I may have narrowed the search for my perfect amber. I need to say that at the onset because it’s quite an unexpected, unlikely thing. Certainly, I didn’t expect to like — let alone adore — a scent described as “cinnamon apple pie” by most commentators. I am not a fan of foody or gourmand perfumes. And I am most definitely not a fan of paying high prices to smell like cloying dessert. But there is something intoxicating, sensuous, comforting and unexpected about Hermès‘ Ambre Narguilé. Of course, the incredibly intense fumes of rum that emanated from my arm for a few hours may have intoxicated my normal sensibilities, but this really is a boozy amber and tobacco scent par excellence.
Ambre Narguilé was released in 2004 as part of Hermès’ exclusive, in-store Hermessence line of fragrances. It was created by Hermès’ in-house perfumer, Jean-Claude Ellena, a legendary perfumer who was recently called by Der Spiegel “the best ‘nose’ in the world.” Ellena is known for his minimalistic approach to ingredients, and for perfumes that always have depth and complexity, despite seeming sheer and transparent. That sheerness is rather a signature of his and, as I will explain later, a significant aspect of Ambre Narguilé.
On the Hermès website, Jean-Claude Ellena describes Ambre Narguilé as “[a]mber honey with swirls of smoke from the East. Savory, sensual, enveloping.” (Narguilé means a tobacco water pipe, or hookah, in French.) His goal in creating the perfume was as follows:
Amber, the Western expression of Eastern fragrances, has a warm, enveloping, almost carnal smell. I wanted to imbue this idea of amber with the memory of the East I love where tobacco – blended with the smells of fruit, honey and spices – is smoked in narguilés, or water pipes, and where swirls of smoke diffuse a sweet sense of intoxication.
The Fragrantica classifies Ambre Narguilé as a spicy oriental, but it doesn’t list the full notes. From what I’ve read in a few comments, the complete list seems to be:
benzoin, labdanum, musk, vanilla, caramel, honey, sugared tonka bean, grilled sesame seeds, cinnamon, rum, coumarin, and white orchid.
The opening burst of Ambre Narguilé was a huge surprise to me. From all the comments, I had expected a massive dose of cinnamon apple pie. I was fully intent on hating the perfume and, actually, I wondered why I was even bothering at all. After all, no good thing can come of a scent described as gourmand, right? Well, wrong. I clearly need to remind myself not to prejudge a whole category of perfumes. (Except soapy-clean laundry detergent scents. There, I plan to continue to prejudge as much as ever.)
Instead of a cloying dessert, Ambre Narguile opened as a spicy, sweet white floral. I blinked. White orchid? I never expected to smell white orchid with that list of potent, warm ingredients. But I did now. The perfume was a rich, floral vanilla with toasted, warm tonka bean, white rum and a hint of tobacco. I didn’t get any of the heavy powder that often goes with tonka bean, especially in Guerlain fragrances where the tonka bean’s powdery notes are responsible in large part for the signature Guerlinade. I wonder if perhaps toasting the bean made a difference and warmed up the notes instead of bringing out its more powdery side? Whatever the reason, the vanilla from the tonka bean was sheer, not cloying.
Two minutes in, suddenly, the cinnamon apple pie hits me. It’s incredibly concentrated, particularly for a scent that does not, in fact, have any apples in it! It’s odd; Ambre Narguilé is still a spicy floral scent, but now, it is also slightly gourmand. A few minutes later, the apple becomes a bit less predominant and I get a strong burst of rum, raisin, rum raisin, rum, rum and more rum. It’s not the light white rum of the start, but dark, black rum. The sort you see in pirate movies. There is so much rum, I feel a bit light-headed and drunk from it, but in the best way possible. I also suddenly feel as though I’ve had rum raisin pie that has a strong dash of saffron in it. Good lord, that’s good! I ponder whether to put on Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Caribbean.
