Knize: Knize Ten & Knize Ten Golden Edition

Posted on December 25, 2013 by Kafkaesque

Every perfume genre has its pioneering, benchmark classic, a fragrance by which all others who follow it are judged. The leather category might be the only one which has two leaders: Chanel‘s Cuir de Russie which came out in 1924, and the Austrian fragrance which followed it a year later from Knize called Knize Ten. One was inspired by the Russian treatment of leather and Coco Chanel’s affair with a Romanov prince; the other by the sport of polo as an emblem of aristocratic refinement. Both fragrances are centered around the use of birch tar leather, but they are very different.

James Dean via listal.com

Knize Ten is one of those legendary fragrances that leather lovers often hold up as the very best leather around. (Naturally, Cuir de Russie lovers don’t agree.) I decided to give Knize a whirl after hearing something about the company’s history which encompassed famous architects, figures who worked with Klimt (one of my favorite painters), and clothing clients who ranged from Marilyn Monroe and Marlene Dietrich, to King Juan Carlos of Spain. Knize Ten, in specific, was allegedly the scent of choice for both James Dean and David Niven.

I quickly discovered that there were two Knize Tens: Knize Ten original, and its special, 75th Anniversary version called Knize Ten Golden Edition. There seems to be endless debate as to the differences between the two, not to mention opinions about which version is better, so I’ve given each fragrance a few tests, as well as done a side-by-side comparison. I’ll take each in turn, after a brief foray into the history.

KNIZE & KNIZE TEN:

Source: themonsieur.com

Knize is a very old, prestigious, Austrian men’s tailoring house, dating back to 19th century. Luckyscent’s history is inaccurate, referencing a start date of the 1920s, but First in Fragrance details the company’s precise origins:

Knize was founded in Vienna in 1858. […] In 1888 Kniže received the coveted title of royal tailor to the Austro-Hungarian Court. By the turn of the century many personalities, heads of state, artists and industrialists belonged to the select group of Knize’s customers.

[In 1909, the respected] architect Adolf Loos, who was known in Vienna for his pioneering [work…] designed a new shop facade in black marble and glass and designed new interiors. [The boutique became famous for its look and interiors, considered one of Loos’ best creations. Then, in 1921], Ernst Dryden was appointed to the Knize Company as designer. Dryden had studied with Gustav Klimt at art school and worked as a poster artist, designer and illustrator. Today Dryden is known as the star-designer of the 1920s who gave the Knize Company its avant-garde fashion image and its international reputation. […]

“Knize Ten” – the first men’s fragrance collection in the world was launched on the international market. “Ten” is known as the highest player-rated handicap in polo. For Dryden.., polo, the sport of the English nobility, was the ultimate symbol of elegance. Dryden also designed the packaging for the Knize Ten fragrance line, which still exists today in the same timeless design.

Some of Knize’s most famous clients included Oskar Kokoschka (who paid for his suits with paintings), Marilyn Monroe, Kurt Tucholsky, Josephine Baker, Marlene Dietrich, Billy Wilder and King Juan Carlos of Spain.

Knize Ten, original.

In 1925, the company released Knize Ten, an eau de toilette created by François Coty and Vincent Roubert. The company amusingly called it “Toilet Water,” a description which remains to the present day on both the bottle and its box. According to Luckyscent, one famous author, Hans Habe, reportedly said, “if he were cast away on a desert island, he would take Knize with him, since, for a man using a toilet water, it was really not so much a matter of undermining the morale of a beautiful woman than boosting one’s own.”

According to Luckyscent, the notes in Knize Ten include:

Lemon, bergamot, orange, petitgrain, rosemary, geranium, rose, cedar, orris, carnation, cinnamon, orange blossom, sandalwood, leather, musk, moss, patchouli, ambergris, castoreum and vanilla.

Birch Tar pitch via Wikicommons.

