Givenchy L'Interdit Eau de Parfum Rouge: fragrance review

 Glamour fragrances go hand in hand with the celebrities who endorsed them. No myth is stronger than the tie of Marylin Monroe with Chanel No 5 Parfum or Audrey Hepburn with L'Interdit by her preferred couturier Givenchy from the 1950s. Whereas No.5 has retained its core formula to the best of the brothers Wertheimers' ability, rendering the contemporary versions recognizably No.5, the same cannot be said for L'Interdit Eau de Parfum by Givenchy from 2018 and its subsequent editions - especially L'Interdit Eau de Parfum Rouge Givenchy (2021).

That does not mean at all that it is not worthwhile or that it does not reflect some semblance of a vintage advantage. Although vintage fragrances belonging to specific genres suffer from a sort of incompatibility with the modern tastes of the market nowadays, such as the aldehydic floral, the mossy chypre, or the spicy oriental, there are elements that can salvage a core idea into a timeless quality. Despite an embarrassment of riches in having three top perfumers vying to make it worthy (usually a sign of despair in my personal books), L'Interdit Eau de Parfum Rouge by Givenchy is excellent because it retains that precarious balance between a contemporary fragrance, yet with vintage elements, making it a recurring theme from the past extended into four dimensions, like it's traveling interstellar mode.

 
The classic combination of the amber-floral chord, a sweet hesperide, a white floral, and a woody base of sandalwood with ambery tonalities, is lifted through two or three specific jarring points, which provide the interlocutor suspense.
First, a cherry note that is oh-so-modern. Cherry scent molecules have trickled down to floor cleaners by now because the trajectory of the industry from top to bottom of the ladder has increased so rapidly, but two years back, it was still kind of novel and ground-breaking.

Secondly, there is a spicy component, but not just any spice. Beyond the dated cloves references (which recall the best days of Ernest Daltroff for Caron), there is ginger which, via its Asian reference, is very contemporary and sort of multi-culti too. Thirdly, there is a pimento leaf note, which adds to the green-spicy garlands but tends to withhold the headache-y allusions to the oriental spicy fragrances from the 1980s.

The end result is a contemporary fragrance with a very satisfying tie to the past. There is no direct reference in glossy publications and influencer videos on social media that Audrey Hepburn actually wore this version of L'Interdit Eau de Parfum Rouge like they often -still!- do with the revamped version from 2018 (L'Interdit Eau de Parfum Givenchy), but it is a fragrance that reflects glamour, elegance, plush and a true sense of chic.

Graham & Pott Imperial Amber: fragrance review

 Imperial Amber is the sort of fragrance one would expect from a truly established, traditional parfumerie, that catered to a refined aesthetic and discerning customers. The name itself is revealing. And Graham & Pott, though recently evolved in perfumery itself, being a cloth manufacturing company established in 1890, stroke gold with it. The scent of Imperial Amber juxtaposes contrasting layers of bright and sparkling citruses (bergamot and grapefruit, to be specific), vibrant flowers combined with a rich oud accord, and a spicy and sweet cinnamon note laid on a warm and deep base of amber, patchouli, and cedarwood.

Amber is probably the world's oldest mystical, orientalized blend.  Its transliteration into fragrance can take sweet and resinous, almost powdery soft scent tonalities, or instead it can veer into salty and animalic-smelling. On that score, it might interest you to read our definitive article on the differences between amber and ambergris linked here. 

The sweetish combination of labdanum resinoid and vanilla can soften the harsher notes of oudh (also known as aloeswood or agarwood, a prized material coming from the fungus of the aquillaria tree). The classic example of woods softened by amber chords is in Chanel's perfume Bois des Iles. And though I never expected oudh to become soft and pliant, the note itself being musty and rather demonically complex in its raw form, it seems like Graham & Pott managed to accomplish just that delicious effect of softened woods, deepening the chord, giving it spicy piquancy, and sweetening it just so, rendering a wonderful oriental composition that makes you close your eyes and swoon in pleasure. It melts on the skin, imparting a delicious aura that is haunting.

The Graham & Pott brand is one of those historical houses which evolved into fragrance making, attending to the art of perfumery in a changing world that demands pleasure and exquisite detail from the moments that define our being. A haut-de-gamme parfumerie.

 The wonderful deep orange of the packaging also recalls the momentous moment of inspiration, from the scented paper that would fold the precious cloths; orange-y like the finest homemade marmalade. The cartons and insides are deliciously beckoning, with their rich, saturated hues of this sunny color, inviting to fondle, to caress the heavy glass bottles with their streamlined contours. 2019 saw the introduction of Noble Vicuna and White Sable, imagined from the furs of animals now protected, while in 2020, the firm launched Royal Llama and White Vicuna Parfum. The year 2021 sees the launch of Imperial Amber, Mon Jasmin, and Ruby Staple, inspired by rubies.

Graham & Pott Imperial Amber is available as a 50ml Parfum (with amazing persistence on the skin, easily an entire day and night) at the price of 305 Pounds and as a 100ml Parfum at the price of 395 Pounds through the Graham & Pott official website.

 

Estee Lauder Sensuous Noir: fragrance review

This discontinued gem is shining in a deep purple bottle of sumptuous line that would match a wonderful smoky eye that looks so at ease on an autumnal night out. Sensuous Noir takes the good parts of Lauder's Sensuous (that idea of woody notes enhancing the natural scent of the skin) and taking it up a notch, adding patchouli with its dark sweetness interlaced like a shadow on said skin. More voluptuous, more intense, more sensual than the original version of Sensuous, the second version by Estee Lauder - Sensuous Noir includes characteristic wooden tones, an abstract floral hint and soft aromas of cozy oriental balsams that carry the entire composition.

Sensuous Noir has a stronger, more intoxicating and more seductive scent than the prior fragrance by Estee Lauder with half the same name, although the latter is also quite sensuous and silky and worth your time and money.

The top notes include a floral blend of purple rose, jasmine, rose oil, black pepper and spices. The heart focuses on the warm wooden notes, typical for this scent, with the use of the innovative Nature Print technology. The smell of "dissolved wood" in the concept, generated by pine tree and guaiac wood merging, was captured exactly by this technology, and used as a seductive note that was first used as a sensory note and complemented by the innovative Noir cream, lily flowers and patchouli notes. The base notes include benzoin, amber and soft vanilla with an amber overall scent. The final feeling is one of absolute self-confidence!