About fifteen minutes in, I smell the faintly smoky aspects of the labdanum wrapping itself around the boozy resins. There is such a rich, nutty, smoky feel to the amber that it feels as though there is Siam Resin in there. And the apple suddenly seems a lot more like cooked plums than the apple of a strudel. I’m surprised that such a sweet, rich scent isn’t actually all that sweet. There is a dryness that I think comes from the labdanum which prevents this from being cloying or too dessert-y. The dryness makes me agree a lot more with Fragrantica’s description of this as a “spicy oriental” and not as a gourmand fragrance. It also adds to the impression that Jean-Claude Ellena had intended: shimmering, swirling whispers of smoke. He was right: the smoke helps to “diffuse” the sweetness, as does the hay-like aspects of coumarin.
After twenty more minutes of alternatively contemplating rum-drinking pirates and wanting to eat my arm, Ambre Narguilé starts to change. There is the lovely opening hints of tobacco but not just any tobacco. I smell my late uncle’s pipe: sweet, floral, almost rose-like, with fruity and apple overtones to its spiced tobacco. It’s such a strongly evocative scent that I suddenly miss him very much. The rose and apple
overtones also call to mind memories of using a hookah, or water pipe, a few years ago when that trend was very “in” and popular. The tobacco there — as in Ambre Narguilé — was never acrid, bitter, burning or strong like that of cigarettes, but lighter, softer, warmer, sweeter, and aromatically fruity. I’m amazed by just how well Ellena has nailed the hookah or narguilé aspect of things in this perfume. Clearly, it’s a result (in some part) of the labdanum, coumarin, and tonka bean, but that doesn’t really explain how he managed fruity, rosy, floral pipe tobacco in a perfume that has neither fruit nor any significant florals! I can’t understand it.
Another thing I can’t understand is just how sheer this scent is, while simultaneously being rich, narcotic and heady. So many of the reviews of Ambre Narguilé reference its “sheerness” and “transparency,” references which had made absolutely no sense to me when I’d read them a few days ago. How could those two adjectives be used to describe a perfume as rich and sensuously deep as this one was supposed to be? I was baffled. Now, however, I can completely understand it. For such a seemingly gourmand scent, it is neither cloying nor diabetes in a bottle. It’s somehow light and airy, while simultaneously being almost narcotic-like in its headiness. It’s hard to explain, but imagine a light breeze. It gently wafts passed you, but it carries a maximum burst of concentrated smell.
I think only someone like Jean-Claude Ellena could manage such a seeming contradiction in spirit, and manage it quite so deftly. Perhaps he really is a “luminist” as he was recently described on Ca Fleure Bon, the haute perfume site of experts. They called him a “luminist” in terms of both his approach to ingredients and the final result. What I think they’re talking about is that he is a rare perfumer who manages to use a small range of ingredients in a way that illuminates them with both lightness and the most concentrated aspect of their essence. (At least, that’s how I interpreted their comments.)
Here, Ellena blends together a range of rich, ambery, spice ingredients in a way that amplifies their essence, while simultaneously creating an airy feel. Ambre Narguilé has huge sillage, but you can also smell the concentrated nature of the ingredients. Yet, none of them are cloying or excessively sugary. More importantly, none of them are synthetic or artificial. There is no sharp screech of synthetic compounds, no clanging or burning in your nose, and no vaguely plastic-y tones.
Instead, it’s an incredibly well-blended, heady, cozy scent that has subtle transitions. The changes from stage to stage are not abrupt; the perfume moves seamlessly from that opening burst of white floral vanilla and white rum, to the cinnamon apple pie stage, to the rum raisin and rum, then to the tobacco, before ending in its final stage. Almost 6 hours later, Ambre Narguilé turns into a tobacco and wood scent with a leather undertone. The woody notes almost smell like cedar, but it is the leathery undertone to the pipe tobacco that suddenly explains why I like this scent so much: it reminds me of my beloved Karl Lagerfeld for Men (vintage) that is one of my favorite old fragrances to wear. Ambre Narguilé has the rich tobacco with the amberous, incense and leather feel of the Lagerfeld, but without the latter’s powder notes and with a hell of a lot more rum.
