#Mugler Angel perfume

[thierrymugler]

Thierry Mugler - ANGEL EAU DE PARFUM

[cinnamonnangel]

Best Coconut Perfumes 🥥

[fenchy]

Hunter Schafer for Mugler - Angel Elixir

[seleniangnosis]

Perfume aesthetic: Mugler - Angel

The scent of the wind, the sky, wide open spaces, the color blue, infinity, a breath of fresh air –a pure crystal clear vibration. The delicate swirl of bergamot notes.

[thedepartmentofdiscoveries]

Photo: Courtesy of Clarins and Thierry Mugler

1992 Campaign Starring Estelle Lefébure

“I can’t remember the building, but it was near Times Square. Estelle was wearing a very tame Mugler black suit and blue scarf. Security guards in America are much stricter than they are in Europe, so I always had to distract them so that Thierry could have Estelle get much closer to the edge than they would allow.”

- The house’s creative director, Christophe de Lataillade.

[bonkie]

mugler

[disease]

[brooklynmuseum]

This year marks the 30th anniversary of Angel, which was the start of Thierry Mugler’s successful foray creating fine fragrance.

With its launch in 1992, Angel expanded the horizons of fragrance in multiple ways. Its composition, an unexpected blend of sweet and earthy notes, showed the way for a new “gourmand” genre in perfumery. Visually, its star-shaped glass bottle and ethereal pale blue color were both in keeping with Mugler’s established design vocabulary, yet were atypical at the fragrance counters of that era. Mugler himself also photographed Angel’s early ad campaigns, posing some of his favorite “muses” against otherworldly backgrounds, like Jerry Hall shown here in the White Sands of New Mexico.

Mugler said about perfume, “It’s really a language, and it speaks to people or it doesn’t.” So, what do you say? Does Angel speak to you? 

🎥 “Beware of Angels,” 1993. Thierry Mugler, director. Featuring Jerry Hall. Courtesy of Mugler Archives and Videopolis

[aplacetocrash]

[canarycontessa]

me: *is stressed out*

me: *reads the fragrance profile for thierry muglers angel for the millionth time*

me:

[bluebellss1]

I think this is the photo that made me realise how pretty the Mugler Angel bottles actually were, and what the vision for the design was supposed to be.

Seeing them all in a pile like this really makes them look like these otherworldly fallen star shards.

[obnoxiousprince]

My favourite perfume commercials

Perfume commercials are often very aesthetic, and must of course be so in order to pass the vibe of the fragrance,

Here is a list of my favorite perfume commercials (not in order of preference),

-Chanel commercial from 2020 for N°5 featuring Marion Cotillard

The song is a cover of Team by Lorde sung by Marion Cotillard who is also starring in the commercial.

-Nina L'Eau by Nina Ricci

The music is End Credits by Bruno Coulais for the movie Coraline.

-Miss Dior Chérie L'Eau by Dior

The commercial was made by Sofia Coppola (who also directed the movie Marie Antoinette from 2006)

-Angel by Mugler from 2011

I want to go on that train

-Angel by Mugler + Angel Nova

This one is rather short but it is no less iconic

-Alien Goddess by Mugler

The vibe is stunning and the song is All Is Full Of Love by Björk (whom I really like)

-Nina L'Elixir by Nina Ricci

I love this version of Sunday Girl sung by Florrie Arnold

The name of the perfume does not figure in this long version of the commercial but in the short one

Here

Bonus:

-Nina Fantasy by Nina Ricci

The song in this one is also sung by Florrie and is stuck in my head

[zbounce94]

I spent years looking at Alien online. I had never smelled it, but the name and bottle design pulled me in. The notes didn't particularly appeal to me, but I just... Couldn't stay away. When I finally got my hands on a sample it was a done deal.

I never had the opportunity to smell the original formula. I often wonder what I missed out on. If this version is so lovely, how could the older juice be even better?

Regardless, Alien and Aura dragged me into the world of Mugler and I'm hooked. Most days, I'm wearing something from this house.

[fragrancehouseltd]

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ 5 star review: Absolutely stunning Had an issue with royal mail and the gentleman from fragrance house sorted it out very quickly, my angel eau de parfam is beautiful but to my surprise they also put a free sample of angel elixir in with my order, its absolutely out of this world and will be next order, anyone thinking of buying from Fragrance house please don't hesitate, excellent company with excellent service and perfumes, 5 stars from me ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

[parfumieren]

Angel (Thierry Mugler)

Since making its acquaintance, I've wrestled Angel and wrestled hard. In the course of five years, I went from loathing this divisive bestseller to... well, we get along all right in small doses.

2010

Today, during a routine trip to the mega-mall, I dragged my husband into Sephora for a spate of perfume sampling. Immediately I spotted a perfume I've been itching to meet for ages: Thierry Mugler's Angel. How did I manage to live for nearly two decades without encountering one of the most recognizable, polarizing, and notorious scents of the last half century? Luck, I guess. (Or maybe I'd always run away from it too fast to ever learn its unholy name.)

First impression on the test strip: fantastic! An acetylene-bright violet, sparkling with carbonation, like Sacrebleu with added nitromethane. I offered it to my husband; he nodded and smiled. Nice.

I strayed over to a couple of other perfumes -- Lolita Lempicka (if flowers could sweat…), Shalimar (charming as always), Hypnotic Poison (regular Poison + rohypnol) -- before coming back to Angel. Out with the test strip again-- sniff, sniff.

"What do you think?" I asked my husband.

"It's interesting. Different. Not like anything you've worn," he said.

I decided to leap in. Picked up the heavy, star-shaped, Tim Burtonesque decanter and gave my wrist a hearty spray. Hooray!

