Perfumery Material: Osmanthus

Osmanthus fragrans (Sweet Osmanthus) or 桂花/ guìhuā in Chinese and金木犀/ Kinmokusei in Japanese is another member of the Oleaceae family (like olive or lilac) and its fresh and highly fragrant aroma is a natural wonder professing a nuanced texture. Also known as "Tea Olive" (because olive is the pre-eminent member of the Oleaceae family) it is the emblem flower of Hangzhou, China. It is especially valued as an additive for tea and other beverages in the Far East where usually the aromatic extract comes from the golden yellow flowers variety. This is because the variant Osmanthus fragrans Lour. var thunbergii has more carotenoids in its chemical make-up which contribute both to the sunnier colouring as well as the enhanced aroma.
The flowers are also used to produce osmanthus-scented jam (called guì huā jiàng)

Osmanthus absolute is an expensive raw material for the perfumer, but worth investing in due to its unique olfactory profile: Highly fragrant and succulent in its peachy-apricoty top note it is nothing short of mouthwatering. The effect of the natural flower is undoubtedly enhanced with a synthesized apricoty creamy note (benzylaldehyde, aldehyde C16, amyl butyrate), giving an almost velours effect. The essence of osmanthus naturally contains cis-jasmone (a white floral note), gamma-decalactone and various delta-lactones (peachy-milky notes) as well as several ionones derivates, which accounts for its violet-like sweetness.

Fragrances featuring a prominent osmanthus note:

Aubusson Desiderade
Aubusson Histoire d'Amour
Ayala Moriel Kinmokusei
Badgley Mischka by Badley Mischka
Bidjan DNA
Calvin Klein Escape
Davidoff Echo for women
Elizabeth Arden Sunflowers
Estee Lauder Beautiful Love
Escada Sunny Frutti
Fendi Theorema
Gap Dream
Givenchy L'Interdit (2003 re-issue)
Gucci Flora
Hermes Osmanthe Yunnan
Hove Tea Olive
Jean Patou 1000
Keiko Mecheri Osmanthus
Kenzo Jungle Le Tigre
Lancome Benghal (travel exclusive)
Marcela Borghese Il Bacio
Michael Kors by Micheal Kors
Narciso Rodriguez Narciso for Her (recreated note)
Nina Ricci Deci Dela
Oleg Cassini Cassini
Ormonde Jayne Osmanthus
Oscar de la Renta Volupte
Parfums d'Empire Osmanthus interdite
Providence Perfumes Osmanthus Oolong
Roger & Gallet Fleurs d'Osmanthus
Serge Lutens Datura Noir
The Different Company Osmanthus
Tous Touch

Ref: Sisido, K.; S. Ktirozumi, K. Utimoto and T. Isida, Fragrant Flower Constituents of Osmanthus fragrans

Photo of Osmanthus fragrans via jam343/flickr (some rights reserved)

Frequent Questions: Differences between Plumeria, Frangipani, Jasmine, Sampaguita & Pikake

In Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray, Lord Henry's wife's perfume leaves the scent of frangipani to linger in the room; the exact scent which troubled Jean des Esseintes, Huysmans's hero in À Rebours. "I guess he's just not the type that goes for jasmine perfume, but maybe he's what we need to mix with our blood now that we've lost Belle Reve", says Blanche Dubois to Stella about Stanley in A Streetcar Named Desire.
Frangipani, plumeria, jasmine, sampaguita, pikake...Although the above terms belong to roughly the same family of fragrant flowers, the olfactory profile of these delicious blossoms can be rather different, which necessitates a small guide into tracing their commonalities and differences.


Plumeria is the genus name for the more commonly used frangipani flower. While the botanist name comes ~as is usual in science~ from the 17th century French botanist Charles Plumier who studied the plant (indeed it's also spelled Plumiera), the common name is due to the Frangipani, a patrician Italian family of the 12th century famous for clashing with the papacy. The habit of scented leather gloves with jasmine, musk and civet became all the rage in the 16th century when Marie de Medici brought it into fashion in the French Court. Gilles Ménage quotes the trend in 1650 in his Les Origines de la Langue Françoise.
Allegedly it was the Marquis de Frangipani who invented the secret formula used to scent leather so as to divest it of the off smells of production; and when the flower was discovered later on, people recalled how the Frangipani Gloves smelled and attached the name to the plant in a reverse way of homage.
Frangipani literally means "breadbreakers" from the Italian phrase frangere il pane as the Middle Ages Italian family were known to distribute bread to the poor during a great famine; their crest is testament to that fact.

If you want to capture a snapshot of that wonderful tradition of scented gloves, indie perfumer Ayala Moriel has a fragrance called Frangipani Gloves, inspired by that very custom. Ormonde Jayne also makes a Frangipani Absolute fragrance with peachy sunny notes that know how to charm till the cedar-rich drydown. In fragrances the peachy note of gamma decalactone can boost the fleshy scent of varieties such as those of plumeria. Chantecaille's Frangipane on the other hand is a woodier, lighter scent which relies more on orange blossom than the intoxicating and rather "heavy" note of plumeria. Other plumeria fragrances include Plumeria by Terra Nova, En Fleur by Dawn Spencer Hurwitz, Vanile Frangipanier by Laurence Dumont and Frangipani delle Indie by Tesori d'Oriente.

Other cultures and religions, such as Hindu and Buddhist, associate frangipani with temples, thus giving rise to its christening of "the Temple Tree" in the English speaking part of Sri Lanka. Its potential for perfume inspiration due to the sweet, narcotic scent even permeated incense: tropical incense blends with plumeria inclusion have "champa" in their name, such as Nag Champa. In modern Polynesian culture, the frangipani can be worn by women to indicate their relationship status; over the right ear if seeking a relationship, and over the left if taken. The scent of plumeria can be said to be a cross between citrusy and buttery, the sweet nuance appearing almost culinary with a hint of cinnamon and a worthy addition to any garden thanks to its colourful bouquet and fragrant emissions.



Pikake belongs to the wide family of jasmines (Jasminum): It is a specific species of jasmine, jasminum sambac or Nyctanthes sambac (nyctanthes literally means night-blooming) used in Hawaii for lei's where the name is uniformely applied instead of jasmine. It had made a vivid impression on me, upon opening botany books as a student, to find out that pikake is an homage to the half-Scottish, half-Hawaiian Princess Victoria Ka’iulani, famous for her attachement to both peacocks (the Hawanized name for which is "pikake") and jasmine flowers. Writes Mindi Reid [1]

"In Hawai'i, the small, pale and fragile jasmine blossom is called by the same name as a vivid and grandiose bird: "pikake"- the peacock. The duality of this "Hawaiianized" English word is thought-provoking; in English, it is the bird - a visual image of color, shape, and texture that is evoked, while in 'Olelo Hawai'i (the Kanaka Maoli - indigenous native - language) it is the flower those syllables bring to mind - a matter of intense, emotion-kindling fragrance".