Which brings me to popular dessert smells from brands like Philosophy, Bath & Body Works, Britney Spears (for example, Fantasy which evokes floral supermarket cupcakes), Jessica Simpson (for example, Fancy, which evokes caramel and vanilla), and the like. I like Philosophy and BBW for what they are, and I have owned a number of things from each. (I have never owned Britney Spears or Jessica Simpson, and I never shall.) But, let’s admit it, the fragrances they create are completely artificial. To be as polite as I can possible be, they don’t smell particularly expensive, mature or natural. They are huge money-makers and extremely popular, but they are not expensive in scent or in cost. One reason for their profitability is the use of artificial, synthetic compounds which are significantly cheaper to use. The drawback to these artificial compounds is that they can be extremely sharp, cloying, excessively sugary and one-dimensional.
There is nothing artificial or cheap about the smell of Ambre Narguilé. It doesn’t smell of synthetics. It smells extremely expensive. And I don’t think you could get a comparable scent among the commercial, mass-produced, gourmand fragrances out there. According to a commentator on Basenotes, the famous NY Times perfume critic, Chandler Burr, said Ambre Narguilé:
is not merely the best; there is simply nothing like it on the market, period. And no one will ever do it as well again.
While I love the scent, I think Mr. Burr is pushing it and waxing a little too rhapsodic. But I do agree with him to an extent because I am convinced that there is no-one who could do it better amongst the plethora of dessert scents littering the aisles of Macy’s, Dillard’s, Sephora or the like.
But what about higher-end perfume houses? There, Ambre Narguilé would seem to have serious competition in terms of quality, as well as some overlap with existing amber scents. I’ve read a lot of comparisons on Basenotes to Frederic Malle‘s Musc Ravageur, though there seems to be no consistency in the comments as to how they differ or are alike. Some say that Ambre Narguilé is like Musc Ravageur’s dry-down, only sweeter and less musky. Others say the exact opposite. Interestingly, a Basenotes poll asking for people’s preference between the two resulted in a complete 50/50 tie. Other potentially similar scents that have been mentioned: L’Artisan Parfumeur‘s Ambre Extreme (said to be less spicy than the Hermès); Parfum d’Empire‘s Ambre Russe (said to be significantly richer, spicier and deeper than the Hermès); and Frapin 1270. I hear the last one mentioned a lot on MakeupAlley as an almost complete dupe for Ambre Narguilé (which has a 4.3 out of 5 score there). Unfortunately, I haven’t smelled any of those fragrances, so I cannot judge, but if you own one of them, you may not need Ambre Narguilé.
Do you, in fact, need Ambre Narguilé? That’s hard to say. For all its loveliness, I will be the first to say that it is really quite a simple, linear scent. Yes, it has transitions but, as a whole, it isn’t a complex, heavily nuanced, perfume that constantly transforms and morphs. The notes are essentially the same, though they vary as to degree or to the ingredient being emphasized, with more fruity notes at the beginning and strongly tobacco notes accompanying faintly leathery, woody accords at the end. But amber and tobacco are constant threads running from top to bottom in some form or another. As I frequently say, there is nothing wrong with linearity if you love the notes in question. And I think comfort scents are, in particular, more suited to being linear.
In terms of sillage and longevity, Ambre Narguile does well in both categories. The perfume projects for the first 2 hours quite forcefully before becoming slightly softer and more subtle. It became close to the skin about 4 hours in. And it lasted, all in all, about 7 hours on me. (Again, I have skin that ravages perfume.) On others, however, the average length of time seems to be between 12-15 hours! That is remarkable for a scent that is a mere eau de toilette. The famous perfume critic, Chandler Burr of the New York Times, told Oprah:
The rule is: Pretty is fleeting; heavy sticks around. Take the utterly genius Hermès Ambre Narguilé. Here’s a perfume of such luscious perfection, you want to melt into it as if it were an expert beurre caramel. Ambre Narguilé will not only dance all evening with the one that brung it, it’ll take you all the way home, too.