Please visit Estee Lauder fragrance reviews and news on the PerfumeShrine.com using this link.

Calvin Klein Obsession for Men: fragrance review

Back in the old days, when Calvin Klein was a bona fide designer house and the fragrances weren't made by Coty, the churning of smells was set on the decidedly loud end of the spectrum, and on the rather creative side as well. This was the decade of Dallas and Dynasty, of shoulder pads that pushed you over on the ladder to the corporate top, when women started to bring back home the bacon in earnest ("and fry it on a pan") and when the tip-toeing of perfume wearing in public spaces was only considered far-fetched dystopian sci-fi.

Obsession (for women, 1985) and Obsession for men (1986) were the natural products of such a period. Loud, brash, gold jewelry statement, knock-your-socks-off scents, full of the inherited warmth of their French counterparts (the success of the Opium perfume by Yves Saint Laurent fresh on the collective memory), but very American in their stylized presentation. And who could forget those infamous advertisements with the naked bodies standing atop a hammock in black and white, shot by Bruce Weber? Ann Gottlieb, creative director for Klein fragrances and responsible for countless commercial hits for countless brands, had demanded "sexy with a touch of raunchiness" and possibly, as it has been argued, got the balance reversed. But that's not a bad thing.

The person credited with the creation of Obsession for Men, a certain Robert Slattery, unaccredited for anything else, got the raunchy and sexy in spades by relying on the tension between trustworthy materials: mandarin on top contrasting with warm amber on the bottom, nutmeg and cinnamon spicing it up, giving a certain piquancy which recalls a man-made space somewhere in the late 80s, early 90s; gregarious, evening-time, where people smoke and drink freely, and where confident men in lots of aftershave prowl for the casual encounters of the evening, their own clean sweat mingled with the adrenaline of the flirting. It was a happier time, a less controlled time, and a time when anything seemed possible. Or, perhaps, it was a time when we felt ready for anything.

Obsession for Men in its current format feels watered down and lacking that density which sealed its unmistakable presence, but it still is a great trip down memory lane.

Serge Lutens Chergui: Hay Heaven-Fragrance Review

Oddly enough, though I love both orientals and Serge Lutens fragrances on the whole, both of which I own a rather significant collection, I rarely reach for Chergui. I attribute this to its not finding it challenging enough or wistful enough; Lutens fragrances in particular either lure me with their pensive, introspective mode (Iris Silver Mist, Douce Amere, L'Orpheline and La Myrrhe...) or with their exultation of taking a chosen artistic direction to its natural apex (Fleurs d'oranger, El Attarine, Arabie, Sarrasins and Tubereuse Criminelle...). Chergui nevertheless enjoys the kind of popularity that makes me revisit it at disjointed timeposts...when something new and terrifying lies in the horizon or when I'm particularly congratulatory of a penitent interval.

Lutens promises the exoticism of the east with Chergui (ascending from the name onwards...) but delivers a quite restrained composition that is not too challenging. It melds with the skin and complements it, plus it's mildly sweet (very popular with modern audiences) and subtly powdery like a greige sweater that's comfy enough to hide one's melancholia behind.

The Lutensian story behind the fragrance is certainly highly visual:

"A fire fanned by the wind, a desert in flames. As if bursting from the earth, Chergui, a desert wind, creates an effect that involves suction more than blowing, carrying plants, insects and twigs along in an inescapable ascent. Its full, persistent gusts crystallize shrubs, bushes and berries, which proceed to scorch, shrivel up and pay a final ransom in saps, resins and juices. Night falls on a still-smoldering memory, making way for the fragrant, ambery and candied aromas by the alchemist that is Chergui."

The facet which is dominating on my skin is the coumarin (what we refer to as mown hay). Indeed hay absolute plays a prominent role in the composition, but it's still pertinent to stress that on my skin Chergui by Lutens is not a pipe tobacco dream oriental with masculine proclivities as sometimes described, but a cuddly roll in the hay that sticks on you for long after the deed. It's soft and warm and lasts for a full 48 hours, which is quite impressive and a good recommendation for people who have longevity issues with fragrances in general.

It has been remarked upon before but the shift from the rather medicinal opening (in the older formula) into the fluffier hay core is a point of tension. It's the one and major change that happens in a fragrance that remains mostly linear on my skin. Still it presents its own "a ha!" moment.

Chergui by Serge Lutens is dry, befitting the name but at once lush and dense, and it brings to mind a certain opacity to the proceedings which is typical for most Lutens fragrances, which could be easily attributed to an oriental character; even the florals! Chergui is redolent of oil paintings by Dutch masters, somber yet textured, and as if you can taste it. I find this a quality that resonates with Lutens buyers and therefore Chergui is probably a safe purchase.

Hermes 24 Faubourg: fragrance review

Named after the famed "faux bourg" rue of Faubourg Saint-Honoré in the 8eme arrondisement in Paris, where the headquarters of the Dumas-family luxury house are situated, 24, Faubourg was immersed in luxury from the very beginning; to the manor born.

Like many perfume lovers I'm not averse to luxury per se. Luxury and luxuria pose an interesting thought; luxuria is the Latin name for...lust. One of the 7 deadly sins. Luxury lovers do lust over the objects of their desire, do they not?  Desire is sparked by lack. Lack creates eros, the urge to fill the lack, the platonic ideal of uniting two parts that once made a whole. It's a metaphorical concept. Explains why brands keep us on our toes searching for the part that's missing!

In rebelliousness against social class and perhaps due to anti-snobbism on my part (or is it just plain snobbism in reverse, I sometimes wonder?) I have refrained from conscious overt exhibition of the insignia of wealth and embracing the lowly and the humble on purpose. Look at that drugstore item, isn't it fabulous? And that Zara fragrance at a fraction of the cost of a designer one, yet made by Puig just the same? Who needs logos and frou frou, it's the quality in things that matters. The axiom of Coco Chanel has always guided me. It'd be quite inelegant to hang a 50 carat diamond from one's neck, as surely as it'd be gauche to hang a check from it. So why indulge in the luxuria of capitalism? Wanting more, exhibiting more?

