Miu Miu eau de parfum: fragrance review

Has Miuccia Prada exhausted the fragrance concepts for her own brand and has expanded into its sister brand, Miu Miu? More like the youthful yet sophisticated Miu Miu label needed that which it was lacking; a lifestyle fragrance. Miu Miu eau de parfum comes along to fill that void (and alas not   the one in perfume lovers' hearts) and, although nothing seismical, it is a decent enough composition aiming to be the introduction to perfume for the quite young ladies who look up to the unique Prada fashion sense.

Unsurprisingly the formula was developed by Daniela Roche Andrier, the fetish perfumer of the Prada fragrance stable (and also famous for her creations for Bvlgari, Bottega Veneta, Martin Margiela Untitled and Marni), and bears a quota of her graceful trademark. Although when I first smelled Miu Miu eau de parfum I wasn't bowled over by the innovation and in fact wracked my brains to put my finger on what it reminded of (read on), I have to admit that it is not unrepresentable, at least compared to all the syrupy stuff around, and would probably sell quite well.
The collaboration of Miu Miu with Coty Inc. (the Prada frags are developed with Puig) definitely meant that the perfumer was subject to several focus group tests as well as meetings with the project managers team. This usually means creativity isn't given free rein.

The composition in Miu Miu eau de parfum tethers between the freshness of green notes and quite sharp floralcy of lily of the valley, rendered through modern synthetics, since the old golden standard, hydroxycitronellal has been heavily rationed, and the warmth of something that is almost patchouli-like, yet it's not.

The sharp lily of the valley fragrance note and the green jasmine (similar to the ethereal one in Marc Jacobs' discontinued Blush) is fitting the neopuritan aesthetics of the Miu Miu brand, so one can totally see the choice from a strategic, branding point of view. The woodsier background can be explained via the need for something that resonates with the sweeping trend in feminine launches of the past 15 years: something with patchouli notes...

The familiar faint patchouli chord that is indeed pack & parcel of almost every new fragrance launch aimed at the under-45 crowd (and even some aimed above), at least ever since the introduction of Narciso for Her, the pioneer of the "nouveau chypre" fragrances [refer to this for chypre definition & perfume examples], is, astoundingly enough, not exactly patchouli oil. In Miu Miu eau de parfum the note has a hint of pepper and mainly a wood hue, sans the usual dark chocolate facet of natural patchouli essence. In fact the base note (especially on paper, as on skin it is more fleeting) reminds me of older aldehydic florals with green notes, like Lancome's Climat, but very faint. A wink by the perfumer?

We have touched the subject of fractioned essences before, when perfumers take a complex natural structure and extract only the odoriferous molecules they're interested in, tossing the things that give off notes for their particular purpose. For Miu Miu eau de parfum this involved what the producing company, Givaudan, calls "akigalawood" (try saying that 5 times quickly) which is basically a Givaudan trademark (submitted in May 2012 if that's of interest) made in alliance with Soliance.

This is how Boris, a leading biochemist within Givaudan explained it: “The mission of the Ingredients Centre of Excellence in Zurich, Switzerland is to employ enzymes to develop new fragrance ingredients, and it was within this context that the Biosciences team recently created Akigalawood®, where an enzyme known as laccase was used to transform a natural starting material into a new natural and captive perfume compound. Akigalawood® has recently been commercialised in a leading men’s fragrance for the Brazilian market. This novel material has a profile similar to that of patchouli, combined with vibrant spicy aspects of pepper and noble agarwood facets. This enzymatic process, which only requires mild processing with salt and water, is also a far more environmentally friendly way to develop new raw materials for fragrance use.”

Miu Miu eau de parfum seems to be that triumph of new things that don't really feel new. Perfect for the nostalgic brand then with its 60s cat eye makeup and retro hairstyles, but not for the hardcore perfume lover.

The splendid bottle is inspired by the coveted Miu Miu matelassé leather handbags and the odd color combination reminds me a bit of Cacharel Loulou. The model in the campaign is Stacy Martin, shot by Steven Meisel. Song is Lesley Gore's "You Don't Own Me" (recorded in 1964).

There is also a dedicated website to the Miu Miu fragrance.