Perhaps the dispositive issue with Ambre Narguilé is its cost. It costs $235 and is sold only in the large 100ml/3.4 oz bottles directly from Hermès itself (whether online or via its boutiques). It doesn’t come in any other size and, again, it only comes in the eau de toilette concentration. However, and this part is key, Hermès sells a travel or gift set of
four 15 ml/0.5 oz bottles for $145. You can get 4 bottles of any perfumes in the Hermessence line, or all 4 can be the same perfume, such as Ambre Narguilé. In short, for $145, you would be getting 60 ml or about 2.0 oz of perfume, which is more than the standard 1.7 oz bottles for perfumes. As such, it is a much more manageable price. However, even then, it is still more expensive than Ambre Narguilé’s amber counterparts: Lucky Scents sells Frapin 1270 in a 100 ml bottle for $155, while Parfum d’Empire’s Ambre Russe is $75 for 50 ml and $110 for 100 ml. Despite their more affordable cost, however, more than enough people (including a number who seem to own one of the other amber scents) can’t seem to live without Ambre Narguilé and shell out $145 for the gift set. It all depends on how much you love boozy, smoky amber and if you consider Ambre Narguilé to be “utterly genius,” or just merely adequately cozy.
I started this review by saying that I had narrowed my search for my perfect amber. If Ambre Narguilé cost less, that search might be over. I really like it that much, and it makes me feel happy. (My German shepherd also adored it and jumped up to repeatedly lick my arm — which he doesn’t usually do when I’m wearing perfume.) I can’t get over how intoxicating that rum was, or how elegantly beautiful that swirling mist of tobacco. But it is simple. And should simple cost that much?
As in most things in life, price is a very subjective, personal thing, and what is worth it for one person may be too much for someone else. For me, the problem is that I’m extremely picky, am constantly inundated with scents I love or am tempted by, could not possibly buy all the things I’d like to buy in one calender year, and have definite cheapskate tendencies. So, I’m not sure that I would spend $145 for Ambre Narguilé. (I certainly wouldn’t spend $235!)
But I am considering it….
Oh now you have done it! Now I have to get dressed and go downtown on New Year’s Eve to Hermes and smell this thing! LOL. Wonderful review.
Hahaha, I love you and your passion for life, Mr. Lanier. God, I’m so glad I found you! And I’m also glad the Ambre Narguilé tempts you. I have to be honest, I really, REALLY struggled with this review. I have read enough disdainful sniffs and comments about linearity to know that this is likely to be considered quite a simple scent by some — Chandler Burr’s love affair with it notwithstanding. And, honestly, it costs quite a bit for a relatively simple scent, though I consider it a LOT more complex than many give it credit for. My problem is that my comfort scents are often those which are, inherently and as the nature of the beast, not massive morph monsters. They’re not enigmatic or dangerous. But by GOD, can they smell good. And this one does most definitely. I actually almost felt drunk and intoxicated by the luscious rum fumes at one point. It was that dizzyingly intense. And then, when the fruited pipe smoke started….. It really was really lovely. If you smell it, promise to report back with your impressions? *hugs* And, Mr. Lanier, a very, very happy New Year to you, cheri!
Cheri, Happy New Year to you too. I will let you know if I get to smell it…I am sure I will! I really am cozy right now so maybe next weekend!
As always, stunning review. Seriously, your reviews always want to make me want to smell what you are reviewing, even when you don’t like it because they are so evocative and beautiful. So good. And I know you’re a modest person, but you should be very proud, because they are among the best reviews I’ve read of any product, and I read a lot of product reviews.
It’s funny when you mention the price because my perspective on price has totally changed even in just the past few weeks. You know I love a discount as much as you do (and I rarely, rarely, rarely pay full price for anything except maybe certain groceries and a few scents), but I have a very guttural, instinctual reaction as to whether or not a fragrance is “worth” its full price. Some of the Parfum d’Empires I’ve smelled? Worth their price, completely and totally. Tom Ford Private Blends? Worth their price (although that opinion is more controversial, and for my wallet’s sake I’m EXTREMELY glad I don’t have to pay full price thanks to ebay!). Creed? Not worth the MSRP at all, IMO. Not remotely.