In Philipinnes where jasmine sambac is the national flower ~imported as far back as the 17th century from India~ it's called sampaguita. The Spanish sounding name derives from the Philipinno sumpa kita, meaning "I promise you"; it's easy to see how this highly fragrant flower stood for devotion and erotic loyalty! I remember from my travels how Thailand and Singapore, alongside their famous orchids, prize this green vine that emits such a strangely narcotic, almost fleshy smell...
Specificaly it is "Maid of Orleans" , a variety possessing flowers with a single layer of five oval shaped petals, which is commonly referred to as "Sampaguita" (or Philippine Jasmine). The same type with the difference that flowers have doubled petals (resembling mini roses) is also referenced by the names Grand Duke of Tuscan and Kampupot, a variety common in India. Jasmine sambac blossom is characteristically the one which is used in China to aromatize tea, resulting in a delicate and revered blend called simply "jasmine tea".

If you want to identify a fragrance with the intoxicating, sweet scent of pikake, you can try Child perfume oil; it's almost solely comprised of pikake, reprising the heady aroma of the white blossoms as they open in the warmth of the summer evening. Ormonde Jayne has a fragrance called Sampaquita [sic], which weaves a lightly aqueous balance between freesia & water lily and a citrusy fruity top via magnolia & lychee; the effect is one of soapy jasmine blossoms.
Annick Goutal Songes is one fragrance which combines both frangipani and jasmine sambac (sampaguita) alongside a big helping of ylang ylang, resulting in an orgy of white flowers on a vanillic base.

[1]Reid, M. (2003). An Icon of Two Selves: Remembering Hawai'i's Crown Princess, Victoria Ka'iulani

Frangipani blossoms and jasmine sambac photo via wikimedia commons

Perfumery Material: Hedione (Luminous/Transparent Jasmine)

 Smelling hedione, I'm struck by its beautiful, limpid and luminous character which resembles the beautiful citrusy floral note of a magnolia blossom blossoming under sunny skies.
Hedione or methyl dihydrojasmonate is an aromachemical (patented as Hedione by aroma-producing company Firmenich) that is often used in composition in substitution for jasmine absolute, but also for the sake of its own fresh-citrusy and green tonality.

Hedione lacks the clotted cream density of natural jasmine, recalling much more the living vine in the warmth of summer mornings and for that reason it is considered a beautiful material that offers quite a bit in the production of fine perfumes.

Perfumer Lyn Harris, nose of the brand Miller Harris and also the independent nose behind many well-known creations not credited to her name, calls it “transparent jasmine” and attributes to it the capacity to give fizz to citrus notes much “like champagne”. (See? it’s not only aldehydes which do that!)

According to Christian Chapuis of Firmenich SA, Edouard Demole discovered methyl jasmonate in 1957, accomplished a synthesis of Hedione (from the Greek word ηδονή/hedone, meaning agreeable and pleasant) in 1958, synthesized methyl jasmonate in 1959, placed both materials under intellectual protection in 1960, and published these discoveries in 1962. "This simple timeline belies a more complex history of chemistry and creation".
First used in the classic men’s cologne Eau Sauvage, composed by Edmond Roudnitska in 1966, hedione had been isolated from jasmine absolute and went on to revolutionize men’s scents with the inclusion of a green floral note. Eau Sauvage was so successful that many women went on to adopt it as their own personal fragrance leading the house of Dior to the subsequent introduction of Diorella in 1972, composed by the same legendary nose, blending the green floral with hints of peach, honeysuckle, rose and cyclamen in addition to the herbal citrusy notes of the masculine counterpart, all anchored by a base of cool vetiver, patchouli and oakmoss, lending a mysterious, aloof and twilit air to women who went for it.

Ten years after its introduction to perfumery, in 1976, it was the turn of Jean Claude Ellena to coax hedione in a composition that exploited its fresh and lively character to great aplomb in the production of First by jewelry house Van Cleef & Arpels (the name derived from the fact that it was their first fragrant offering, but also the first scent to come out of a jeweler too ~subsequently many followed in its tracks with notable success). In it, Ellena used 10 times the concentration of hedione used in Eau Sauvage, married to natural jasmine as well as rose de mai (rosa centifollia, which is also a "crystalline" variety), narcissus, orris, ylang ylang and a hint of carnation with the flying trapeze of aldehydes on top and the plush of vetiver, amber and vanilla at the bottom which accounted for a luminous and luxurious floral.

Hedione also makes a memorable appearance in many other perfumes, such as the classic Chamade by Guerlain (introduced in 1969), Chanel no.19 (1970) and Must by Cartier (1981) and in many of the modern airy fragrances such as CKone, Blush by Marc Jacobs, the shared scent Paco by Paco Rabanne or ~surprisingly~ in the bombastic Angel by Thierry Mugler, in which it is used as a fresh top note along with helional! Perhaps if you want to feel it used in spades smell L'Eau d'Issey by Issey Miyake: the aquatic/ozonic notes cannot hide its radiance.
Its uses are legion, especially since it acts as a supreme smoothener of the rest of the ingredients. In Terre d'Hermes, perfumer Jean Claude Ellena uses lots of it to bring out the softer side of hesperidic bergamot and to fan out the woodier aspects.

High-cis Hedione is an isomer which gives a jasmine tea profile (not surprisingly, as the component naturally occurs in tea), more diffusive and less floral and thus useful in masculine blends, but it costs more than regular hedione and poses problems of stability in acidic environments. Some of the Bulgari "tea" scents, such as Bulgari Eau au Thé Rouge and Bulgari Eau au Thé Blanc are good reference points if you want to smell this in action.
Despite hedione's unlikeness to natural jasmine absolute and essential oil (which are much lusher, narcotic and indolic), perfumers have used it to supreme results in the history of fine fragrance of the last 40 years, occassionaly using it up to 35% concentrations, although it's more usual to be featured in ratios of 2-15%.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Perfumery Materials, The Jasmine Series

pic of jasmine via Gracemagazine. Bottle of First via zensoaps.com

Perfumery Material: Coumarin, Tonka Bean & the Fougere accord

Open any perfume guide with fragrance "notes" or any online discussion or blog post on perfume description and you're bound to stumble on coumarin; one of the most common materials in many fine fragrances but also several body products, cosmetics and functional products. Its rich history goes back to the beginnings of modern perfumery in the late 19th century, bringing us right at the moment of the nascent concept of perfumery as a mix of organic chemistry and nature's exploitation. Coumarin as such is a synthesized material in most perfumes, but it's also found in abundance in natural products, such as tonka beans (Dipteryx odorata) where it is the principle aromatic constituent (1-3%). In fact the name derives from "cumaru", an Amazonian dialect name for the Tonka bean tree.