I have been perfectly happy going for my esoteric woody incenses for everyday wear. People usually don't even ascribe the aromas emanating from my humble person as "perfume", even when they like them. It's not like Coco Mademoiselle, "hey, you're wearing perfume". I suppose it's like I just left Vespers or something or have been spending a lot of time at the library, which is not unusual come to think of it. I'm also big on white florals and on spicy orientals, though these have a harder time passing under the radar of "perfume awareness". Not that it really bothers me if they do make people notice. After all, many a time a potent scent has sparked an interesting conversation. People united by scent are people united at breath, it's a powerful connection.

The scent of 24, Faubourg is floral, undeniably floral, white floral drenched in honeyed tones, to be exact, not just "a floral".  It's the floral to end all florals, and yet it's not only floral. In its elaborate, Byzantine bouquet I can detect resins, balsams, fruit (fuzzy peaches and tangy citruses), a soft powderiness of orris, some wood, something intangible, something aching to overreach...Sounds like everything and the kitchen sink (same thought with the original feminine Boucheron ) and yet it is not that in effect. Instead, a perfectly judged, lush, satisfying, calorific, dare I say it, yes, I will, RICH effect comes out of that lovely bottle shaped like a carré silk scarf that the Dumas house is famous the world over for.
Although the orange blossom and the jasmine and the (rather less copious in the mix) gardenia owe as much to analytical chemistry as they owe to nature's laboratory, the experience feels like a silken thread woven by some exotic insect with beautiful wings in an engulfing tropical greenhouse.
The allusion to the sun is nowhere more evident than in the advertising images which reflect the golden, ambery aura of the scent. I wrote before that "solar notes" stand for warmth and luminosity and although this is not especially salicylates-focused, it does smell snuggly and jovial and reminiscent of the touch of the sun.

Perfect for the Indian Summer days and evenings we're going through then!

Fendi Theorema: fragrance review

Now that perfumer Christine Nagel is at the helm of Hermès, looking back on her work for various brands reveals her core aesthetics; at once saturated and filled with light, like a Joseph M.W. Turner painting that foreshadows what's to come, namely Impressionism. Judging by her newest Eau de Rhubarbe Ecarlate and Galop, this heftiness-shot-with-brightness continues the sun path to its natural apex.

via 

With Fendi's Theorema, Italian for theorem, a proposition that has been proven to be true based on previously established statements, Nagel has taken a theme and brought it into its culmination. Namely the "Oriental perfume" that feels as comforting as nibbling chocolate by the fire, while at the same time retaining the plush luxury and sophistication that a proper womanly perfume fit for the salon should exude.

Fendi's Theorema, inexplicably discontinued much too soon (at least before the brand discontinued its entire line in order to bring out the newest project on the shelves) and at least as clamored for a resurrection as Laura Biagotti's Venezia, opens with the delectable alliance of orange and chocolate. The effect of the former is apparently accounted by two unusual citruses: tangelos and thai samuti. The chocolate is folded with sweet spices, amber and warm milky woods, such as sandalwood and rosewood; there's none of the austerity that woody notes usually provide. A touch of a classic, orientalized bouquet of flowers (orange blossom, ylang ylang, jasmine) gives just a tinge of ladylike proclivities. But Theorema is too good to stay on the ladies alone...and is extremely ripe for a resurrection as well.

Annick Goutal Les Absolus Ambre Sauvage: fragrance review

ISIPCA perfumer teacher Isabelle Doyen and art director for the Goutal brand Camille Goutal have proven their flair for the concept of an "oriental" perfume mainly through the collection Les Orientalistes some years ago. A trio of worthwhile scents came out in 2007 including Ambre Fetiche Encens Flamboyant and Myrrhe Ardente. The collection was augmented in 2008 with Musc Nomade a firm favorite of mine in the stakes of intimate musk fragrances. Their current output on the orientalist theme for their more upscale line Les Absolus(there's also Vanille Charnelle and 1001 Ouds) leaves me rather hesitant as to how much this is a corporate decision rather than an artistic one; especially taking into consideration the details surrounding Ambre Sauvage.

via

One look at the luxurious packaging and the price asked (195 euros for 75ml of eau de parfum) suggests a target audience of wealthy patrons shopping for posh gifts; Cartier lighters and Tiffany's more serious silver pieces engraved for the ocassion. This is undoubtedly true for most niche fragrance brands nowadays; just look at the Section d'Or by Serge Lutens (including L'Incidiaire and all the others) with its stratospheric prices! It's not an easy to digest truth for readers of perfume blogs and fora but it is nonetheless true enough and one should at one point make peace with the facts.

But what about the scent?

Sauvage (i.e. wild) is a name brandished a lot in 2015 because of the masculine fragrance launch of the same name by Christian Dior and LVMH. Loosely based on part of the name of the classic Eau Sauvage from the 1960s the modern Sauvage is anything but. Similarly Ambre Sauvage (Wild Amber) by Annick Goutal is not to be taken literally.

Amber by its own makeup is a scent produced by the synergy of two colliding forces; the dark resinous id of labdanum/cistus and the malleable softness of vanillin super-ego. I have elsewhere described how some ambers seem to be like child-POV engulfing hugs by well meaning aunts; too much of a good thing. Thankfully the refined French aesthetic of Doyen and Goutal ensure that their manipulation of the materials is never saturated. The raw materials become in their hands building blocks of a gouache where the colors melt into one another to the point where you can't quite discern where one begins and one ends. Doyen and Goutal have argued that basing their concept on the etymology of raw materials is a whole different ball game than working on memories; memories can only go as far in the pursuit of olfactory accuracy. By following the material's arc one can direct themselves into a mapped out path and deviate knowingly.

This is at once grace and irony in this case nevertheless: with sauvage in the name one expects something untamed and untramelled even by the codes of gallic civility and correct navigation. Neither the inclusion of patchouli (a lightly chypre facet) nor the wink of a leather-animalic quality in the top notes evoke a wildness that would be out of place in a salon. Ambre Sauvage is a classic refined amber rather than a poet maudit. Unlike Ambre Sultan by Lutens with its uncinventional aromatic impression of a Moroccan dish the Goutal fragrance is quite Parisian.