Knize Ten opens on my skin with a burst of crisp, zesty, cool lemons, bergamot, and the bitter wood, twiggy note of petitgrain. The citrus cocktail is infused with smoky, dry cedar, a touch of rosemary, copious amounts of oakmoss, and leather. For an instant, the leather note smells like new shoes, but it soon takes on the tarry, phenolic aroma of smoky birch tar. It’s raw, rubbery, a tinge industrial, and quite smoky. The birch tar smells sharp and dark, but also woody with a hint of chilled, piney elements evocative of a dark, wintery forest. A forest infused with lots of latex rubber and some Michelin tires.

Source: hdwpapers.com

The forest impression really stems from the overall effect of all the green elements floating around. Most significant is the oakmoss which feels like lichen growing on tree bark, thanks to its dryness and the pungently mineralized, slightly fusty undertones. There is also a touch of geranium with its equally pungent, slightly bitter aroma of peppered leaves. Lurking underneath are the tiniest flickers of rose, powdered iris, and patchouli with a berry-like nuance. The smallest suggestions of vanilla-infused powder, animalic castoreum, and warm sweetness stir deep in the base. They’re all rather muted and insignificant, however. As a whole, Knize Ten’s main bouquet at first is of crisp, chilled, zesty citruses infused with fusty, mineralized, grey oakmoss absolute, trailed by black, tarry, rubbery leather in third place.

Tree moss. Photo: my own.

Ten minutes in, Knize Ten starts to shift. The lemon recedes from the lead to make way for the leather to take the main stage besides the oakmoss. There is suddenly a subtle florality to the scent, as a sharp, fiery carnation comes to stand in the wings. Standing by its side is powder, along with a clean white musk that, I must say, feels rather synthetic and gives me a faint twinge in my head. In the background, the rose pops up now and then, along with the geranium, patchouli, and vanilla. The petit grain and cedar add a faint suggestion of woodiness, but they’re muted and stay at the edges.

Source: minrenfang.com

To my surprise, the birch tar begins to feel almost tamed by the other elements. Fifteen minutes in, Knize Ten softens and increasingly takes on the aroma of “new shoe” leather, infused with and almost powdery oakmoss and a hint of citruses. The birch tar’s phenolic, rubbery, smoky tonalities remain, but they feel overshadowed by the more sanitized, refined, leather.

Source: ehow.com

At times, the clean, powdered, fresh elements create a rather industrialized impression, almost akin to “new carpet” aroma in an office. It’s an odd mix at times. On one level, it feels like an elegant, refined, and a seamless blend of expensive, “new,” unbroken leather shoes with a touch of suede. On the other hand, there is a discordant mix of clean musk and sweet powder that vie with dark, tarry, smoky, rubber latex like Michelin tires or some sort of rubber toy. I suppose the real problem is that I’m not a fan of either powderiness or the increasingly dominant white musk, a synthetic to which I’m quite sensitive.

Source: Amazon.

Knize Ten really is very simple, uncomplicated, and largely linear scent on my skin. About 75 minutes in, the fragrance hovers a mere inch, at best, above the skin and is primarily a soft, powdered, clean, grey suede with synthetic white musk, oakmoss, and “new shoe” leather. There remain touches of the birch tar, but the perfume is really mostly just iris-y suede on my skin. I have to admit, I’m extremely surprised by how powdered and soft the fragrance is, not to mention the fact that it turned to suede so quickly.

The powdered element takes on an increasingly vanillic sweetness that slowly begins to take over during the next few hours. The muted floral elements weave in and out like ghosts, and are generally quite insignificant if a lesser amount of Knize Ten is sprayed, but more noticeable if a greater quantity is used. For the most part, the rose is the main flower, but there is a floral iris folded within the sweetened suede that is Knize Ten’s dominant note.