Shopping info: Exclusive to Neiman Marcus and Bergdorf Goodman from September to December 2015 in the United States. Already available in department store counters and Sephora (where I tested it) in several European countries. Starting from 55€ /£48 /$75 for 30ml/1oz eau de parfum. Ancillary body products also to be available. 

Prada Luna Rossa: Fragrance Review & On the Modern Urban Male Accord

~by guest writer AlbertCAN

History has a way of repeating itself, though from a pragmatic point of view it isn’t always monotonous. More and more I’m convinced that aesthetically modern perfumery shares a great deal of similarities with arts in the Shakespearean era: it’s not the originality of the subject matter that interests the audience as a whole, but the deliverance of a story or the treatment of the subject matter. After all, before Shakespeare there was Christopher Marlowe; before William’s “Troilus and Cressida” there was Geoffrey Chaucer’s “Troilus and Criseyde”. Likewise before Chanel Coco Mademoiselle there was Thierry Mugler Angel, Narciso Rodriguez For Her before Guerlain Idylle. I am, of course, by no means implying that there’s a modern perfumery equivalent of Shakespeare, Marlowe or Chaucer among us (‘tis not my place to ascertain), nor am I condoning blatant olfactory plagiarism, so unfortunately flooding the market these days. Rather, nowadays it’s all about the paradigm-shifting quarter turns.



Enter Luna Rossa: the latest woody-citrus masculine offering from Prada affirms to me the notion that we, as a civilization, has reached a consensus on the idea of how men of the early 21st century to smell like, so much so that I am terming the olfactory backbone “Modern Urban Male Accord”, or MUMA for short (after the cultural phenomenon “Sensitive Female Chord Progression”). I am by no means implying that Prada Luna Rossa is the archetypical benchmark of the story, but rather a reflection that the world has really reached the critical mass on this front long ago that a proposed cultural moniker is in order.

Prada Luna Rossa, created by perfumer Daniela Andrier and named after the brand’s America’s Cup Challenge team, is supposed to be an “unconventional marine fragrance” featuring lavender. The unconventionality here refers to the novel derivations of ingredients, for instance the mint: the Maroccan Mentha spicata var. crispa Nana, which made its perfumery debut in the blue special edition of Montblanc Legend by Olivier Pescheux. Further, I have observed the following critique on Scent and Chemistry’s facebook page:

Albeit being fresh and minty, spearmint also has a dirty side to it. Leave a blotter with any spearmint oil for a day, and it will smell 'dirty wet cloth' the next morning. This fate is quite a danger in any fragrance heavy on spearmint, but not so in 'Luna Rossa', where the spearmint is softened by vegetal and dusty rose accents, green angelica, and a papyrus/blond woods accord heavy on Iso E Super.

The lavender used is an absolute, though surely further treated after extraction to clear off the burnt-sugar nuance often associated with the material. Then there’s the requisite modern masculine base notes: musk (ambrettolide in this case) and ambergris in the guise of ambrox. The overall effect ticks all the right boxes: fresh, soft, clean and sporty.

How does the fragrance stand in terms of its olfactory genealogy? I would position Prada Luna Rossa to be a kissing cousin of Chanel Allure Homme Édition Blanche, also having an herbal-white musk-ambrox alignment. The mint motif also positions it to be the neighbourhood of Cartier Roadster. In fact, to the readers of this blog I can sum up the genre in three words—contemporary sports cologne—and many shall have a firm grasp of its overall feel and sillage. Thus we have a basic feel of the Modern Urban Male Accord.

Now I know many readers among us may bemoan the examination of the greatest cultural common denominator, but the rationale behind MUMA is worth pondering here. Decades before, when the idea of an ideal gentleman was different, we had the fougères and the chypres. Chanel Pour Monsieur, a fragrance many has considered to be a masculine archetype, is within the same era such as Monsieur de Givenchy. Then Christian Dior Eau Sauvage. Then Calvin Klein Eternity for Men, etc. Years from now, when the tastes of the general public have changed, MUMA would simply be a reference point from the past. This too, as they say, shall pass.

The heart of the matter is that men’s grooming and sartorial trends have always been slow and relatively unyielding in their evolutions. Conformity may be too harsh of a word here, but nowadays most men dress to blend in, not to significantly stand out, to shock. Having fashion retail experience I can report that most men don’t view clothes shopping their ideas of fun, preferring to get what they need in the store and moving on. I think the sociology and the marketing catering to the men is beyond the exploration scope of this article, but if consumers vote their ideas of what a modern man should smell like with their money, based on the recent releases we have a fairly good idea on our perception of MUMA.