The first five minutes will live in my memory as some of the nicest minutes I ever spent with a fragrance. Prickly, tickly, teasing, Angel seemed alive with personality. Behind its strobe-light top notes, I could detect some of that unusual chocolate-patchouli chord I'd read about. I relaxed, plotting how I might ask the Sephora floor staff to make me up a sample to take home, and maybe I'd even follow up by purchasing a full-sized--

WHAT THE HELL?!

My Angel had just sprouted horns. No, not horns-- legs. Eight of them, all bearing down on me at freight-train speed. To my horror, this cherubic little bit of cloud-fluff had just morphed into a Shelob-sized spider of stonk. Having lured me into its pretty gossamer web, it now set about immobilizing me in a cocoon of sticky cotton candy from which escape was impossible.

Noticing the look on my face, my husband asked, "Everything OK?"

"Help," I managed to whisper before the death-cloud of spun sugar covered my mouth.

In what seemed like seconds, nothing remained of either the effervescent violet or that alluring bitter-chocolate accord. The present (and the forseeable future) consisted of a single, relentless note of slightly burned Karo corn syrup which grew stronger and sweeter with every passing moment, ratcheting the tension skyward until I thought I was going to scream.

Did I think it couldn't get worse? Oh, how wrong I was.

Angel chose that moment to deploy a stinger full of venom in the form of a blackcurrant note so boozy I thought I'd been teleported back to 1987, when the candy trend for high-school girls was fancy French cassis pastilles in collectible tins filled with powdered sugar. When you were done with the pastilles, you emptied out the sugar and used the tin to store your cocaine. And when you were done with the cocaine, you drank most of a bottle of cheap Leroux's blackberry brandy in a desperate attempt to come down. Then you puked yourself dry and promised God and your sainted grandmother never, ever, EVER to do it again.

That's where Angel had me, and I'd only been wearing it for half an hour.

After two hours, Angel shapechanged into the feminine version of Drakkar Noir, the toxic pong of choice for all the gold-chain-and-hair-gel playas who overrun South Jersey every summer. NOW I knew where I'd smelled this before-- I'd been smelling it all my life! Having grown up just across the bay from Seaside Heights, how well I knew those evil winds that drifted over the water, carrying the odor of stale cigarette smoke, suntan lotion, unwashed ass, and day-old funnel cakes coated in a sludge of equal parts congealed grease and confectioner's sugar….

I get it. Angel is none other than Snooki.

Home to throw myself in a steaming hot shower and scrub myself from head to toe with Ivory soap. No luck: hours later, Angel is still with me. If it doesn't fade soon, I'm going to have to get out my microplane citrus zester and grate the first hundred layers of skin off the inside of my wrist to get free. Until then, I'll sit in my pajamas, shivering and clutching a teacup full of whiskey, such as is traditionally offered to survivors of a terrible, unspeakable ordeal.

2011

I almost overlooked it-- partially because it was so tiny, partially because I never expected to encounter such a thing on a thrift store shelf.

The sight of the silver foil peeling off its molded plastic cap brought a self-righteous smirk to my lips. Beneath a scrap of masking tape marked “25¢” in grease pencil, that star-shaped hunk of glass -- tacky and cumbersome even when brand new -- carried a tragic coating of grime. Irony: that a high-end perfume modeled after that most low-rent of locations (the carnival fairway) should meet a fate every bit as tawdry as its stated inspiration.

Oh ho! how the mighty have fallen! I thought, then walked away.

Five minutes later I was back, staring at that tiny glass star and feeling inexplicably gloomy. What's an Angel like you doing in a place like this? I whispered… then reached out my hand.

As I've expressed before, my opinion of Angel is not high. It still isn't. Granted, its first minute on skin is a taste of pure Heaven-- but where it goes from there, in my humble opinion, is straight to Hell. Yet the sight of this little Angel languishing unwanted and unclaimed on the shelf dried up my schadenfreude at its very root.

Twenty-five cents, you say? And the bottle still has a minute amount of parfum in it? Well, perhaps it will be different when dabbed than when sprayed….

Take it from me: it isn't.

2015

Today I dabbed my very last hoarded droplets of Angel onto my wrists. Hoarded? I can almost hear you say. But I thought you HATED that stuff.

I've come a long way, baby.

It's true that an overzealous spray in Sephora nearly biased me for life against this bizarre gourmand. But that was five years ago. I've changed my mind on many things in that time. Cassis -- once my sworn enemy -- is now not even my frenemy, but my friend. I've smelled so many lousy Angel wannabes at Target or Kohls that the original on which they're based -- tart fruit layered over a patchouli-caramel-chocolate accord once deemed by me The Worst -- is actually really Some Kind of Wonderful. Maybe it's grown on me. Or maybe I've learned just how much Angel is enough (the tiniest, TINIEST dab; the barest swipe of the sample vial wand).

The point is this: I'm sad enough to see Angel go to want it to return, even if I have to buy it outright. Not a full-sized bottle, mind you-- unless the Angel promised to take its share.

Scent Elements: Bergamot, helional, hedione, blackcurrant, honey, patchouli, vanilla, coumarin, chocolate, sandalwood, a CrackerJacks factory worth of caramel, and a veritable shitload of ethylmaltol.

[thedepartmentofdiscoveries]

Photo: Courtesy of Clarins and Thierry Mugler

1995 Campaign Starring Jerry Hall

“We shot this in White Sands, New Mexico. Apparently Jerry had been visiting her family in Texas at the time, so she told me, ‘I will make my arrangements, just tell me where the hotel is.’ The day of the shoot, a huge white stretch limo appeared with a chauffeur who looked like a pimp or something, all dressed in white with white crocodile boots. Jerry came out and had big Vuitton trunks filled with lingerie with her. She spent her evenings doing fittings with her own lingerie in an ugly little motel in Alamo Gordo. That was the sort of thing she did.”