Source: seasonalcolor.yuku.com

By the start of the 5th hour, Knize Ten is a soft, vanilla suede with a strong hint of oakmoss and a lesser touch of clean, white musk. The birch tar hovers in the background, but it’s very muffled. As time passes, the sweet, vanilla powder increasingly becomes the sole focus of Knize Ten, with all the other elements retreating to the sidelines. The clean musk is the first to leave, then the oakmoss.

About 8 hours into Knize Ten’s development, the perfume is a soft, fuzzy, sweetened vanillic suede with the occasional, fleeting whisper of smoky birch tar and a hint of floral iris. Eventually, even the suede fades away, leaving an almost baby powder gentleness infused with vanilla. The scented, sweetened powder is comforting and soothing in a way, but also disappointingly simplistic. It is most definitely not me, and yet, there is something genuinely appealing about both Knize Ten’s middle suede stage and its soft finish.

What completely took me aback, however, was the fragrance’s longevity. Knize Ten lasted just a hair over 12 hours on my perfume-consuming skin, which is utterly fantastic for an eau de toilette. As for sillage, Knize Ten has a very strong start that softens less than 20 minutes into the perfume’s development. It turned into a skin scent about 90 minutes in, which isn’t a huge surprise for an eau de toilette. The longevity, though, is very impressive. I’d like to see a Jean-Claude Ellena eau de toilette last half as long, but I won’t hold my breath. I’d end up asphyxiating myself.

I’ve tested Knize Ten several times, and the general outlines of its development don’t vary. One thing I did notice is that quantity makes a difference. When I applied more of the scent, I detected more floral notes and less synthetic white musk. The castoreum in the base was also evident, though it was muted, and it added a minuscule whisper of velvety, animalic “skank” that was not apparent with a small quantity. In addition, there was a subtle spiciness, and a distinct cinnamon element in the middle phase that was quite nice. In contrast, when I applied only a little of the perfume, the floral element was largely nonexistent! It also took far less time for the birch tar aspect to weaken, and then to retreat to its muted position on the sidelines; the powder was more dominant more quickly; and the whole thing turned to “new shoes,” followed by suede, in only an hour. Regardless of dosage, however, Knize Ten always ended up primarily as suede with vanillic powder on my skin; it simply took an hour or two more to get to that core essence if you applied on a lot.

I have to admit, I’m a bit bewildered by how Knize Ten manifested itself on my skin, given all the reports of the “ultimate” leather, combined with criticism about petroleum elements and “public washrooms.” Yes, those who don’t like Knize Ten definitely have some sharp words for it, and I think it all comes down to the birch tar. You simply have to like the note — in all its possible manifestations. On some people, it can take on a rubbery, latex-like aroma, on others a tonality that their nose translates as “dark petroleum” or “public restroom.”

Fragrantica commentators are firmly split into two camps: fans and haters. Some examples of how Knize Ten smells to different people, including a number of women:

Hmmm, all I’m getting from this is a very nice vanilla leather, with some nice flowers. I was looking forward to testing, what with the long history of this fragrance, but I have to say I’m a bit disappointed. There’s nothing wrong with it, but it’s just a bit, well, vanilla.

Yes, yes, yes! Here is a real, 1920’s smoky leather. Knize Ten smells properly leathery and smoky, rounded out by an ambery, floral heart that reminds me somewhat of L’Heure Bleue. Knize Ten is nostalgic in the best sense of the word. [From a woman.]

there’s some institutional cleaner notes in here which suggest a public washroom. There is a mildly skanky note to this stuff that’s throwing the whole fragrance off for me.

It’s the strongest, skankiest leather I’ve ever smelled, and while it doesn’t smell animalic by any means, it does have that “porta potty” smell I get from other leathers like Royal English Leather. Meaning, it doesn’t smell like urine or feces, it smells like the pink aroma of the restroom itself.

The offensive opening reminds me of being in a car garage smelling petrol, tar and rubber and then suddenly the garage changes into a shop where they sell lots of leather shoes! Really amazing…. After that it changes again in a very very distinguished, sophisticated, not offensive and manly scent with perfect sillage and longevity. [¶] The dry down is a perfect original smell of (mainly) leather, amber, a touch of vanilla which makes you feel like a real man. Genuine leather!!