• Origin & function of coumarin

Chemically, coumarin is a benzopyrone (1-benzopyran-2-one) which, apart from tonka beans, also occurs naturally in vanilla grass (Anthoxanthum odoratum), sweet woodruff (Galium odoratum), sweet clover (Meliotus L.), sweet grass (Hierochloe odorata) and cassia cinnamon (Cinnamomum aromaticum) among other species. In short, it's rather sweet, as you might have surmissed by now, and evokes cut grasses. You'd be correct to assume both facts, but that's not all: Although coumarin in perfumery does add a certain sweet note of mown hay or freshly cut grass with vanilla overtones, it's really bitterish in flavour in high concentrations (its -now banned- inclusion in food would attest that). Therefore theorizing its plant origin one would assume it's produced by plants in order to defend themselves from predation. After all it's also present in cherries, strawberries, and apricots, prime targets for birds. You might have even seen it featured in your rodent pesticide: don't be alarmed (coumarin is included in miniscule quantities in foodstuff anyway), but now you know why!

• History of coumarin discovery & synthesis

Natural perfumers used and continue to use tonka bean absolute and tonka in powder form, as well as deer's tongue, a herb with brittle leaves to render a coumarin note. But the story of coumarin is largely one of organic chemistry. The component was isolated by A.Vogel in 1820, but the laboratory synthesis of coumarin first happened in 1868 from coal tar by W.H.Perkin (who gave his name to "the Perkin reaction" used to produce it). It took another year to produce it in an industrial scale at Haarmann & Reimer. The consequent memorable inclusion of synthesized coumarin in Jicky (Guerlain 1889) and earlier in Fougère Royale (Houbigant 1882) was the kickstart of a whole new fragrance family: the fougère, thanks to Paul Parquet's composition for Houbigant. Fougère Royale contained a staggering 10% coumarin of the finished formula! How one can dream a bit while reading Guy de Maupassant describing this fragrance as "prodigious evocation of forests, of lands, not via their flora but via their greenery"...

• The Fougere fragrance family

Fougère fragrances evoke the smell of ferns at least as we imagine them to be, as by themselves they don't have a particularly noticeable odour (Paul Parquet said that if they could, they'd smell of Fougere Royale). But the concept of a scent that is herbaceous, infused with aromatic lavender ~a popular material for both sexes at the end of the 19th century thanks to its propriety in the "clean" sense of the world~ and which leaves a malleable, soft, enveloping, yet discreet aura on the wearer was lacking: The era was still using the Victorian soliflores. Funnily enough, even those had their own categorisation; violets or roses for the respectable lady, jasmine and tuberose for the courtesan. Fougère scents were on the cusp between approved and revolutionary, creating a very desirable pull.
The other principle constituents in the accord are lavender and oakmoss: It was only natural; lavender by itself contains coumarin in its aromatic makeup. Thus the triad comprising the main accord of the rising fougère (i.e.lavender-oakmoss-coumarin, played together like a musical chord) made coumarin itself quite popular: many classic or influential masculine colognes owe their character to it, starting of course with Jicky and continuing with Azzaro pour Homme (1978), Fahrenheit by Dior (1988), Dolce & Gabanna pour homme (1994), and Gucci pour Homme (2003).
From there coumarin infiltrated its way into many modern fragrances belonging in other families. But it was its pliability and usefulness, like a trusty Swiss knife, which made it the perfumers' darling: Are there more contrasting fragrances than the icy aldehydic Rive Gauche (YSL 1970) and the intense floral Amarige (Givenchy 1991)? Perfumers tell me that coumarin ends up in some degree in 90% of all fragrances; and in concentrations exceeding 1% it accounts for over half of the fragrances in the market!!

• The odour profile of coumarin

Coumarin is a water-insoluble crystallized powder which has an odour that is pleasant, soft and warm, evoking cut grass or new mown hay, but it's more complex than that; it sometimes even veers into a smell of fresh paint! This is what gives Jicky its bracing almost "petrol" opening which alienates some people. Originally biosynthesized via hydroxylation, glycolisis and cinnamic acid cyclization, nowadays coumarin is produced via more sophisticated techniques.
Coumarin conjures warm notes of tobacco (useful in masculine formulae) and because it also has caramel overtones, alternatively it can be married to vanillic components (such as vanilla, benzoin or some of the other oriental balsams, such as Tolu balsam or Peru balsam, as well as ethylvanillin) in order to play down and sophisticate their foody aspects: see it in action in orientals such as the discontinued Venezia by Laura Biagotti, Lolita au Masculin(Lempicka) or Casmir by Chopard.
In dilution coumarin projects with soft hazelnut or almond facets underneath the hay, even licorice; smell Lolita Lempicka (1997). But in higher concentration it also has spicy fresh and herbaceous facets, no doubt reminiscent of its primary role in different grasses. In combination with vanillin and bergamot, we're veering into chypre territory: Elixir des Merveilles is a no man's land with its chypre tonalities and gourmand facets.
Its versatility and its ability to "fix" smell and make it last longer allows coumarin to enter amber or woody blends (witness Samsara or Vetiver by Guerlain) as well and even heighten the appeal of spicy materials: in fact it marries very well with cinnamon or clove. Pi by Givenchy is a sweet spicy woody with lots of tonka bean, or smell L de Lolita Lempicka by Maurice Roucel. Usually, indeed coumarin is mentioned in the form of tonka beans in the traditional lists of "notes"/pyramids for fragrances (see this Index for more ingredients contributing to which "note") but it can also hide underneath grassy notes, clover, lavender, or tobacco. Modern perfumers pair it with synthetic woody-amber notes such as Kephalis and Iso-E Super to surprising results. A wonderful material indeed!

• Fragrances featuring discernible amounts of coumarin

Addict (Dior)
A*men (Thierry Mugler)
Amarige (Gievnchy)
Angel ~all concentrations, esp. extrait de parfum(Thierry Mugler)
Angel Sunessence (T.Mugler)
Angel La Rose (T.Mugler)
Antidote (Victor & Rolf)
Azzaro pour Homme (Loris Azzaro)
Azzaro Elixir Bois Precieux (L.Azzaro)
Blue Jeans (Versace)
Bois des Iles (Chanel)
Brit (Burberry)
Chic for Men (Carolina Herrera)
Coco (Chanel)
Coco Mademoiselle (Chanel)
Contradiction (Calvin Klein)
Etoile de Rem (Reminiscence)
Fahrenheit (Dior)
Fieno (Santa Maria Novela)
Fougere Royal (Houbigant)
Florissa (Floris)
Gloria (Cacharel)
Jasmin Noir (Bulgari)
Jicky (Guerlain)
Joop! Homme (Joop)
Kouros (Yves Saint Laurent)
Lavande (Molinard)
L de Lolita Lempicka
Lolita Lempicka (L.Lempicka)
Le Male (Jean Paul Gaultier)
Musc (Molinard)
Navy (Lily Bermuda)
Pi (Givenchy)
Rive Gauche (YSL)
Samsara (Guerlain)
Tonka Imperiale (Guerlain)
Venezia (Laura Biagotti)
Versace pour Homme (Versace)

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Perfumery Materials one by one

source of coumarin pic via The Health Nut Corner, ad for Houbigant via Punmiris and Jicky collage via Perfumesbighouse

Perfumery Materials: Violet, Violet Leaf & Ionones

Although often spoken in the same breath when describing fragrance notes pyramids ~standard industry speak for the breakdown of effects in perfume appreciation (a not exactly accurate or realistic means of communicating a scent)~ violet and violet leaves are not interchangeable. Indeed they're quite different, from the romantic, retro powdery feel of violets to the cucumber-metallic-oily effect of violet leaves which adorn not only greener violet scents, but also many masculine colognes.