These two elements (leather and patchouli) do lend nevertheless a sophisticated character that cuts it above the soup of sameness among many ambres in the niche market. A delicious cooling smoke-chocolate hint recalls the treatment of lavender drawn through to its caramelic end of the spectrum in Doyen's L'Eau de Lavande for Annick Goutal many many years ago... The more Ambre Sauvage dries down the more it declaws itself; thanks to vanilla absolute coming forth creamy and smooth and mouthwatering but never cloyingly sweet. And it's perfect on a man as well. It's hard to dislike Ambre Sauvage.

Furthermore Ambre Sauvage smells dangerously close to Ambre Fetiche. Although the latter is among the better ambers out there (and one of the ambers I personally wear for that very reason) the launch of the former at this point in time suggests that a rather more concentrated edition with obviously high end packaging is meant to aim at more moneyied customers. Not necessarily more discerning ones. One might want to make peace with the facts at last.

Histoires de Parfums Petroleum (Edition Rare): fragrance review

All the colors of a bruise: black and blue, teal green edging out in purple, fading to rosy, ending in ochre yellow like ancient parchment.

The electrical buzz of arc-welding, fiery orange sparks filling out the skies, the rusty mine of the shipwreck. The air filled with a mineral, scorched feel. The plank-plank of cork wedges hitting the iron ore at the loading decks.

A leather cloth, all smeared with wax. The musty smell of the hold of an old ship. He had his hair loose and oily with sweat and ambery brilliantine. My hand aching from trying to hold tight onto the lower mast. I said "I'm hurt". He should have said, "honey, let me heal it", like Bruce. Only he never said it; not in so many words.

John Klingel

Petroleum by Histoires de Parfums is Gerald Ghislain's story on oudh, the prophylactic defensive rot on Aquillaria trees and its resinous, nutty, woody, complex scent. Infused with fizzy orange, musty patchouli and a prolonged furry, white musk aftertaste, lasting hours, purring after the roar, Petroleum is the gift of the earth in an unassuming bottle. This oudh étude surpasses many others, in a masterful cadenza of chromatic tonalities: from black and blue, teal green edging out in purple, fading to rosy, ending in ochre yellow like ancient parchment. The chromatics in a drop of "liquid gold", in an old bruise that still aches when pressed.

Divine Spirituelle: fragrance review and samples draw

Certain perfumes give an illusory first impression like people who come into a party seemingly underdressed only to impress you with their smarts and true chic as the night unfolds. Spirituelle, the latest Divine fragrance, an at once delicate and spirited take on the rosy powdery floral, took me a cursory first sniff and then a much more attentive one to appreciate its twists that put the chic into the chica. It ended up winning me and might win you too if you're either a floral phobic or a rose hater, so lend me your eyes for a sec.

Bulle Ogier via Photobucket/francomac123

Two major themes play into the blueprint of Spirituelle. The first one is a dessert-worthy succulent note that derives from the two rose absolutes (one from Turkey, the other from France), flanked by rosy, fresh spice on one side and a smooth lightly ambery caress on the other. The feeling is not unlike the deliciousness of Neela Vermeire's Mohur eau de parfum, rendered here more ethereal and a bit less dense. Never too sweet, but inviting.

The second theme is the wink of a smoky cigarette note that rises only from a certain distance. The French are known for their predilection for smoking and I don't smoke myself as a rule, so the illusory effect is not a trail off my clothing or skin. Rather it recalls the practice of French perfumes of yore which had a compatible ambience to human habits: food, sex, drink and smoke. The hand is quicker than the eye (or the nose, as circumstances apply): the effect is lightweight and imperceptible if not told about beforehand. Chapeau then for such a clever little conjurer's trick which makes Divine Spirituelle go beyond the polite, prim and beige rose perfume that so many fragrance companies issue for Victoriana admiring fans, without on the other hand falling into the commonality of either patchouli nor oud.


Spirituelle comes as the 11th creation for Divine, the small niche brand by Yvon Mouchel, founded in the small town of Dinard. Perfumer Richard Ibanez who worked on Spirituelle has been a longtime partner with the Divine brand: he was the one composing the word-of-mouth cult first Divine scent, Divine by Divine.

I have 6 perfume samples for an equal number of lucky readers. Please let me know your experiences with rose in the comments to be eligible for the draw. Draw is open internationally till Friday midnight and winner will be announced in the weekend.

Fragrance notes for Divine Spirituelle:

Top: pink pepper, Sichuan pepper, geranium, cistus
Middle: May rose absolute, Anatolian rose absolute
Base: Texas cedarwood, white amber, white musk, incense.

Spirituelle is available as eau de parfum (50, 100, 200ml splash bottles or 30 and 50 refillable spray bottles) and as pure parfum extrait 20ml.

Editions de Parfums Frederic Malle The Night: new fragrance

The new fragrance by Editions de Parfums, ‘The Night’, is aiming for the rich in scented heritage market of the Middle East. Master perfumer Dominique Ropion’s first composition for Editions de Parfums Frédéric Malle that speaks the language of Middle Eastern per­fume, The Night is a rarity for more reasons than one.
Unlike classic "oriental" perfumes which have been composed to correspond to a French perfumery tradition interpreting, rather than replicating, the ways and tastes of the Middle East, the newest launch by Malle is set to be a true oriental, yet, given the expansion of the tastes of the western customer thanks to niche offerings, a welcome addition to a aficionado's collection as well.

Malle opens up on the composition of "The Night" in the following terms: "Unlike perfumes called Oud which contain at best a trace of this precious raw material, if any, ‘The Night’ is built on an unprecedented proportion of Oud from India which Domi­nique has mixed with a generous amount of Turkish Rose and Amber." The perfume is purported by Malle to be the one with the richest percentage of natural Oud in the market, with a price to correspond, naturally.

