uncommon perfumes. It doesn’t smell like current trends or the wearer’s age. It’s delicate despite its potency; it doesn’t slap you in the face, it hugs you like a winter coat. But beware: don’t use more than three sprays unless it’s snowing. I put one on an arm and, more than 24 hours after showering and disinfecting, it has barely softened.
I bought it blind and didn’t like it at all. It smells vintage, very spicy and like Coca-Cola… yes, the opening seemed fizzy. It’s not for me. I thought I’d love it, but I didn’t. Upon trying it, I imagined an old lady in a hospital waiting room (no insult intended, that’s just what I felt). My mother liked it because she used it in the 70s.
Tabú is a timeless perfume. Warm, enveloping and sensual. A beauty at a ridiculous price.
It brings back memories of my grandmother in the 80s. Today I tried a miniature of Obsession by Calvin Klein (from the 90s) and it transported me straight back to the memories of Tabú.
I detect almost all the notes, but the dry-down is a brutal musk, reminiscent of Jovan Musk. The clove dominates with an anaesthetic touch, followed by the animalic side, unidentified florals, a liquor-like quality matching its colour, woody and very spicy. It smells like an adult woman, sensual for the night, not for dates (it can be cloying), ideal for theatre or events. It arrived in 18ml and vanished in five minutes; perhaps it’s the formula, but it’s not simple. The clove lingers. EDIT: by three hours, only a smell of cheap soap remains.