But you’re right – price is completely subjective. I don’t regret for a minute the price I’ve paid for scents I’ve loved. I get so much joy out of smelling those ones. However, I too am tempted by many and have to be relatively judicious in buying lest I go broke. In the mean time, I’m justifying my recent purchasing binge by saying that I’m cultivating my collection to include only things I’m head over heels in love with. 🙂
Thank you for your incredibly kind words. It means more than you can know. It really does. *hugs*
I have to say, I find it so funny how utterly miffed you are at Creed. But I get it, I really do. As you will see tomorrow, there is nothing like a legend or myth being shattered to leave a perfumista slightly disgruntled. *grin* “Not remotely” worth the price. HA! One of the things I’ve loved about our perfume exploration — yours and mine — is the changes in even the last few weeks. For both of us. I love seeing how your perspective has expanded or altered, as well as the sorts of scents that are now drawing you in. Seeing just how HARD you’ve fallen for Tom Ford is both funny and cool, but I think you should be far less defensive about it. Perfume is the one area where — more than perhaps any other thing — our tastes are subject to factors outside of our control: our body/skin chemistry. We won’t all be alike and if TF smells fantastic on you, then all the better! And, you know, some private blends are hugely, hugely adored. (Amber Absolute is one of them which made how it manifested on my skin so upsetting to me.) Plus, you know, you’re not buying willy-nilly and without a lot of thought beforehand. Your big bottle of Sycomore is both priceless to you and, at the same time, cheap for the joy it brings you. You can’t always put a price tag on pure joy.
Now, if you start buying those $885 bottles of Clive Christian perfume willy-nilly, THEN I will start to worry…. 😉
I know this review is almost a year old, but I just tried this one and ugh is all I can say. It’s totally cloying to a nauseating degree for me. However, since JCE created it, I presume it will be gone in about 2 hours and I can move on. I think you’re right when you say it smells like apple pie, but I would take it a bit further and say it smells like the canned, spice apples that are sold to make a quick pie (if you’ve ever smelled that). They are syrupy sweet, as many canned fruits are. I know I’m not a gourmand person, but this is sweet to a degree I did not anticipate at all.
It sounds much sweeter on you than it does on me, though I definitely agree that it *is* a sweet scent. I’m curious as to how you rate Ambre Narguilé’s sweetness as compared to its cousins, Guerlain’s Spiritueuse Double Vanille and Tom Ford’s Tobacco Vanille?
This is a good question. I remembering enjoying Tobacco Vanille, so I assume it must not have been so sweet on me. That said, it’s been a billion years since I’ve tried it so my memory is certainly hazy at best. As for SDV, I remember not liking it much in the sense that I don’t like many (any?) of the current Guerlain lineup much. I definitely didn’t have the same visceral reaction to the sweetness because despite my poor memory, I usually remember those types of experiences. So I think both of those were a bit tamer on my skin as far as being cloyingly sweet goes — and thank goodness for that!
I tried it once but it did nothing for me. The amber scent that I love is MPG Ambre Precieux.
I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you, S, but I’m so glad you gave me the name of one that you love. I will definitely add it to my list of things to check out. I’ve actually been planning to explore MPG since they’re a line I’ve never tried before, so thank you for giving me a place to start!
MPG is an underrated line in my opinion. I love Ambre Precieux and Or des Indes the best. Santal Noble was too dry for my tastes though.
Hmm. If one was disappointed by Ambre Russe and 1270, is this something worth trying?
Probably not. LOL. It’s said to be close to 1270 and it’s not as spicy or rich as Ambre Russe, so I suspect it would fall short in your eyes. It’s certainly not as complex a scent as the Hermès Elixir that you love. I would suggest reading the comments on Makeupalley that I’ve linked as that was where a number of people brought up 1270 in relationship to Ambre Narguilé, but I think you’d probably conclude it was a dry dessert smell.