The counter and fragrance will be launching in store by the end of October and Frederic Malle The Night by Dominique Ropion is exclusive to Bloomingdale’s – Dubai in the Middle East. {NB.The info comes from the official store source}

Price is reportedly 850$US for the 100ml bottle and 755$ for the 50ml bottle.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine:
Oud fragrances reviews, 
Oud/Aoudh/Aloewswood: What is this Perfume Raw Material?

The Different Company Une Nuit Magnetique: fragrance review

“But then fall comes, kicking summer out on its treacherous ass as it always does one day sometime after the midpoint of September, it stays awhile like an old friend that you have missed. It settles in the way an old friend will settle into your favorite chair and take out his pipe and light it and then fill the afternoon with stories of places he has been and things he has done since last he saw you.”
― Stephen King, 'Salem's Lot'

Even though the temperatures are nowhere close to bringing out the woolen-patch jodhpurs, the heavy jumpers and the nautical pea-coat I associate with a chair by the fire, I have played with a little light, merino wool scarf these past few crisp early mornings before the sun would rise high on the sky making me tie it on my purse's handle. Sprayed with The Different Company's latest launch, Une Nuit Magnetique, felt indeed like an old friend that I had missed. In more ways than one.

Une Nuit Magnetique by The Different Company looks dense and heavy on paper, as floral orientals sometimes do, but becomes a warm alcove of ambery woods on the skin, no rough edges, no hyper-sexualized dirty tricks. It bears the signature style of plush yet lightweight compositions for which its composer, the perfumer Christine Nagel, is acclaimed for. The sensuality of the cozier notes is unmistakeable, never cloying, a transparent "oriental" chord built on benzoin and rose with quite a bit of musk and a hint of what feels like the famous Prunol base, that enveloping material that gives a sort of raisin and mulled-in-sweet-wine plums tinge to so many classic masterpieces, from Rochas Femme to Shiseido/Serge Lutens Feminite du Bois, and on to modern iterations (see Mon Parfum Cheri par Camille by the brand of Annick Goutal where it's coupled with a very strong patchouli note). However the character of Une Nuit Magnetique remains ultimately undecipherable, despite the familiarity, almost an enemy to parsing.

I have just published a full review on Fragrantica on this link.

Fragrance notes for TDC Une Nuit Magnetique: 
Top: ginger, bergamot and blueberry;
middle: Egyptian jasmine, Turkish rose, tuberose and plum;
base: benzoin, patchouli, amber, musk and woody notes.

Guerlain Santal Royal: new fragrance

The upcoming launch by the historic house of Guerlain is called Santal Royal and comes in a bottle in the style of their "Eau de lit" and "Eau de lingerie" scents, but dressed in pitch dark black, with a gold filigree label and a cap and adorned with a tassel in black & gold hanging from the neck.

borrowed via Jaroslav's blog

Guerlain Santal Royal is an oriental woody perfume with spicy overtones that heralds the coming of the cooler season, in the manner of "cashmere scents" we perfumistas here on PerfumeShrine like to annotate to autumn and winter. Jan Masters describes it as "an evening scent, although I could imagine it cheering up grey days as if cosying up in a cashmere wrap."
Of course pair Guerlain and sandalwood in the same phrase and everyone thinks of Guerlain Samsara (with the lone historian reminiscing about Guerlain Santal parfum from the first years of the 20th century), but we're told this is a very different perfume.

Santal Royal is a Harrods exclusive launch for the opening of their Salon de Parfums, retailing at £125 for 125ml of fragrance and the scent is composed by resident perfumer for Guerlain Thierry Wasser. Harrods are plugging the Salon des Parfums, a new abode for perfume enthusiasts on the 6th floor, which opens on October 16th at 8pm, attendance by invitation only. The fragrance will eventually arrive on boutique counters as well.

The fragrance notes for Guerlain Santal Royal include the eponymous mystical note of sandalwood, coupled with cinnamon and fresh neroli on the top, while the deeper, denser notes of warm amber, musk and leather rise from the base. Preliminary reportage suggests also a note of rose and oud in the formula that isn't mentioned in the official breakdown.

My own addition is that now that the sustainable Australian sandalwood plantations of Santalum alba have been fruitful we're set for a new wave of sandalwood fragrances that will reprise that most prized of woody notes. Assuming of course that Santal Royal contains said ingredient.

Teo Cabanel Barkhane: fragrance review & free perfume draw

There are generally speaking three directions on amber, that perfumery trope which although reminiscent of alembicated elixirs derives in reality from the late 19th century and its advances in chemistry. Roughly, much like human body types, there is the thick-set endomorph, vanillic and zaftig amber, often powdery but a little too snuggly the way a favorite aunt suffocated you as a child when she tried to hug you; there's the linear ectomorph, naturally rail-thin and giving only a hint of an oriental, fit for people who consider sipping a latte as having the equivalent of a dessert orgy only the calories fly off their cage-like backs (Marc Jacobs Amber Splash I'm looking at you); and finally the elusively callipygean mesomorph, its discovery as awe inspiring as the realization of the protagonist in They Live, an amber that's got to be extra-terrestrial, since there's no other explanation for its perfect, almost perverse precision and special abilities.

photo by Francesco Middei for National Geographic via Pinterest (Namibia sand dune)

Some of my favorite ambers belong to that last category, managing the trick via either a generous helping of herbal accents (Ambre Sultan by Lutens is the crowning example) or a devious splattering of incense notes, via frankincense or myrrh (Ambra del Nepal or Angelique Encens are decent examples.)        

Barkhane belongs to this special category, a foudroyant amber perfume both thanks to its transparent treatment of the labdanum (cistus)-vanillin pairing and the bittersweet myrrh resin which illuminates it the way vitraux illuminate a cathedral. From a distance Barkhane suggests repetition, since Alahine (Cabanel's 2007 fragrance) was also a terrific amber. But it is not, since it lacks the rosy floralcy and the woody element, as perfumer Jean-Francois Latty here focused instead on the introduction of a tempered oud note which tilts it into the slightly medicinal, more masculine or unisex territory. There is also a notable spicy component (reportedly built on cumin and curry notes) which melds with the myrrh.

Last but not least: the lasting power is phenomenal for something so well balanced and, yes, at its fighting weight.

