Taste the Forbidden Fruit: First Impressions of Mugler Alien Pulp

I bit before I was ready. The new spot for Mugler’s Alien Pulp flashes by in ultraviolet gloss, a fever dream of flesh and fruit. It is not coy. The juice looks thick, the light is sticky, and the bottle gleams like it knows exactly what it smells like on your neck at 10 pm. If the name is a map, “Pulp” is not a garnish, it is the whole fruit, crushed.

Let’s be honest, nobody does edible temptation quite like Mugler. Angel cracked open the gourmand century and never apologized. With Alien, the house has guarded that jasmine-amber solar core like a crown jewel, then dressed it in costumes that tell you who it is flirting with this year. We saw beachy glow with Alien Goddess, a warmer spark with Alien Fusion, and that pink-air diorama with Alien Flora Futura. Now comes Alien Pulp, and the message is simple, bite here.

I am not interested in rewriting corporate tasting notes, I am interested in what the name and the frame say. “Pulp” suggests a texture more than a flavor, juicy, fleshy, sticky fingerprints on a glass. Think mango breath, passionfruit seeds, maybe a tart citrus flicker, maybe fig’s velour shadow. If Alien Pulp keeps the jasmine-amber chassis, we are looking at fruit skin over solar heat, the kind of contrast that makes your throat do a small, involuntary swallow.

Ad-wise, this is classic Mugler sci-fi seduction, but less distant, less stainless, more mouth. The pacing is slick, the saturation high, and the bottle reads like an object you are not supposed to touch, which of course makes you want to. If you wear fruit only in summer, prepare to be annoyed, this could be a winter fruit bomb that clings to sweaters and wrists with indecent optimism.

What I want from the first spray, a wet opening that does not drown, a heart where the jasmine breathes through the juice, and a drydown that keeps the glow instead of flattening into sugar. Longevity will matter, sillage too, because Alien is not a shy line. I will test on skin the moment it lands at the counter, no blotters, no half-measures. For now, consider this your warning, Alien Pulp looks like forbidden fruit designed for people who finish the fruit, then lick the knife.