Perfumer Jean Guichard once quipped that every good fragrance needs a ‘duo’, meaning the interplay of two contrasting ingredients. It’s a summary on fragrance construction, of course, but an elegant mean of understanding the basic principles nonetheless. As far as I can tell MUMA is the contrast between aromatics (geranium/mint/lavender etc.) with modern fixatives (white musk/modern amber/others). Add dihydromercenol for a fresh laundry effect, generic spice and some metallic nuances. Repackage and repeat.

Needless to say major launches from big houses rely on MUMA not because of its artistic merit, but rather under the cultural and social norms there isn’t a great deal of room to negotiate the artistic direction. Enlightened consumers, however, can choose to layer MUMA in interesting combinations; Prada Luna Rossa, for instance, works very well with Hermes Hiris, as I pleasantly discovered today. (Mint and iris, where have thou been all of my life?) There: a contemporary male fragrance does not need to be monotonous. How it can be used is a far more interesting exploration.

Photo: Prada Luna Rossa via Moody Report

What Scents Do Perfumers Wear?

“I wear the fragrances I am creating. My skin is my work instrument. When I have the time to wear some fragrances, I like to smell of Féminité du bois or Ambre Sultan by Serge Lutens, or some of my earlier creations for Jo Malone London like English Pear & Freesia.” So says perfumer Christine Nagel, "creator of  Narciso Rodriguez for Her (with Francis Kurkdjian), and several blockbusters including Miss Dior Chérie and Dolce & Gabbana The One for Her, before moving in-house at Jo Malone London to put her unique spin on the company’s traditional blooms" as per one article appearing on Australian Vogue.

 Most perfumers and people professionally involved in fragrances do not wear perfumes on their own skin as a matter of course or when working, so as not to get distracted. Yet sometimes they do indulge in their own creations (to better gauge them), the odd classic or two an aside, or at least they're saying so to bring more attention to their work. Francis Kurkdjian, Olivier Cresp, Daniela Andrier, Anne Flipo, Fabrice Penot of Le Labo, Erwin Creed, Frédéric Malle, Romano Ricci of Juliette Has a Gun, and François Demachy (head perfumer for Dior) share their secrets with the readers of Australian Vogue. Read the whole article on this link.

Prada Candy: fragrance review

It's been called "Werther's Original in a bottle". It's been called "Infusion de benjoin". It's been called "a vat of Polish fudge made of condensed milk" or "cajeta". To my mind, it's neither, though I can see where the assessments are coming from. Prada Candy is simply the most unexpected launch of this autumn coming from the most blasé designer brand. I defy anyone to smell it and come up with a definitive verdict in less than a week's testing. It just keeps you guessing, is this for real? 

There's something inherently sophisticated about the Prada fragrance line (the apotheosis being L'Eau Ambrée; in contrast some of the Infusions are limp-wristed to me) and though at first glance ~or rather, sniff~ that's not apparent in Candy, in the end you realize that it could have been Pink Sugar, but it's not. It resembles the best-selling Aquolina scent in some respects; the strawberry-flavoured caramel being melted in a hot plastic cup, at some intergalaxial fun fair where waitresses are clad in A-line skirts embossed with lip prints in pastel hues. That doesn't mean that Candy is not a departure for the brand; something by  that name in a pop canister resembling a pink-edged coffee press is meant to be sweet and teeny-bopper and not coming out of the mind of Miuccia with her Communism background, right? Is catering to lower instincts like hunger and lust an opium for the people?

But there's thankfully a certain comfort factor about the new Prada fragrance instead of just dessert sweet, thanks to the deft of hand of perfumer Daniela Andrier; it's a complex gourmand oriental with a balsamic, drizzling, sexy background that holds it from becoming a total "teenagers-don't-know-any-better" mess. I'm not entirely convinced it's the best fit the brand could come up with (and it's not "me", which might be influencing me), but it's got a certain pull-in factor despite the identity crisis (Watching the commercial with Léa Seydoux I don't know if I'm supposed to laugh or hide my eyes out of shame on the protagonists' behalf). In short, Prada Candy is that confusing phenomenon: a fragrance that doesn't fit with Prada's image (much like L'Artisan's original Vanilia with its "simplistic" ice-cream cone scent was incongruous with the hippy, boho style of the rest of the brand), but somehow manages to appeal all the same.Of course one could argue that Prada might slap their label over a bottle of water and it would still sell like hot bread. True.