Barkhane is the latest fragrance by niche French brand Teo Cabanel, re-introduced recently in the States and repackaged to new heights of luxury under the direction of heiress Caroline Ilacqua. The fragrance's name derives from the naturalist Alexander von Middendorf, who used it to describe "the smooth velvety dunes which gently ripple under powerful desert winds".

I have a self-bought* large sample for one lucky reader in Europe/rest of the world. If you're in the USA, thanks to Hypoluxe Inc.'s generosity, there's the option of one BIG 1/2oz spray for ONE lucky winner and 15 sample vials for 15 more winners. 
Please enter a comment saying your opinion on amber fragrances and if you have a favorite/Kryptonite one and please state whether you're in Europe/USA/rest of the world. 
Draw is open till Thursday midnight, winners to be announced sometime on Friday.
(*The company did send me another one for reviewing purposes)

Patricia de Nicolai Amber Oud: fragrance review

Patricia de Nicolai is repositioning themselves (the new bottles being one of the hints), if intimations are any indication, and no luxury niche brand today is complete without a generous helping of the infamous oud perfume ingredient. Not that there were any audible borborygmi coming from our collective perfumista stomachs craving oud, but apparently a boy or a girl can never have too much oud; or so the aroma producing companies would make us believe. Amber Oud by de Nicolai however is oud prowling in kitten's paws, so delicate and purring you might be mistaken for thinking there is some problem with the labeling. Because Amber Oud is mostly a glorious aromatic amber fragrance with copious helpings of premium grade lavender fanned on resinous, plush notes of velvet.

via TheOtherAlice/Tumblr

The combination of amber (a 19th century trope resting on labdanum & vanillin) with oud/aloeswood is not unknown to niche or Arabian-inspired perfumes; if only in name, both Diptyque and by Kilian have utilized this blend to good effect (there's also the Rasashi and Arabian Oud brands). The nutty and musty character of the modern oud/aoud/oudh bases with their Band-Aid vibe is very well tempered by a tried & true combination that somewhat sweetens the bitterness of oud and renders it more Westernized and silky to the touch. Tonka bean and lavender is also "a marriage of true minds". This 2 by 4 is played like a quartet that produces a single harmony.



In Patricia de Nicolai's Amber Oud the blast of lavender at the beginning is the dominant force which takes you by surprise and which might make women think this is more men's gear than girly girl stuff. But they need not fear. Gents and ladies alike will appreciate the seamless procession into a balsamic smelling nucleus. The inclusion of sage is beautifully erogenous, recalling human bodies in sweat, cleverly juxtaposed with the washed brightness of the lavender and the camphorous hint of patchouli. Seekers of oud (lured by the name) might feel cheated and there is no eye-catching innovativeness in the formula itself, but de Nicolai is continuing on a path of wearable, presentable, smooth perfumes that have earned her brand a steady following.


Notes for Patricia de Nicolai Amber Oud:
Top: lavender, thyme, sage, artemisia
Heart: cinnamon, saffron, agarwood (oud), Atlas cedar, patchouli, sandalwood
Base: vanilla, tonka bean, styrax, musk, castoreum, amber.

Chanel Coco by Chanel: fragrance review

Coco by Chanel must be among a handful of fragrances on the market to have not only one, but two flankers without being a spectacular market success to begin with. Flankers are supporting fragrances coat-tailing on the success of the original perfume, borrowing part of the name of the original as well as the bottle mould, but differing in scent and target demographics. Coco has two: Coco Mademoiselle, an alarmingly successful best-seller for youngish women that has far eclipsed the original, and Coco Noir, a woody fragrance of recent crop with dubious presence on the market as yet. Today Coco seems old fashioned and aimed only at mature women, fading-to-market-black, but soon after it came out it profited of a marketing campaign that positioned it as a sexy debutante scent, fronted by then teenager Vanessa Paradis! Funny how perceptions change and we used to wear Ungaro Diva and the like when not yet out of high school, right?

The most astounding personal association I have with Coco has always been one that pertains to its market share, not the scent itself: In all my many years of perfume observation & appreciation I have never met in real life a person owning a bottle of Coco, a fact which had always struck me as weird considering the continued presence of the perfume on the counters. Chanel No.19 is also an undivided presence on the local counters (and a steady seller according to SAs), but I actually know people who wear it, I smell it on the street from time to time and I have seen bathroom shelves with a bottle of it proudly displayed more than once or twice. Someone must be buying Coco too, then, right?
But let's take things at the top.

Aiming to capture a more Baroque side of Chanel, taking the sobriquet given to Gabrielle Chanel by her escapee father and inspired by Gabrielle's Rue Cambon apartment with its casket-like rooms full of Venetian glass, Chinoiserie panels and leather bound books, house perfumer Jacques Polge set out to compose a true 1980s perfume following the commercial smash hit of YSL Opium: bold, brash, take no prisoners. And he succeeded in the most part.

The fragrant secrets of Coco by Chanel
One of the peculiarities of Coco is that it was among the first perfumes to be conceived not as an extrait de parfum first but rather envisioned in its diluted form of eau de parfum. The market had gone away from the more discreet, more intimate use of parfum extrait and demanded a really powerful spray that would announced the wearer before she was seen; ergo the eau de parfum (and sometimes the parfum de toilette) concentration, less expensive than extrait but rivaling its lasting power, while at the same time being extra loud thanks to the volatility boost via the spraying mechanism.

The secret ingredient in the formula of Coco by Chanel is the inclusion of the base Prunol*, a rich and dark "dried fruits & spices" mélange famously exalted in Rochas Femme by Edmond Roudnitska, which gives Coco a burnished hint of raisin. The cascade of honeyed spices immediately asserts itself: pimento, cardamom, cinnamon, cumin and clove, while the overall feeling is one of amber plush and resinous warmth (with a wink of leather) with the flowers folded into a rich batter and undiscernable. The patchouli (tucked into the Prunol base) gives a whiff of chocolate, though, in the words of Susan Irvine, not even a fashion innovator of the magnitude of Chanel would have considered a note reminiscent of a bedtime drink as worthy of consideration in fine fragrance. (One would perversely wish she had lived through present fruitchouli-infested times to see how she'd chuckle under her smartly cuffed sleeve.)