Violet, has a coy profile in its symbolistic facets: The term "shy violet" is not random; the blossom naturally feels frail and trembling at touch, even though it is sturdy. Thus it traditionally stood for modesty, calmness and sleepiness, traits often associated with females in centuries past. Blue violets signified faithfulness, while white violets were of a happier disposition: they symbolized taking chances. The religious world associates violet with the Passion of Christ and indeed Easter rites in the Mediterranean basin include the use of complementary colors - violet and yellow - symbolic of Lent and the return of spring with its yellow crocuses and daffodils; to witness the two traditional flowers in the Epitaph procession are violets and lilacs, alongside the daffodils narcotizing one's nose in the open air of the evening marches of course: One blossom low-brow and serious like the Holy martyrdom; the other orgiastic like the pagan resurgence of the Dionysian spirit as expressed in the awakening of spring.

A symbol of ancient Athens where it was used in scenting wine and Napoleon Bonaparte’s favorite flower (who preferred it rather than Josephine's beloved musk), violet is a complicated matter in perfumery for two reasons: First, the natural extract of viola odorata (sweet violet/English violet), although it exists, is rarely used for reasons of cost and versatility. Secondly, because there is the distinction between violet flower and violet leaf: the two have a world of difference in terms of odor profile, but that’s not always clear in fragrance descriptions. The flowers have a sweet, powdery ~and when fresh slightly spicy~ note, while the leaf is earthy, green with a cut-grass feel.


The symbolism of violets as emblematic of death at an early age is apparent in the John Everett Millais painting "The Death of Ophelia" and violets which stood for constancy or devotion were traditionally used in mourning. Most people however associate violet with Parma Violets (as reflected in Borsari's Violetta di Parma) a violet-flavoured confectionary manufactured by the Derbyshire-based company Swizzels Matlow; or alternatively, depending on cultural memories, with Violettes de Toulouse, violets preserved by a coating of egg white and crystallised sugar still made commercially at Toulouse, France. (try it in fragrance in Berdoues Violettes de Toulouse). These tender, playful associations might account for the popularity of several sweet florals in the market, especially when coupled with the intensely feminine note of roses producing an almost "makeup" vanity-table effect, such as in L'Arisan Drôle de Rose and F.Malle Lipstick Rose or alternatively allied to modern "berries" tangy notes in Guerlain's Insolence.

In violets along with terpenes, a major component of the scent is a ketone compound called ionone, which temporarily desensitises the receptors in the nose; this prevents any further scent being detected from the flower. (This is why often people complain "I can't smell a thing!", it's not necessarily anosmia, but too much ionones!!) Ionones were first isolated from the Parma violet by Tiemann and Kruger in 1893. Violets naturally include irisone beta, which gives them part of their olfactory profile. The discovery of ionones enabled cheap and extensive production of violet scents, cataclysming the market with inexpensive violet colognes which became au courant in the first throes of the 20th century. The ionones palette ranges from the scent of fresh blossoms to mild woodsy sweet-floral tonalities, while methyl ionones possess a stronger woodsy nuance, similar to iris rhizomes, binding woody and floral notes perfectly such as in the masterful Lutens creations Féminité du Bois and Bois de Violette.
Irone alpha (6-methyl alpha ionone) is a most popular ingredient among ionones in pure form due to its silvery woodiness and its hint of raspberry.
Maurice Roucel was the composer of the mournful, cooly wistful Iris Silver Mist for Lutens focused on the nitrile Irival . Violet is what gives Paris by Yves Saint Laurent its romantic facet beneath the embullient rose, but also the old-world powdery allure beneath the leather in Jolie Madame.

Violet Leaf absolute, on the other hand, smells herbaceous with an oily earthy nuance and naturally includes salicylates [more on which here]. Octin esters and methyl heptin carbonate are used to render the floral green violet leaf "note" with watery accents of melon and cucumber, customary in many modern masculine fragrances and the family of fougères (an aromatic group based on the accord of lavender-coumarin-oakmoss). It also gave the older version of Farhenheit its distinctive feel. If you want to get a good impression of violet leaf in a contemporary composition, smell Eau de Cartier. Several of the greener violet fragrances in the market such asVerte Violette by L’artisan or La Violette by Annick Goutal explore those aspects. The Unicorn Spell by micro-niche brand Les Nez is a peculiar case where violet leaves take on the greeness of just cut husks of harricots verts.
In Dans Tes Bras by F.Malle the tone comes from Iraldeine, a base that helps recreate the freshness of violet flowers, alongside ionones and salicylates. The aromachemical α-n-methyl ionone became commercially available around 1935 in Haarmann & Reimer's Iraldeine Alpha rein and Givaudan's Raldeine A (the main constituent of Fath’s legendary Iris Gris) which Ernest Beaux ~good friends with Leon Givaudan~ is said to have included in 25% concentration in the long-lost Mademoiselle Chanel No.1 from 1942-1946 (as analysed and publicized in 2007 in Perfumer & Flavorist magazine). [Read more on the history of Chanel fragrances issued by Coco Chanel in the 1940s, such as Chanel No.11, No.55 and No.46 in this article]. A modern example of violet leaves in a feminine composition in a very contemporary context is provided by Balenciaga Paris fronted by Charlotte Gainsbourg. A good example of the co-existence of the two elements (violet notes and violet leaves) is presented in a new Marc Jacobs fragrance, Daisy Eau so Fresh.

In short, violets and violet leaves alongside ionones and the other molecules used to produce these nuances, are an integral part of modern perfumery and some of the most recognizable "notes" in fragrances any perfume enthusiast should be familiar with. Why don't you try some of the fragrances listed and see what you feel about them?

Top pic kindly provided by Anya McCoy for my use. The second pic displays "stocks" (which we also call violets in Greek), Matthiola Longipetala. The third pic is Millais' Ophelie via wikimedia commons.

Ambrox/Ambroxan: a Modern Fascination on an Elegant Material

When a new raw material enters the perfumery scene only the involved few are cognisant of the fact. When this raw material however takes the role of manna from heaven in times of crisis, however (see how synthetically-derived irones for substituting orris butter produced "the year of the iris" and how synth aoud made 2009 the year of "oud") companies invest it with panegyrics extoling its qualities. The latest material to do that is Ambrox and if you thought you haven't smelled it before think again: Almost everyone has a rather good scent memory of it through the ubiquitousness of Light Blue by Dolce & Gabbana, composed by Olivier Cresp in 2001, to name but one of the scents which use this raw material in ample amounts. In synergy with other two synthetics, Z11 and Norlimbanol, Ambrox gives Light Blue that non-perfume smooth base which made it so very popular and instantly recognisable on commuters and elevator partners across the globe.