The composition features elegant musks up top with the intense flavour of milky, creamy caramel mixed in, some of the caramelic accents reminding me of the upper edges of lavender's spectrum. That caramelic note takes almost licorice & tonka facets, complex, abstract, like a passing kinship with the original Lolita Lempicka perfume. There is benzoin resin in the lower range of notes (much like in their best-selling Infusion d'Iris scent), purported to be as much as 12% of the formula -which I find hard to totally believe as benzoin is a known sensitizer- that creates a moiré effect between cozy and powdery. Benzoin naturally possesses facets like copal, a smell between medicinal and sweet, with earthier components (Smell Guerlain Bois d'Arménie which is full of it) . This characterises the drydown (i.e.the final phase of persistence) of Prada Candy on the skin after the first half hour following spritzing. The musky "dirty diapers" note, like baby urine, creates a background of soft suede and darkness reminiscent of a lot of vintage fragrances (it's the sexy note in Shalimar). A sneaky wink. And this is exactly why Candy is not dumping the brand or just aiming at a younger demographic, as one would be quick to cauterize at first "reading" of this launch.
The sillage is nice and cozy and the lasting power very satisfactory, after a while it becomes a skin scent.
I don't think I will be buying a full bottle, but I will tuck in  many samples in my bag for when I want to (contendedly) get down and silly. Nothing wrong with that!

Prada Candy is available at Eau de Parfum concentration at major department stores, starting from £40 for 30ml/1oz. and online (check the selection of discount fragrances for even better deals)
ETA: A new flanker, Candy L'Eau, a lighter interpretation, is introduced in spring 2013. 





Photo of dulce de leche via pinterest.com

Prada Infusion de Tubereuse: fragrance review

The newest Prada fragrance Infusion de Tubéreuse (announced here alongside the masculine Infusion de Vétiver), the latest in the Ephemeral Infusion collection, seems like a triumph of looks over essence: literally!

The gorgeous packaging is based on an old print in the Prada textile archives, where the petals of the flower seem immersed in ink and pressed in a dégradé manner on the carton. I especially like a small details: the caps are "dressed" in the same material so as to co-ordinate. In short, it looks supremely lovely in a 70s Five Easy Pieces way: you suddenly become enamored with cross-eyedness! A new Infusion by Prada would be just as well be launching as "Infusion of a Longing", as the Prada line has so many fans. Obviously someone at the marketing and designing team has a pretty good idea of what they're doing. But, alas, those hunting for a true tuberose scent, that strange mystical mistress of the night with its intense mix of blood, rubber (methyl salylilate) and even meat aromata, will be more than a little crestfallen by this dematerialisation.

In drawing terms it is the opposite of Albercth Dürer's Underweysung der Messung (Instruction in Measurement), showing an artist viewing his subject through a window, compartmentalized into squares, in the hopes to methodically understand and record each detail on gridded drawing paper.
The press material talks about an unexpected tuberose from India, but having familiarised myself with that incomparable, intoxicating essence I remain a little sceptical (Thank God they do mention it's a "fantasy infusion"). No rubbery wintergreen start like in the icy Tubéreuse Criminelle (Serge Lutens), no creaminess as in the diva-esque Fracas, no coconut smidge alongside the mentholated greenery as in Carnal Flower (F.Malle), no decaying indoles to talk about. The woody-musky drydown of the Prada ~and especially the Infusion~ line is there though. Like in Infusion d'Iris, there really isn't a dominant effect of iris ~but rather of a woody blend (much like in Infusion d'Homme too). Was the idea to do a brief impression with a lustrous, cheery beginning like they had done with their Prada boutiques exclusive #6 Tuberose (also opening on neroli notes) or was it simply in line with the Infusion concept of olfactory poltergeists, a "Pradanade" so to speak, spoken in hushed tones and felt in its effect more than being seen?