Knize Ten lives up to all of its hype, and then some. It has become my favorite leather fragrance. [¶] Knize Ten smells like the interior of a brand new luxury car with leather upoholstery. We’re not talking about black leather, like in Fonzie’s leather jacket. This is a soft, tan-colored leather smell that is also spicy, no doubt acheived by the presence of cinnamon. The addition of iris to the leather gives Knize Ten a hazy, dusky smell, adding to its allure and giving the scent great depth. It has a wonderful oily glow to it that the best leathers have, without smelling like gasoline.

Source: twincitycarpetcleaning.com

My experiences aren’t the same as the majority of those on Fragrantica, but you can see the wide range in opinions and some overlap. I definitely agree that the powder and synthetic white musk combine with the suede tonalities to create an “institutional cleaner”accord. I thought it smelled like new carpet in an office, while others think it smells like “the pink aroma of a restroom.” Either way, there are a few notes in Knize Ten that I think take some getting used to if you’re unaccustomed to this sort of leather. However, I also believe that once you get over the hump of the first hour, Knize Ten becomes much easier. The iris-y suede and “new shoe” leather is refined, and the drydown’s vanilla powder quite comforting in an, unexpected odd way.

All in all, I wasn’t blown away by Knize Ten. What showed up on my skin was well-done, and had refined elements, but it wasn’t all that exciting, complex or interesting to me. It was just simply…. fine. Nice, even enjoyable at times, but I’m struggling to be more enthusiastic. I don’t think it’s merely a case of expectations or hype. It’s a question of the perfume’s simplicity, my personal tastes, and my skin chemistry. I missed the iris-appreciation gene, don’t like powder, can’t abide synthetic white musk, and generally can’t understand what’s so fascinating about suede. So, a largely simple, lifeless suede with lots of vanilla powder and some vaguely floral touches… eh. It’s nice. At the same time, I can’t help but shrug, or ponder a nap….

KNIZE TEN GOLDEN EDITION:

Knize Ten Gold Edition via Fragrantica.

In 2000, on the 75th Anniversary of the original Knize Ten, the company launched Knize Ten Gold Edition which some people shorten to “Gold” or “Gold Edition” for simplicity. I’ll just call it “Knize Gold.” According to Luckyscent, the new version has the same notes as the original, but there are small differences:

The dry woody character of the historic fragrance is softened by more decisive floral notes, balanced out by spices and citrus to give it warmth and body, fruit of a truly special year.

First in Fragrance says that “Knize Ten Golden Edition is a softer version of Knize Ten, the formula was refined as some customers, found the original Knize Ten a little too tart.” I find definite differences between the starting points of the two scents, but they end up in the same place at the end.

Source: nature.desktopnexus.com

Knize Gold opens on my skin with a strong bouquet of florals, just a whisper of oakmoss, and hardly any citrus tonalities. Instead, the dominant note in the first few minutes is the carnation which feels very spicy, followed by a pale pink rose, and a powdery, rooty iris. The flowers are all infused with birch tar leather, then flecked with pungent, peppered geranium leaves, and dry, smoky woods. As usual, the birch tar is strongly tarry, smoky, and with black rubber latex tonalities. Yet, the phenolic, black tar is countered by the floral notes, the touch of pepperiness, and a spicy bite.

A young cedar tree trunk.

In the background, the petit grain adds a bitter woodiness to Knize Gold, while the strong cedar element calls to mind a dry, dusty antique chest of drawers. There is a definite dusty quality to Knize Gold’s opening minutes. Part of it stems from the dry, wood tonalities, while the rest comes from the powder and the fusty oakmoss. The latter is surprisingly mild and weak in Knize Gold, especially as compared to Knize Ten where it dominated much of the opening salvo. On a positive note, the synthetic element in the base (from the white musk) is equally muted.