As is usual on Perfume Shrine when dissecting perfumery materials (this is the list with the posts on them) we revert to a little Chemistry 101 to explain Ambrox and its smell in detail. The chemical formula for Ambrox is C16 H28 O. Ambrox was therefore born through organic chemistry in the 1950s at the laboratories of aroma-chemical producing firm Firmenich SA as a substitute for ambergris (grey amber) which was very expensive for wide use in fragrances and exceedingly scarce. (You can read more on ambergris and its commonalities/differences with the term amber on this article). Although used interchangeably with Ambroxan as they share almost identical odour profile, they are not one and the same. The construction of Ambrox follows the route of sclareol, a product of the process of clary sage, a natural essence known to aromatherapists for many years [source]. Nevertheless another path exists for Ambrox synthesis, this time from labdanoic acid, since 2002. The main diterpenoid of the acid fraction of non-polar extracts of Cistus ladaniferus L.) converts using an organoselenium reagent, is then oxidatively degradated in its side chain, and finally cyclization of the resulting tetranorlabdan-8α,12-diol happens. Thus, Ambrox is obtained by a six-step procedure in 33% overall yield from methyl labdanolate. [source] Other paths include synthesis from (E) Nerolidol and β-ionone, as well as through (+) -carvone and thujone. [source]

Ambrox is typically used as one of the base notes of perfume compositions, due to its extremely lasting velvety effect which oscillates between an impression of ambergris (salty, smooth, skin-like), creamy musky & labdanum-like (read on labdanum on this link) and with "clean"/blond woody facets in the mix too. In short, a fascinating molecule that presents itself as a prism through which different facets can shine. Its reception is undoubtedly one of positive response: You're hit with something that smells warm, oddly mineral and sweetly inviting, yet it doesn't exactly smell like a perfumery or even culinary material. It's perfectly abstract, approximating a person's aura rather than a specific component, much like some of the more sophisticated musk components do. Fittingly, Ambrox solves some of the shortcomings of the latest IFRA restrictions on several musks and animal-like base notes. No wonder it's been used so much in perfumes in the last couple of decades! Although one might argue that synthetics replicate naturals due to increasing constrictions on formula costs on the part of perfume companies, the truth is Ambrox is relatively costly in the mostly inexpensive world of synthetics. However until recently companies were reticent into mentioning its inclusion in a perfume formula. It took the pioneering guts of Geza Schoen and his niche brand Escentric Molecules to elevate chemistry into the realm of bottling single molecules in bottles to be put on one's vanity or bathroom shelf: Molecule 02, solely an Ambroxan dilution was coupled with Molecule 01 fed on only Iso-E Super (details on that material on this link).
Recently companies however took on a different path, actually boasting on their flamboyant, mono-chromatic use of this popular material, thus making ultra-hip Parisian concept-store Colette’s newsletter talk about "fragrances fed on Ambrox"! 2010 might well be the year of Ambrox as apart from Juliette has a Gun who boasts on their sole use of Ambrox diluted in ethanol for their Not a Perfume, other companies bravely declare the emphasis on this synthetic: Another 13, from the New York based brand Le Labo and M Mink by Byredo. The latter fragrance uses Ambrox alongside chypry, aromatic and animalic tonalities which are reminiscent of ink.
Whatever you might think of it, we haven't seen the last of Ambrox yet!

List of Perfumes containing perceptible Ambrox/Ambroxan at the base
(Listed in diminishing order of perceptability. NB. The highlighted links lead to reviews/more info):

Not a Perfume by Juliette has a Gun
Molecule 02 by Escentric Molecules
Another 13 by Le Labo
Calamity J by Juliette has a Gun
Mille et Une Roses by Lancôme
Eau de Fleurs de Capucine by Chloé
Light Blue by Dolce & Gabbana
Vetyver by Lanvin
Géranium pour Monsieur by Frédéric Malle
Baie Rose 26 by Le Labo
M Mink by Byredo
White by Lalique
French Lover by Frédéric Malle
Portrait of a Lady by Frédéric Malle
Rumeur by Lanvin
L'Eau d'Issey Goutte sur un Pétale by Issey Miyake
Midnight Poison by Christian Dior
Emporio Armani Diamonds for Men by Armani
Silver Black by Azzaro
1881 Intense pour Homme by Cerruti
Extravagance d'Amarige by Givenchy
Cuir pour homme by Esteban
A Scent Eau de Parfum Florale by Issey Miyake


Please note that another name for Ambroxan is Orcanox, such as mentioned in Etat Libre d'Orange Malaise of the 1970s. 


pic via perseus.blog.so-net.ne.jp

Frequent Questions: Amber or Ambergris?

Perfume companies and their ad copy often end up confusing the consumer. Whether they do it inadvertedly or on purpose is to be examined. The point is several people raise questions: "Is amber and ambergris (i.e. grey amber) the same thing?" "Why is amber so sweet?" "Why do some ambers smell sweet while some smell savoury or even salty?" "Is it just me?" Let's disentangle the confusion.

Amber and ambergris are two completely different things, at least in theory as several companies tend to mix the terms to great confusion.

Amber usually refers to a resinous mix, a medley of base notes (usually a specific mix of only three amply suffices, read our extensive article on the differences) with a sweet, almost powdery tone (smell Histoires de Parfums Ambre 114 for instance) and an oriental theme due to the very nature of the resins used which hail from the East. Hence the ~usually in French~ terminology/classification of orientalised perfumes as "parfums ambrés". For instance CK Obsession, Shalimar by Guerlain or Moschino by Moschino (the original) are examples of perfumes "ambrés"; they're warm, inviting, a little powdery, soft, cuddly, mysterious...

The concept of "amber" is in fact an olfactory convention of the late 19th century and became a perfume "genre" at that time with the invention of vanillin (synthetic vanilla, as known from patisserie to most of us) added to the time-honored use of labdanum.

It's interesting to note that the most common raw materials for creating an amber accord for most perfumers are labdanum (resinous substance from Cistus Ladaniferus or "rock rose", possessing a leathery, deep, pungently bitterish smell), benzoin (a balsam from Styrax Tonkiniensis with a sweetish, caramel and vanillic facet) and styrax (resin of Liquidambar Orientalis tree with a scent reminiscent of glue and cinnamon) with the inclusion of vanillin.
Since vanilla naturally compliments the sweeter facets of benzoin and since it's both considered a universal pleaser (especially so in the huge US market) and a semi-aphrodisiac (according to some perfumers' beliefs, notably Guerlain) it's used to boost the effect rendering most ambers quite sweet. Four notable examples of non sweet ambers, to escape that surypy effect, while still remaining "parfums ambrés", are Ambre Sultan by Lutens (the golden standard, mixing a pungently herbal top note including bay leaf and oregano), Ambra del Nepal by I Profumi di Firenze (using naturally cool and citrusy frankincense to put the sostenuto on amber), Ambre Fétiche by Goutal (drier than most thanks to Russian leather base) and Ambre Précieux by Maitre Parfumer et Gantier (beautifully balanced with aromatic top).