Another great review!! After reading this I immediately think this MUST be on my next surrender to chance order. I really like amber and you’ve sold me on it…well a sample, more affordable:) Haha
LOL, yes, samples are definitely the way to go when a full bottle costs these sorts of numbers! Plus, it’s tricky to know how your body will handle such a boozy scent. Also, on some, it smells just like rum and rum raisin bread, while on others it’s a flat cinnamon apple pie. Trying it out will give you a shot to see if you can smell the other aspects to it, like the fruited tobacco, and if you don’t, then it definitely won’t be worth buying for you!
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Another great review, and I agree completely. I got my decant thinking it was likely to be my holy grail of Ambers, and it is, as you say, exceedingly well done and beautiful. I too love the rich booziness, but in the end, it’s too linear for me to be entirely enamored of. Don’t get me wrong, I’m very glad to have a decent sized decant and will certainly wear it with glee, but Ambre Russe suits me much better with all its madness, exhibitionism, and decadence. Ambre Narguile is masterfully made though, no doubt about it!
I had similar hopes for Tolu, which I love even more than Ambre Narguile, but it also gives me gigantic nauseating headaches, which is just soooooo sad. :'(
~Goes back to hugging bottle of Ambre Russe~
PS I think it might be proof of a certain kind of insanity that I consider Ambre Russe to be a comfort scent. I’ll blame it on my Russian ancestry full of alcoholics, artists, and criminals 😀
You know, if Tolu gives you a gigantic, nauseating headache, you must be acutely sensitive to ISO E Super. I would bet you anything. You may want to look into my post on ISO E Super from about 2-3 weeks ago, as well as stay away from much of the Ormonde Jayne line…..
BTW, I laughed, and laughed, and then laughed some more at the last line in your comment. Utterly hilarious. And, truly, you seem to be the MOST fascinating person! Have I said lately just how happy I am that you stumbled across this blog? 🙂 xoxoxo
I was just reading that post, and I’m afraid it’s probably true, much to my dismay. I don’t have the problem with Ambroxan (I play around making my own perfumes and have worked with most of the major aroma chemicals, but not Iso E Super, which evidently, is not so super at all), or some of the other likely culprits. I’m quite sad about needing to avoid Ormonde Jayne, since they do such good work. They’re probably a bit too classy for me anyway… I mean, when was the last time someone described an Ormonde Jayne fragrance as skanky or schizo or overwhelming or any of those other words often used to describe many of my favorite perfumes? 😉
Another perfume house that I like that uses a lot of Iso E Super is Slumberhouse, thankfully not in the fragrances from them that I like best. I agree that Andy Tauer uses it as well, but not as strongly in most of his that I’ve smelled. Incense Rosé will give me a much milder form of the same headache if I sniff at it too closely or when I first spray it on. I like it too much to stop wearing it though, I’m just careful in how much I apply.
It also explains why I have so much trouble with a number of Montale perfumes as well, besides that I just don’t like many of them. I’ve only tried about five of the oud ones and Blue Amber. I very much like Blue Amber but all of the oud ones result in headache, nausea, and horrific perfume PTSD. I hate that medicinal, rubber, utterly synthetic smell ~puts hands over olfactory organ~
You’re pretty fascinating yourself, Kafka, which is well reflected in your writings. 🙂
Montale Aouds…… *bone-deep shudder* I… I…. can’t go any further.
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So, when I got this sample I didn’t try it until the spring and it was nice, but I found it to be a bit too sweet on me. A little too gourmand for my skin. Fast forward to a few days ago and I tried it again…what a difference. I’m in love with my sample! I feel like I’ve been wrapped in a rich beautiful amber blanket. And I love the warm boozy scent of the rum, which reminds me more of this Jamaican rum a friend of mine has that has been aged for like 10 years.