Perhaps there really is no reinvention of the wheel after all: Do Son by Diptyque was a timid, introductory tuberose gouache with a subtle almost skin-like effect in drydown. Not very true to the essence rendered from the flowers, even though it feels like a composition with naturals; and this is the diverging difference with the Prada. To the pastoral theme of Diptyque, Prada and Daniela Andrier intentionally juxtapose futurism, via more amped up synthetics, which account for a superior staying power, even though it's discreet enough to have those familiar with the Grand French Manner (I assume you're taking the hint) bound to be complaining about it.

As anyone who has a hankering for seeing how "notes" of aromachemicals find their way into the commercial blurb for consumers on the other hand, I have to give them credit for mentioning "dynamone", a Penta chemicals manufacturing product with a sublty amber aroma that is indirectly derived from cistus ladaniferus, in the composition. Why haven't you heard of it before?, you ask. (In fact you have, if you paid attention; it's also included in Closet Queen by Etat Libre d'Orage) Because it's hard to harness into a formula due to technical problems, even though its diffusiveness and tenacity provide a helpful hand in prolonging "skin-scent" accords, such as this one (see a similar concept of that via another route in Prada's L'Eau Ambrée). Personally I wasn't too impressed by the previous limited edition, Infusion de Fleurs d'Oranger , and this one seems to be riding the fast way to nowhere just like Bobby Eroica Dupea. I'll stick with the excellent L'Eau Ambrée myself.

Prada Infusion de Tubéreuse for women is a blend of notes of Indian tuberose, petitgrain bigararde, Italian blood orange and dynamone. It retails at €67 for 50mls at major department stores, available starting April 2010.

Related reading on Perfumeshrine: Fragrances with tuberose, Prada reviews

Photo of borken model dolls by Daikichi Amano via Who Killed Bambi

Prada L'Eau Ambree: fragrance review

L'Eau Ambrée, maestra Miuccia’s latest fragrance, talks with the whispers of a ghost; an ectoplasmic take on the dry woody, patchouli and ~most imporantly~ ambery core of the original Prada fragrance mingled with the saline note of Eau de Merveilles that reproduced the scent of ambergris rather than sweet resinous amber (For more on the differences between amber and ambergris read this article). Ghost-like in its evanescence, gossamer-light, leaving behind but the memory of someone living in a grey-hued photograph that captures its ether.

This new gouache of an oriental is possibly the most skin-scent-like Prada ever issued, even more so than Infusion d'iris. One could even consider it an embryo of the idea of an "oriental" for the next decade and beyond: Will it induce hallucinations of orientalia beneath the gauzy veil to the modern day sylphids who worship at the altar of austere Prada? It remains to be seen. I see it as a step in that direction and the beginning of a new trend in perfumery.
Lovers of diaphanous ambergris creations and those able to smell Isabelle Doyen's L'Antimatière by Les Nez might find something to take them through every eventuality: The fragrance enters the scene in a light-through-the-tunnel vista, all hazy linings, via its refreshing top (which isn't quite as citrusy as purported nor is it rosy, but it's certainly cypress-like and with a micro-facet of white flowers tucked in someplace inside). And then it takes on a little tone of sweet, slightly salty sweat musk, not a tetrapod's raunchy howl, but the smell of seashore in spring and the bodies that lie down on its fluffy texture (cozy musks with no big sweetness have this effect). Yet the refinement of the drydown is so delicate that it could find its way along with your Prada frames and eponymous canvas tote to the office. And surprisingly for such a light scent it lasts too with a lingering trail, which as March put it: "It dries down and fades away but has a habit of popping up again and again, all day long".
According to Prada, 'L’Eau Ambrée is a perfume that ‘imposes itself discreetly with the perfect balance of classic influences and of modernity that is characteristic of Prada fragrances. This eau ‘twines complexity, freshness and harmony’ around a sleek, contemporary amber'.

L'Eau Ambrée, the latest in the Prada amber-based perfumes (amber is in the original Prada, as well as in Prada pour homme) was developed by perfumer Daniela Andrier and was launched this past September, with the expectation to be a permanent mainstay in the line unlike the ephemeron Infusion de Fleurs d'oranger.
Prada’s original bottle has taken a dark mantle here, adorned with a golden plaque instead of the silver of the original.