A Perfume Apart
Coco by Chanel enjoys something of a revered status among perfumistas, so it's not clear whether it should be considered an "underrated perfume" in the first place, but my inclusion in the Underrated Perfume Day series isn't totally random as it would appear on first sight nevertheless. First of all it was demanded by quite a lot of readers. Secondly, this is the kind of perfume that I should be theoretically crazy about (a spicy oriental in the mold of my beloved YSL vintage Opium, Cinnabar, Feminité du Bois and Krizia Teatro alla Scala) and yet I am not. Indeed I have been trying it on and off for decades now.

However when married with a huge bottle of Coco (extrait de parfum in spray no less) I had the following peculiar problem, for something so -allegedly- admired: I could NOT swap it with other interested perfumephiles no matter what! I tried everything: stooping to suggesting I'd trade for inexpensive eaux de toilette from mainstream brands, offering to supplement with generous niche samples, pleading "please take it off my hands, it's a shame it should collect dust, just take it already". No one wanted it. I finally gifted it off to a women's shelter where its whereabouts have been lost to me. The perfume lover who had sold it to me in the first place recounted to me the exact same problem: "I spent two years trying to get this thing off my hands; when you came along and showed an interest I couldn't believe it".

Is Coco by Chanel something that perfumistas like to reference but rarely -if ever- wear? Are its wearers merely nostalgic for the 1980s, a time they were young and more optimistic, and therefore owning a little bottle is just that, a memento of carefree times? Is it, finally, past its due and not that spectacular to begin with? I think a bit of all those things. One thing however that it did magnificently well was its advertising by Jean Paul Goude: Vanessa Paradis as an exotic bird in a cage whistling to the meowing of a big greedy cat outside and "l' ésprit de Chanel" as the tag line. Coco Chanel would have been proud.

For more perfume reviews of such fragrances check out the Underrated Perfume Day feature and scroll for more musings. 

*For modern takes on the Prunol type base in perfumes, look no further than Bottega Veneta eau de parfum, Chinatown by Bond no.9 and Mon Parfum Chéri by Camille (Annick Goutal).

Arte di Profumi Harem Soiree: fragrance review

The ember glow of a dying fire shining through the window of the yalı, the iodine assault of intensely animalic ingredients brought in by the breeze, medicinal unguents resting atop a mahogany shelf at the darüşşifa, eroticism beyond coy or playful, an arrow heading straight to the heart, drama unfolded in one astounding act. The prelude of an unforgettable moment. Far too wild to be tamed and loaded with panache, its presence is unmistakeable. Its name? Harem Soirée.

Mala Fatra, Slovakia, 1963, Vilem Heckel. Czech (1918 - 1970)
via

Harem means the forbidden and beyond the feverished Western Europeans'* dreams of physical love conducted in exotic locales of Eastern promise, it signified the living quarters of the Sultan and his family during the Ottoman rule, a place where no access was granted to outsiders.
[*such as J.A.D.Ingres, Pierre Loti or Lord Byron]

Harem Soirée is tied to ambergris (all Arte di Profumi Roma fragrances have a "star" ingredient featured on the label) but that's clearly not the whole story. Besides being profoundly animalic, the daring scent is full of the concentrated essence of labdanum, with only a very distant hint of that other "amber" ingredient, vanilla. The treatment of this iconic oriental chord is pitch black, resinous smelling, dark as the cloth of the night, dangerous and medicinal as if stemming from prophylactic pharmacopeia, vaguely reminiscent in mood of Ambre Sultan, but even darker and denser with bittersweet myrrh; cuffs of lead rather than iron. Its very austere and dramatic character, with no concessions to the fruity bowl or the dessert trolley, make Harem Soirée a perfect backdrop for discerning gentlemen or women with the rush of adventure fanning their wings.

The name is referencing the shows put by women dancers as well as the 1999 Turkish film by the same name (Harem Suare).

The perfume along the rest of the Arte di Profumi Roma line is available from Jovoy Paris and Ausliebezumduft online.

Jil Sander No.4: fragrance review & history & free perfume giveaway

Although No.4 by Jil Sander comes nowhere near the novelty of Maxwell's laws of electrodynamics, it is despite its in the wings presence rather memorable to me both for its expansive radius of spicy oriental scent and the fact that its relative success condoned an infamous scented catastrophe just one year later, Spellbound by Estee Lauder (1991). But whereas you'd have to dig a moat around the house that kept a bottle of Spellbound (even in a remote drawer, under lock and key in a wooden box), Jil Sander No.4, although a characteristic 1980s-style powerhouse that would challenge the best of the lot in radiance, thrived on a somewhat less carnivorous attitude, This is exactly what makes it worthwhile of rediscovering it nowadays that we crave more flesh-eating perfumes after a prolonged 20 year-lasting perfume diet of either strict veganism or one for severe hypoglycemia. It's a the Lana del Ray effect: there's something trashy retro about her, but refreshingly different from the average pop singer too which makes it very "now and happening".

Tomb of Talma by Helmut Newton, Pere Lachaise cemetary  Paris 1977, via Pinterest

Coming out in 1990, No.4 by Jil Sander had both accumulated the gist of the big orientals that dominated the decade of carnage (and emulated their core elements), such as YSL Opium, CK Obsession, Dior Poison and to a lesser degree Cinnabar and Cacharel Loulou, but had also devised a way to give an impression of quiet animalism, an aura of worn elegance that was antithetical to the distance that the quarterback shoulder pads of these fragrances evoked at the same time.

It's utterly meaningless to try to differentiate "notes" in this perfume, as the weaving of each thread in this complex macramé is so intricate and complex that it would be more of an exercise in author's vanity than an actual helpful breakdown. The notes read like there's everything and the kitchen sink in it. It'd be much more practical to say that No.4 by Jil Sander is warm, perceptibly spicy with anise and what I sense as clove-coriander (a whiff of pomander), with a tuberose heart winking to Poison's direction. And more importantly it has the sort of oriental base that characterizes big 1980s classics: big, proud, Amazonian, sounding its barbaric yawp over the rooftops of the world.