Ambergris on the other hand refers to the intenstines product of the sperm whale. Ambergris (also called "grey amber" and ambregris in French) is a substance that the wild sperm whale (Physeter macrocephalus Lin=P.catodon) regurgitates naturally, a sort of cetacean furball to cleanse its digestive track of remnants of indigested cuttlefish (quid beaks mainly). "Only, if you thought it was got rid of through the mouth, think again: it comes out the other end...[Kemp Chris., Floating Gold: A Natural (and Unnatural) History of Ambergris]

"It’s hard not to fall in love with ambergris. Here is a solid lump of whale feces, weathered down—oxidized by salt water, degraded by sunlight, and eroded by waves — from the tarry mass to something that smells, depending on the piece and whom you’re talking to, like musk, violets, fresh-hewn wood, tobacco, dirt, Brazil nut, fern-copse, damp woods, new-mown hay, seaweed in the sun, the wood of old churches, or pretty much any other sweet-but-earthy scent". [Kemp Chris., Floating Gold: A Natural (and Unnatural) History of Ambergris]

 
The ingredient is rather sticky and gelatinous like, like a fat lump of grey color at first; while when it dries it becomes harder like a fragile but hard resin. When it is fresh, ambergris has nearly no value because its smell is extremely fecal (like "scented cow dung") and it has no value for perfumery. But let it float on the ocean for some years and it gains a beautiful patina that famously chemist Gunther Ohloff described as “humid, earthy, fecal, marine, algoid, tobacco-like, sandalwood-like, sweet, animal, musky and radiant”. Other people have dscribed it as having the scent of  wood in old churches or Brazil nuts.

To Christopher Ash in Whaler's Eye (George Allen & Unwin Lts.1964, p.254): "It always reminds me of a cool English wood in spring, and the scent you smell when you tear up the moss to uncover the dark soil underneath".

"Nor indeed can the whale possibly be otherwise than fragrant, when, as a general thing, he enjoys such high health; taking abundance of exercise; always out of doors; though, it is true, seldom in the open air. I say, that the motion of a Sperm Whale's flukes above water dispenses a perfume, as when a musk-scented lady rustles her dress in a warm parlor. What then shall I liken the Sperm Whale to for fragrance, considering his magnitude? Must it not be to that famous elephant, with jewelled tusks, and redolent with myrrh, which was led out of an Indian town to do honour to Alexander the Great?" (H.Melville, Moby Dick, ch.20)

The process of production is usually non harmful to the animal; not exactly "whale vomit" as purpetuated, more of the equivalent of a furball which floats on the ocean for years.

If we are talking about ethically harvested ambergris as opposed to ambergris from slaughtered whales ( that goes through a man-made maturing process) it is tremendously rare. It was one of the most prized findings of sailors (There is a mention of it in the seafaring adventure film “Master and Commander: far side of the world” when sailors contemplate capturing a whaler merchant ship.)

Its greatest attribute is its capacity for rendering a composition rounder, especially in oriental perfumes or in floral compositions where it melds the notes into one and brings out their best qualities. It clings on to fabric too, through repeated washings even, becoming ever sweeter with time. Therefore it is prized for its fixative power: the ability to anchor more volatile notes and make them last.
Most commercial perfumes today use a synthetic substitute, because the real thing is so expensive. 
Dior Dioressence used to use real ambergris back in the day. Eau de Merveilles by Hermes is suppossedly one of the few that contain some raw ambergris (debatable) , which is usually used in tincture form in perfumery due to its sheer potency. Creed is also insisting that they use real ambergris in their perfumes. Natural perfumers use beach harvested ambergris in some of their more exclusive or bespoke fragrances.


Natural ambergris doesn't smell sweet at all to me; in fact it's salty, almost dry, a little oily. A very different variant on sensual which I personally lean to with a passion. Smell Isabelle Doyen's L'Antimatière by Les Nez to get a feel of what natural ambergris smells like: it's choke-full.
[For a much more elaborate breakdown of the raw materials and perfume terms "amber" and "ambergris" as well as the synthetics used to replicate an amber note in perfumery you can read more on this link. ]

To revert to the confusion instigated by perfume companies, let's illustrate with some examples.
Some perfumes do use the term "amber" in their puramid notes to stand for "ambergris", Eau de Merveilles by perfumers Ralf Schwieger and Nathalie Feisthauer being a case in point in some online lists of notes. The fragrance smells saline, salty, almost briny, discreet, definitely not sweet. Prada's L'Eau Ambrée is another example along those lines: I had described the drydown as smelling of ambergris, of salty skin. Clearly not an "ambré" perfume in the sense described above!

Balmain's Ambre Gris on the other hand does exactly the opposite: The whole ad copy is a marketing ploy based on the "myth" of ambergris:
« L’ambre gris, proche du mythe, un ingrédient rare et précieux à l’odeur somptueuse. » (While in fact the natural is very rarely used nowadays and only in very select, very expensive cases).
The scent itself is based on amber synthetics and is indeed sweet (typical cinnamon-vanilla accord). But the name and corresponding colour co-ordinated packaging work on the premise of "grey amber" and the elusive "pearl" of the sea: The cap is shaped like a huge South Sea pearl, its surface scattered with dots that look like Sevruga caviar "boules" from afar (thus further evoking luxury and the ocean), the colour scheme is greyish, mysterious, non bronzed oriental.

Perfumery is an intricate language that traps the mind into perceptions that trick the nose...

Resin drop trapping an insect inside via wikimedia commons, photograph of Ambre Gris by Balmain bottle via Stress & the Country

Indole & Jasmine: Indolic vs. Non-Indolic or Dirty vs.Clean

Say the word jasmine among perfume circles and expect to see the characterisation of indolic being brandished a lot at no time. Expect to see upturned noses with "indolic" mentioned alongside "fecal" in the same breath. Is jasmine a "dirty" word? Who potty-trained it? These thoughts evolved in our mind as we re-examined the troubled relationship of perfume lovers to the perfumery "king of flowers", especially now that the weather is warm and jasmine vines are flowering like mad; and so decided to take things at the top.

Indole is often used as the scapegoat for "stinky" smells, but the truth is somewhat different. Originally indole is a portmanteau of the words "indigo" and "oleum", because the chemical substance named indole was first isolated by treatment of the indigo dye with oleum (oil), thus giving rise to indole chemistry.
Indole is an aromatic heterocyclic organic compound which contains a six-membered benzene ring fused to a five-membered nitrogen-containing pyrrole ring (don't worry if you're not great at chemistry, it will all make sense in a second); thus compounds which contain an "indole ring" (sequence of molecules) are accordingly named "indoles".  