Prada L'Eau Ambrée is available through major department stores in Eau de Parfum 1oz/30ml, 1.7oz/50ml and 2.7oz/100ml.; Eau de parfum Deluxe refillable atomizer (with spray bulb) 2.7 oz/100ml and 2.7-oz./100ml refill; Body Lotion 6.8 oz./200ml; Bath & Shower Gel 6.8 oz./200ml; Body Cream 6.8 oz./200ml; Powder with powder puff 3.5 oz/100ml.

Notes for Prada L’Eau Ambrée:
Top: Citron, citrus, mandarin from Italy
Heart: Rose, gardenia jasminoides, patchouli
Base: Amber, vanilla, oppoponax

The advertisments are lovingly retro in an almost frieze-reprising way: a cheeky manner of eschewing the sexy-mania of other houses, a deliberate abhoring of seduction that comes from the mind of a true Marxist designer not interested in the man-hunting games of the western tradition, Miuccia Prada.





Michigan Central Station ghost, photo by Nicole Rork via michpics.wordpress.com
Acropolis Parthenon Hydrophoroi scene from the East frieze. Clips originally uploaded by gottalovebirds and stylistaonline on youtube

Angelique Noire by Guerlain: fragrance review

The inconcistency between name and scent is probably an intended characteristic of the boutique exclusive L'Art et la Matière line by Guerlain, as discussed before in the Cruel Gardénia (a scent that smells nothing like gardenias really) and Rose Barbare reviews, because Angélique Noire (Black Angelica) is certainly not noire, at least not in the manner of which we have been thinking of, courtesy of the Golden era of Hollywood. The grotesque look of Gloria Swanson in Sunset Boulevard that simply screamed for its daily dose of Caron’s sumptuous Narcisse Noir as a talisman against mediocrity and decline is nowhere to be found.

There is a historic factoid that might be a piquant reference: A black slave by the apt name Marie Joseph Angélique was a personage in the history of Montreal, accused of being the incendiary of the 1734 episodes; someone suited to the scent of Angelique Noire? Far from such upheaval and restlessness or the promise of fallen angels, here we are dealing with a pre-Raphaelite Madonna with curly hair and silky robes that is lost in mystical reverie over the impending Nativity or a post-romantic painting by Waterhouse; carte-postale style in both cases: somehow too pretty for a truly striking effect!

Created by nose Daniela Roche-Andrier in 2005 for the renovation of the flagship store at 68, Avenue Champs Elysées, the Guerlain brief for Angélique Noire went something like this: "A composition based on angelica, weed known to be an elixir promoting longetivity. The bergamot and angelica notes are fresh, vibrant and slightly bitter. They contrast with the sophisticated fullness of the vanilla”.
The core of the perfume is undoubtedly the pairing of bergamot and vanilla which in Guerlain terms would translate as musky, troubling Shalimar, surely. Or Shalimar Eau Légère/Shalimar Light, modern-style, even! But this is a Guerlain through non-Guerlain eyes, ergo the treatment is completely different. Angélique Noire is a sweet oeuvre of pleasant and cherubic notes, full of the tart juice of bergamot and toiling harvesters eager to gather crops as it opens with the tangy and difficult to obtain angelica, garlanded with a spicy touch enough to intrigue; this phase is quite suited to both sexes in fact. Later it cedes to a soft heart of milky-almondy haziness and drying down to ever persistent, creamy vanilla.
Angélique Noire is not especially reminiscent of any of the Loukhoum scents (Serge Lutens, Keiko Mecheri) that feature some of the same notes nevertheless, nor is it laced with aromatic nuances as one would except from a fragrance named and inspired by angelica. Guerlain has based its reputation on the quality of its vanilla and it always features in one way or another in their perfumes, usually along with tonka bean. This is no exception. I don’t know if angelica is supposed to prolong life in humans really, and how that could be a good thing in a world that despises old age, but the fragrance lasts very well (which is a blessing or a curse depending on what you think of it).

Notes for Angélique Noire by Guerlain:
Angelica, bergamot, vanilla


Angélique Noire forms part of the L'Art et la Matière line sold exclusively at boutiques Guerlain and the Guerlain espace at Begdrof Goodman, in tall architectural bottles with the name on the side in a wide golden "band" and an optional bulb atomiser included (My advice on those is not to leave them attached on the bottle as they allow evaporation of the juice).

Related reading on Perfumeshrine: the Guerlain series, Fragrances with angelica.

Pic of fallen angel sent to me by mail unaccredited. Pic of bottles via Guerlain.