If you like that sort of nyctophyliac thing, you will like this sort of thing, but it's worth keeping in mind these are bombastic perfumes worthy of a mini Katrina in radius; be sparing and considerate of your fellow human beings when applying, don't ambush them in the morning train to work.
If you enjoy anise and clove orientals but want something more contemporary (with a much higher price tag), you can look into Noir Epices by Frederic Malle for an alternative. If you'd rather settle for the under-appreciated underdog, No.4 can be found online for a decent price.

I have a vintage boxed miniature to share with a lucky reader. Please comment below this post with your impressions/opinions/questions to enter the draw. Draw is open internationally till Sunday midnight and winner will be announced some time on Monday.

Notes for Jil Sander No.4:
Top: geranium, peach, bergamot, plum, anise
Heart: rose, violet, jasmine, tuberose, heliotrope, ylang ylang, coriander
Base: amber, sandalwood, oakmoss, patchouli, vanilla, musk, civet, cedar, tonka bean.

Related reading on PerfumeShrine:
Underrated Perfume Day (reviews of forgotten fragrances),
Oriental Perfume Basics.

Laura Biagiotti Roma: fragrance review

Roma by Laura Biagiotti belongs to that outré category of scents that lend themselves well to brumous days and which were apparently marking their territory throughout the 1980s by fusing a minty, agrestic top note with an orientalized amber on the bottom. The initial impression, if you don't know the perfume beforehand, is somewhat alarming, as if the fragrance is starting to go off, but that weird tension is fully itentional. Must de Cartier (which weaved galbanum on top) and Dune by Dior (with its broom and monastic herbs) are two other perfumes which share kinship (and so is Fifi Chachnil). But Roma (1988) is less discussed about than either one, possibly because Cartier has luxury cachet thanks to the jewelry side of the business and Dune is sort of a cult thanks to renewed interest following good reviews. Such is the fate of some worthwhile but under-appreciated fragrances but this is precisely why I intend to highlight more of them on Perfume Shrine in the following weeks. (How about an Underrated Perfume Day featured regularly?).

via Patricia C./Pinterest

Though Biagiotti's Roma smells decidedly "Italian" (warm, golden fragrances that extol the pleasures of being human and alive) it doesn't necessarily lend itself to the classical image of either the Eternal City, la passeggiata or the column-styled bottle meant to kitschify the many adorning the Forum. (In that regard I prefer the vintage images of Fendi with the Raphaelite model kissing the statue).
Nevertheless the tag line has always been "un soffio d'eternità" which my rusty Italian translates as "a breath of eternity". Considering it has outlasted other fragrances that came and went, after 25 years on the market it feels like an eternity all right, in a good way. It's rather unsettling nevertheless to think I used this during heavy flirtation so many years ago, one memorable summer with bathing suit changing cabins on the shore a dark silhouette over the sea's horizon and the crushed chamomiles littering my pockets. More things change, more they stay the same, I suppose.

The greenish pungent top note in Laura Biagiotti Roma, recalling spearmint-on-acid and sassafras, very quickly gives way to the balsamic scent materials (myrrh and amber especially) that immediately rise to the surface, almost swamping the bridge flowers in deep sticky goo. But there is a lasting citrusy element which consolidates a classical oriental fragrance feel. My old bottle additionally features an inky note of oakmoss, earthy and bitterish, that is perfectly tempered with the myrrh resin (in itself bittersweet), creating a contrast that keeps me interested for the duration of Roma on my skin. If you like the amber coziness drydown of CK Obsession, Dune or Must you will find a good alternative in Roma.

via Michele Tiscini/Pinterest

In recent reformulation the moss in Roma is toned down, as are the animalic elements (civet), and the fragrance feels somewhat sweeter and lighter in volume to me, which subtracts something of its original charm and potency (Typical I should say for a Procter & Gamble owned company). Still, it's different enough than most fruitchouli scents on department store shelves nowadays and therefore worth trying out for yourself.
Although marketed to women (having a traditionally "plush", warm, silky skin feeling that reads as feminine), I believe the tension between the top notes and bottom lends itself well to male skin as well. Though Laura Biagotti has a Roma pour homme as well, the feminine is delicious on discerning gentlemen.



(*This is beautiful, but I find the acting a bit corny, don't you?)


Notes for Laura Biagotti Roma:
Top notes: black currant, Sicilian bergamot, pink grapefruit, mint and hyacinth
Heart: carnation, jasmine, lily-of-the-valley and rose
Base: amber, sandalwood, patchouli, musk, civet, vanilla, oakmoss and myrrh.

Ormonde Jayne Montabaco: fragrance review

Possibly the most "masculine" leaning of the otherwise aimed at both sexes new collection The Four Corners of the Earth, it being a fougere, Montabaco by Ormonde Jayne is a perfume to capture the essence of Latin America: leather, suede, wood and tobacco leaf repeated over and over again creating a suggestive sensuality and Latino temperament. Basically what the typical westerner dreams of smelling at Havana or any such exotic port of call. Does it deliver a poker hand worthy of a gambler the repute of Jack Weil? I say it does, though in a cleaned up fashion, just like Redford is a cleaned up version of a seedy gambler in the first place.

via pinterest

The floral presence of magnolia, jasmine and rose are meant to soften the toughness of those unashamedly seductive, classic masculine codes for "macho." You can almost see the beautiful face of a Latin analogue of Tyrone Power behind the smoky rings of the tobacco. In our day and age, this is the only acceptable way to get your tobacco fix (mon tabac, get it?), but what a great way it is, eh?
The aromatics in Montabaco are fusing into the woody-fern ambience, giving it an odd freshness. Last but not least, thanks to the unerring fondness of perfumer Geza Schoen for Iso E Super, a woody-hazy-musky component in the base of many of his compositions, Montabaco (an Iso-E Super beast if there's one) radiates friendly vibes in a radius of building blocks and lasts extremely well, even it is noticed more by those coming into contact with you than yourself on you at all times.

Notes for Ormonde Jayne Montabaco:
top : air note, orange absolute, bergamot, juniper, clary sage,cardamom.
heart : magnolia, hedione, rose, violet, tea notes.
base : tobacco leaf, iso e, suede, sandalwood, moss, tonka, ambergris.

Available exclusively at the Ormonde Jayne London boutiques.