I’m not sure if it’s the change of temperature here, summers here tend to be very humid, but either I’m surprised how different it is on my skin!
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It would be my first appearance in the Blog . I am Brazilian , sorry some spelling error 🙂
What would you tell me the AN ( narguille ambre ) taking into account their copies 90 % : DolceLisir ?
Welcome to the blog, Lucas. If I understood your question correctly, you’re asking just how close L’Erbolario’s Dolcelisir is to Ambre Narguilé? Well, I’m afraid I haven’t tried Dolcelisir, but judging by my experience with L’Erbolario’s Meharees, I think the quality would be very different from an Hermès scent. That’s normal and understandable given L’Erbolario’s low price, but the Meharees was very *harsh* with its synthetics for a long period of time before it settled down. Cheap ingredients will do that. So I would expect the Dolcelisir to be similar in that way.
A few people I know who have tried it found Dolcelisir’s sweetness to be excessive and cloying, in addition to having that harsh, synthetic edge.
I don’t know if any of that helps you at all. I hope I managed to be clear, given our language differences. 🙂 I wish I could help more, but it’s very difficult to get samples of L’Erbolario here, and I refuse to buy a full bottle just for a test. Lol. 🙂
I stumbled across this post after more than 2 years of reading Kafkaesque. In more recent times, I’ve read your opinions on Kalemat and Kalemat Amber, among others. Have you found your perfect amber, or does the search go on?
It really depends on the particular genre or type of amber that is involved, Marvin. Ambre Narguilé certainly doesn’t come close to the top of the list for any of them, though. Ambra Aurea is the gold standard for actual, real ambergris fragrances but, for the other genres, it really depends on the specific type of “amber” in question.
The most recent post on the blog is actually Part I of a two-part series on the issue of “Amber” in perfumery, a guide to the various types, the definitions, the various materials in each category, and their scent, so I’d recommend starting with that as a general reference, if you haven’t read it already. Part II will give names of fragrances within each genre and include several personal favourites, but it is not finalized yet as it’s taking a comprehensive, broad approach and it’s taking some time. Hopefully, it will be posted at the end of the week or by the weekend at the latest.
Thank you for the fantastic review. Do you think that this scent can be an office scent and that it can also be worn in summer?
I wish I could help and answer your question, but I’m afraid that it’s extremely difficult for an outsider like myself to assess the office-appropriateness of a scent because there is really no hard-and-fast rule and it really depends on a variety of variables. I’m not in your office, so I don’t know how conservative it is, what the lay-out is in terms of space, the proximity of any cubicles to each other, what your co-workers are like, how many have phobias about scent (ANY sort of scent, regardless of type), etc. etc. etc. By the same token, I also don’t know how much fragrance you typically apply for your personal use or office use.
All of these things play a role and should be considered. What may be office-appropriate in one work place may not be in another. What type of fragrance bouquet (notes, genres, etc.) will set off co-workers in one office may not do so to people in a very different sort of environment. You will be able to make that determination best.
In terms of seasonality, I’m afraid that, too, depends on a variety of factors. LOL. I swear, I’m not trying to be difficult or unaccommodating, but scent is *SUCH* a personal, subjective thing. 🙂 It depends on what sort of weather you have, the humidity, and how much you’re accustomed to heavy-vs-sheer fragrances as a general matter. If you’re accustomed to the heaviest, richest, or vintage-style fragrances, particularly orientals, and if you’re accustomed to wearing them all year round for your personal or home use, then I doubt Ambre Narguilé will be a problem for you to wear in, say, Florida’s summers or Australia’s. On the other hand, if you’re used to wearing light or ligher fresh, clean, crisp and citrusy scents in summer and your city is particularly humid/hot in summer, then maybe you’ll find an amber to be too much for your personal tastes. It really depends on YOU and what you’re comfortable with. (For use at the office, though, it obviously depends on THEM and the circumstances THERE.)
I’m sorry I couldn’t help in a more specific way, but I’m sure you’ll find a solution that works for you and your particular circumstances. 🙂