As a whole, Knize Gold feels much less crisp and cool than its forbearer. The citric notes are strongly reduced, covered by a strong floral aroma that initially dominates even the leather. The overall, opening bouquet is of: spicy, peppered carnation; softer, sweeter florals; tarry, smoky, raw, birch leather; dust; powder; dry cedar; a bitter pungency; and some minor oakmoss.

Source: abm-enterprises.net

Knize Gold begins to transform 15 minutes into its development. Muted hints of sweetness start to slowly rise to the top, turning the fragrance softer and warmer. There are touches of dry, muted patchouli, along with cinnamon, and vanilla. Further down in the base, the castoreum begins to stir, adding the merest suggestion of a velvety, slightly musky, animalic skank. Ten minutes later, the first hint of orange blossom appears, though it doesn’t stay long and seems to vanish within minutes.

By the 30 minute mark, the cinnamon and vanilla become increasingly significant. They join the main players on the stage, countering the dry, dusty, woody elements and adding some softness. Down below, in the base, there is an unexpected creamy, woody smoothness, though it never smells like true sandalwood to me. There is also the very first hint of something ambered. The overall combination has the effect of transforming Knize Gold into a fragrance that feels smoother, warmer, less raw, and less fusty.

As the basenotes slowly tame the top elements, Knize Gold becomes much more sweet. It’s just the right amount, though, and balances out the fusty oakmoss, the dusty cedar, and the rubbery leather. It makes the main notes less sharp and aggressive, yet it doesn’t dilute them at all. At the same time, the florals start to soften and turn increasingly abstract. The carnation in particular recedes from the lead, and they all make way for the birch tar to take center stage.

Black, patent leather. Source: ferragamo.com

Forty minutes in, Knize Gold becomes increasingly dominated by the leather. It is simultaneously the tarry, smoky, rubbery kind, and the leather of new, expensive shoes. In contrast, the original Knize Ten, at the same point in time, was primarily a “new shoe” aroma with some suede. Knize Gold has much greater rubbery tar and intensity. The sillage drops, the notes begin to overlap each other, and the fragrance turns into a smooth, seamless blend of lightly tarred leather, florals, dry cedar, oakmoss and vanilla powder, all resting upon a warm, ambered base flecked by cinnamon and castoreum.

About 90 minutes in, the perfume reflects the different variations on leather: “new shoes” infused with a light touch of something tarry, and accompanied by grey suede. The main notes are flecked by rose, iris, powdered vanilla, cinnamon, and oakmoss on an ambered base. As a whole, Knize Gold has much more leather, florals, dry woods, amber and warmth on my skin, significantly less oakmoss and powder, and hardly any citrus at all.

Source: funky44.com

Yet, despite the differences in the opening, or the varying prominence of certain notes along the way, Knize Gold ends up in the same place as Knize Ten. At the start of the third hour, Knize Gold is a skin scent that is predominantly suede with vanillic powder, and just a touch of birch tar leather. The floral accords flit in and out of the top, while the ambered warmth of the base occasionally gives off whiffs of animalic, musky castoreum. The supporting notes eventually fade away by the end of the 6th hour, leaving nothing but the grey suede and vanilla powder. In the end, even the suede departs, and Knize Gold is just a blur of sweet powderiness.

KNIZE TEN vs. KNIZE GOLD:

I’ve outlined some of the differences in notes between the two scents, but I want to emphasize that they are largely subtle after the first hour. The most noticeable contrast is in the opening ten minutes, and in the two perfume’s overall feel at that point. Crisp, powdered, citrus-mossy coolness for Knize Ten; warm, floral, spicy, dusty woodiness for Knize Gold. Later on, the leather feels more profound and stronger to me in Knize Gold. In Knize Ten, the clean, industrial feel is more noticeable. Another difference is in the two perfumes’ relative longevity. For some reason, Knize Ten lasted longer on me and seemed sharper, undoubtedly because of the clean, synthetic white musk in the base which always sticks to me like glue. Knize Gold was softer, and the longevity clocked in only at 10.75 hours, instead of 12.

