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Soul of My Soul by Etat Libre d' Orange was originally a Selfridges exclusive coming out in 2020, but I smelled it a couple of years later, after the quarantine of the pandemic, which limited my traveling severely.
It was a sampling in passing; it seemed nice enough, but in that lackluster quality that "nice things" often display. Damned with faint praise, in short. The fact that it was in "the expensive line" by Etat Libre d' Orange made me crinkle my nose (and my mind too!). Why is it that companies need to introduce a more expensive collection within their existing perfume brand? As if to alienate their older customers through snubbing, and to attract a new kind of customer that is not very knowledgeable about fragrance—the kind of customer who thinks "it's expensive, it must be very good indeed." For anyone seasoned in perfume collecting and appraising, this is surely reason to turn up one's nose and leave empty-handed. And this is exactly what I did. Though in hindsight, it wasn't too expensive. In the span of a mere six years, we have seen exorbitant prices asked.
A few years passed by. This past summer, in a perfume swap with a lovely lady, she sent me a decant of Soul of My Soul, and the fragrance ended up in my lap again. Lap, almost literally, as I tend to sample fragrances not only on wrists but lower on the body, observing how they rise and flow in the air, noting down their development and sillage. It was nice but not perfect. But quite nice indeed. There was an oddly familiar tonality about it. For a couple of days, I struggled to recall what it reminded me of. Hell, that's a difficult situation for any perfume lover, when you almost have it at the tip of one's tongue, but the actual name of the scent eludes you. If you have sampled, worn, and owned too many fragrances, this is a plight you must have found yourself in more than once.
"Soul Of My Soul draws inspiration from the refined butter and milk offered in honor of the gods of Mesopotamia, the god of fire in Persia, and the gods of India. The scent is described as a creamy explosion in which the scent of musk mixes with iris butter and conveys a strong vanilla balm, followed by a combination of tonka and benzoin for a sweet but strong trail."
What can you expect from that? A lactonic fragrance, right? A warm scent, fit for wintertime.
Wrong.
And then one day it dawned on me: Soul of My Soul had something in common with the discontinued Ginepro di Sardegna. It opened differently, with a bit of lightly smoky, masculine, woody elements, but yes, it dried down after a few minutes into the well-known dry, powdery freshness I had loved in the Acqua di Parma scent.
I scavenged my old blue bottle to compare, with remnants only remaining at the bottom. Yes, I was right. Though it's not actually as powdery as a vat of talc. Most people do tend to wax on about Mediterranean forests, which is odd, because juniper is not exactly the kind of tree one finds in Mediterranean landscapes in abundance; one would sooner find maritime pines, olive trees, fig trees, cypresses, and a vast array of bushes with dry, dusty-smelling branches that read scorched and botanical under the sun. The power of naming and imagery is eternal, I suppose.