What does this mean? It smells "weird". But not necessarily of feces or poop, contrary to common knowledge! Organic chemistry on the whole isn't averse to naming names quite literally, especially when it comes to foul-smelling components: Hence we have cadaverine (for cadaver smell), putrescine (for the stench of garbage), skatole (from the Greek σκατό, litterally meaning shit), or butyric acid (the smell of rancid butter from the Greek βούτυρο/butter). No, the nomenclature of organic chemistry is pretty much to the point, which would pose serious doubts as to why leave such an appropriate scent out there with no fitting baptism!

The answer is simple: Pure indole, the one which is indeed present in feces and also in small part present in white flowers (such as jasmine, gardenia, tuberose and orange blossom; but also in honeysuckle and lilac, technically non white) doesn't really smell of poop in isolation. The white crystals of indole (mainly derived from coal tar) contribute to the effect, in tandem with other things (surely both feces and flowers contain myriads of molecules) but not in seperation so much. Isolated indole has a musty, weird moth-ball smell that is a little stale, reminiscent of decay, like something has gone off and you can't really pinpoint what it is. In presence of humidity and musky compounds it can become a little much, reminiscent of the ambience of a...toilet. In a way an "Eros & Thanatos" concept.
It's interesting to note that a common derivative is the amino acid tryptophan, calming neurotransmiter serotonin's percursor and an essential amino acid in the human diet. (It's isolated in caseine which is found in dairy products, but also in chocolate, oats, poultry, pumpking seeds, peanuts, spirulina and several others. Makes seeing food in a whole different way!).

But should the smell direct us into seperating white floral and jasmine fragrances into naturally-derived or not? In short, does an indolic scent indicate we're dealing with a fragrance containing natural jasmine? The answer isn't as easy as all that. It's true that natural jasmine essence, as used in the perfume industry, is dark and narcotic, containing about 2.5% of pure indole. This often gives a "full", lush and intimate ~some say naughty~ effect in the finished compound, making the jasmine "sexier" or "animalic" as described by perfume enthusiasts (the naughty effect is more due to paracresol, reminiscent of horses' smell). Try Serge Lutens' A la Nuit, also his Sarrasins (a different treatment of intimate) or Montale Jasmine Full, and you know what I am talking about. Olene by Diptyque is another one which has a dubious intimate ambience (described by someone as "one bad mama jama of a jasmine"), as does the extrait version of Joy by Jean Patou, sublimated in rosy and musky tones as well, and the heart of Bal a Versailles (flanked by naughty civet). Also try Bruno Acampora Jasmin. However you don't necessarily have to tread on jasmine to get copious amounts of indole either: Try a carnation scent as well: Carthusia Fiori di Capri. It can make walking in the park where dog owners routinely walk their dogs a completely novel experience in perception!

Nevertheless, the picking up of a poopy smell can't be a compass into actual composition after all: The natural oil requires the processing of tons of flowers raising the cost to 10,000$ per kilo of essence, while it would be perfectly easy to add seperate indole to synthetic substitutes in order to produce a compound that would be closed in value to 10$ per kilo. The difference in pricing is staggering, which explains why natural jasmine oil is today only used in minute amounts in specific extrait de parfum formulae and only there; the rest is mythos and marketing communication of the brands.

But not all jasmine fragrances need to be indolic either. Try the non-indolic Armani Sensi and Sensi White Notes. Also get a feel for Jasmine White Moss by E.Lauder or Voile de Jasmine by Bulgari. Nothing "dirty" about them whatsoever!
To construct a light, virginal jasmine without indole, the perfumer has several synthetic options (assuming they're not involved in the masochistic effort of taking the natural and getting it fractioned in order to remove the indole). Hedione in copious amounts is the first choice, as it reproduces a greener, dewier version in contrast to the natural jasmine absolute. It's combination (in elevated ratio within the "jasmine base" thus created) with benzyl acetate, benzyl salicylate (for diffusion and tenacity), alpha amyl cinnamaldehyde and linalool produces the desired effect. These jasmine fragrances are easy to wear, lighter in feel, less heady and do not pose the problem of reminding people of impolite (even if necessary) human functions.
The choice between heaven and hell, as they say, is yours!

 If you haven't caught on the Perfumery Definitions series till now, please visit:

• Definition: Lactonic, Creamy, Milky, Butyric
• Definition: Powdery & Dry in Fragrances
• Definition: Resinous & Balsamic
• Definition: Soapy in Fragrances
• Definition: Phenolic, Terpenic, Camphorous
• Definition: Which Material Produces Which Note/Effect?

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: The Jasmine Series, Raw Aroma Materials of Perfumery

photos by Horst P.Horst in collaboration with Dali and Lisa with Harp.

Perfumery material: Oud/Aloeswood/Agarwood & Synthetic Substitutes

Oudh seems to be THE major trend in perfumery and as recently as this season we have two launches featuring it, the excellent Epic by Amouage and the shortly launching Al Oudh by L'Artisan Parfumeur. However, the market is becoming so increasingly busted by oud-this and oud-that that a closer examination of truths, rather than claims, is needed. Only if you have been living under a rock, have you not read a hundred times already that oud/aoudh/aloeswood is the aroma-rich prized resin produced by the pathological secretion of Aquillaria trees when attacked by a fungus.
Nevertheless, much as the ad copy circulating and the articles in glossies insist, there is a mythology built about oudh in western fragrances which doesn't exactly justify the tsunami of oud-based fragrances launched in the past few years. Several fragrances which feature notes of oud in fact use a synthetic substitute in lieu of the extra-expensive, ultra-rare ingredient: It was a mere consequence of the eternal law of offer and demand. That's how a designer scent with oud "notes" (YSL M7) even became possible. So many fragrances on all price levels as we will see below simply cannot be based on real oud.

Synthetic Oud in the Majority of Perfumes you say?
Even if the whole Southeastern jungle is eradicated in its pursuit, as apart from endagered, the mere process is so time consuming (often necessitating HUNDREDS of years for the noble rot to manifest itself sufficiently in the wood that produces the essence) that it's a logical impossibility. By Kilian freely admits using the synthetic, to their credit.
Firmenich, the aromachemicals giant, has a nicely rounded synthetic base, the Oud Synthetic 10760 E. Seriously hip niche brand Le Labo uses it in their Oud27. Interestingly the material bears some sentising dangers which might bring it into axing under a future IFRA Amendement perfumery restrictions policy.
Givaudan also have Agarwood Orpur/"Black Agarwood base" which is another product used to substitute the golden nectar in fragrance releases, reflecting the particular scent of burning Agarwood chips and amalgamating ambery, olibanum and balsamic nuances.

Somehow the above facts makes the price asked seen under a completely different light!Le Labo are not the only ones to employ these synthetics: Several fragrances have the discernible fingerprint of those aromachemicals all over them (Tom Ford Oud Wood uses Agarwood Orpur by Givaudan for instance, same goes for Bond No.9's offerings)

If the pace of using oud synths escalates everyone will be wearing "ouds", the way at some point they wore acquatics or gourmands a total defeat of the purpose of "coinnoisseurship" which is so brandished in the oud-selling game. Not to mention that by that time, with the help of Bath & Body Works, there will be an oudh for every budget (Ironically enough yes, there is one by B&BW as we speak!), which proves the statement above. But let's explore this fascinating material and the synthetics that often imitates it in this guide on building blocks of perfumery.

The cmplex natural material
Agarwood or Oud or Oudh or Aoud (the name taken from the province of Oudh) is the resinous heartwood from Aquilaria trees (predominantly from Aquilaria malaccensis), evergreens native to southeast Asia. As they become infected with mold (Phaeoacremonium parasitica, a dematiaceous fungus) they compensate by producing an aromatic resin over the course of several decades. The damage is so extensive that agarwood sinks in water. The growing of the infection results in a rich, dark resin within the heartwood. That resin is known as gaharu, jinko, aloeswood, agarwood, or oud/oude/oudh, valued in many cultures since antiquity for its distinctive aroma ~terribly complex with nutty, musty-earthy undertones redolent of undergrowth. Agar use dates back to prehistory: mentioned in the Bible, ancient Persian and Sanskrit religious texts and part of the first historical biographies in Sanskrit. Oud is also inextricably linked to Assam’ s cultural heritage, since the Indian monarchs employed the used bark of the Sasi Agar tree as writing-material for chronicling their royal circulars.
Oud nevertheless is prohibitevely expensive, fit for royalty only, even for niche and ultra-expensive brands and quite rare. One of the reasons for the rarity and high cost (above $62,000 cash for one kilo) of agarwood is the depletion of the wild resource: Since 1995 Aquilaria malaccensis has been listed in Appendix II by the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species of Wild Fauna and Flora, while in 2004 all Aquilaria species were listed in Appendix II, even though some countries have reservations for the latter listing. Middle Eastern or French perfumers seeking oud at source must establish ginormous bank funds in the pertinent countries, because governments are aware of the trade capitalizing on it. Additonal obstacles arise from the sheer reality of harvesting: Dead infected wood cannot be distilled and heavily infected live wood is not worth it as the wood itself is so more pricey. Thus the only wood distilled is live. Distillable wood is only good for a few months on the other hand, as the essential oil cells dry out, making oud a stratospherically expensive business.

Besides there are grades within the product: The highest quality comes from the tree's natural immune response (known as agarwood #1) while an inferior resin is rendered by deliberatily wounding aquilaria trees (agarwood #2, within which there aslo several grades of quality). Adulteration is not unheard of either, according to Tryvge Harris. The average oud available in the US will have changed hands at least 10 times (!), while rumours abound about Chinese factories who churn out beautiful but fake product ~made of the lowest possible grade agarwood soaked for a month in synthetic (European manufactured) oud. It's also worthy of note that Arabs are not that concerned with purity as might have been supposed, instead focusing on the pleasure principle the aroma brings.
Jenny, an amateur perfumer writing Perfume Making describes the sensation of smelling oud well:

"The scent of Oudh sometimes called Agarwood or Eaglewood is so incredible wonderful. It has all kinds of shades, it's smokey, deep woody, a bit sweet in an intriguing way. It even has some green notes and some kind of mouldy notes. It's hard to describe the scent. It reminds me of a blend of vetiver, birch tar, sandalwood, guiacwood, vetiveryl acetate, patchouli and some spicy notes like the note of clove".

One of her readers gives a price ballpart as well: The pure Oudh Oil Grade A costs about USD300.00/12mls (1 Tola) and the Resins for Grade AAA is about USD 7,000.

The difference in smell in the finished product is also relative to how oud is treated as a "note" from a perfumery standpoint (regardless of whether it derives from a natural or a synthetic source): From the Band-Aid note of Montale's Aouds (due in several cases to the phenolic guaiacwood used in tandem) to the smoother versions like in M.Micallef Aoud Homme when the lactic notes can pop up under the shriller introduction. Le Labo went for a camphoraceous feel with pungent rather than burning tonalities, while Tom Ford extended the effect with lots of cedar.

Word of Mouth and Word of Mouse
The literature on oud is picking up fast with all the semi-underground fora, specialty blogs and even mainstream press mentioning the prized ingredient:

"Oud (pronounced ood) smells expensive and it is. What it perhaps has going for it most is its obscurity and ineffability. There really is nothing quite like it. Hence its appeal. While the cultivation of agarwood can be traced back to ancient Asian civilizations, only recently has oud become the note du jour in high-end Western fragrances from Yves Saint Laurent's M7 to Tom Ford's Oud Wood."

Thus says Amy Verner on the Globe and Mail, only to semi-contradict herself later stating:

"Just don't expect to see oud featured in mainstream fragrances any time soon. Since it's not only rare but pricey, most experts think that it will remain on its rarefied perch." [ed.note: We already stated that Tom Ford's posh Oud Wood uses a synthetic anyway]

The truth is somewhat different than what you often read in the press, as we have proven.


Fragrances with Oud Notes
Fragrances stating oud notes start as low-end as Culture by Tabac: Arena di Roma by Mäurer & Wirtz (2002) and as mainstream as Versace pour Homme (2008) or Farenheit Absolute by Dior (2009). Ava Luxe, an ultra-niche brand with remarkably low prices states oud as a note in her unisex Chaos. Of course there are several niche players involved as well: From "classic oudet-cadet" Montale (Aoud Leather, Black Aoud, Red Aoud, White Aoud, Bois d'Aoud, Louban, Aoud Rose Petals ~the latter incidentally is sublime~ etc.) and the Arabian real mcCoy El Haramain's line-up to By Kilian Arabian Nights Pure Oud (and Cruel Intentions) and Le Labo Oud27. And from the newest Midnight Oud by Juliette has a Gun all the way through Ormonde Jayne Ormonde Man (2004), M. Micallef Aoud Homme, all-naturals Ayala Moriel (Charisma, Megumi, Razala), Dawn Spencer Hurwitz (Prana) and Neil Morris (Taj, Fetish, Flowers for Men Gardenia, Burnt Amber). If you want to smell real, medicinal expensive natural oudh beyond any doubt to get a feel of the material go no further than Anya's Garden Temple: the fragrance is almost entirely comprised of oud's dense complex notes. Mona di Orio's Oud also uses an amount of the real thing, accounting for the very pungent yet layered smell.

And remember that as with anything when there is great demand, the offer tends to cut corners. Think about it next time you're asked stratospheric prices and go by the only rule-of-thumb that should apply in choosing fragrance: how much pleasure it gives you!
Additional reading on the Eastern use of aloeswood in incense as well on this link.
Painting of As Afuddaula, the nawab of Oudh via Exotic India Art. Pic of agarwood rot by Robert Blanchette, University of Minnesota, Advertisement of M7 via easycorner.com.