There are a few Basenotes threads contrasting the two fragrances. In one of the longer ones, there seems to be little consensus on which one has a more prominent leather note, or which fragrance is the overall favorite. Some think the birch tar is excessive in Knize Ten, and prefer the amount in Knize Gold. Others disagree, and think the leather is more profound in the Gold. A few think the original is more powdery, and opinions are evenly split as to which fragrance is better, or if they may have a feminine quality.

In contrast, on Fragrantica, most people seem to prefer the original Knize Ten. There aren’t a ton of entries, but what is interesting if you read them up close is that no-one seems to agree on the character of Knize Ten. One calls the Gold version more simple and stripped down. Yet, his words also indicate that he finds the Gold version to be more leathered, while he thinks the original is floral, something which he seems to prefer:

The golden edition seems like a simplied and stripped back version of the original. The burnt rubber smell is pronounced but the lingering floral seems to have dialled right back into the background. Those that find the original too floral should check this out. Otherwise, stick with the original. I find the original much more complex and better balanced.

Another commentator thinks the exact opposite when it comes to which scent has more leather. For “alfarom,” it is the original Knize Ten, not the Gold. He thinks the Gold is a “‘smoother’, polished” and “civilized version of the original” which is slightly richer in amber, but “toned down” with regard to the leather. As a result, he found the original Knize Ten to be more compelling.

One woman compared the two, found Knize Ten to be a better scent on men, but preferred Knize Gold for herself, putting in the same class as Habanita and L’Heure Bleue:

I also have to agree that the gold edition is a silver medalist compared to the original. That being said, this is one of the best perfumes I have ever smelled. I am a woman and would very happily wear it for formal occassions, in lieu of Shalimar, Habanita, L’Heure Bleue and all the other typical feminine leathers. I wouldn’t wear it to seduce men though, I would wear it as a tribute to the man who has seduced me… To my nose Knize is warmer, richer, more luxurious, more complex, exquisite! I cannot imagine why all men do not wear it, it is the absolute men’s perfume, if Rick in Casablanca was wearing a perfume it would be Knize Ten. Love!

I can see why some women would find Knize Gold to be like Habanita or L’Heure Bleue: it’s the mix of florals, sweetened, vanillic powder, and leather. For me, however, the fragrance that came to mind when I tested both versions of Knize was Etat Libre d’Orange‘s Rien (which, granted, has a definite Habanita stage). Rien was not my cup of tea; I can handle bondage leather, but not when mixed with painfully abrasive synthetics, industrial elements, and baby powder. My skin simply amplifies those notes to a crazy degree. It’s why I wasn’t a fan of Habanita, either, which I tried for the umpteenth time the other day in hopes of bullying myself into changing my feelings. It not only gave a sharp headache to someone in the room, but I had to scrub it off for my own sake.

As a result, I prefer both Knize fragrances to some of its relatives in the leather group. I think the Knize scents are a much smoother, more refined handling on somewhat similar, overlapping elements. As between the two, I think I like the Gold Edition more, if only because it was much more complex and nuanced on my skin. Like a number of the Basenoters, I experienced substantially more leather and florals. Plus, there was less of the horrid clean, white musk which I cannot stand. Yet, both Knize fragrances are well-done, and I urge those who love birch tar leather, powdered florals, and iris-y suede to check them both out. You may love them, though I recommend the Gold version more for women.

On a personal level, however, I still find it hard to get excited by either fragrance. If I were to opt for a powdered leather, I would need more warmth, spices, incense, and ambered resins to go with it. In a world where there is Serge Lutens‘ fantastic, powdered Cuir Mauresque, I cannot imagine being interested in Knize’s dull, sterile, lifeless suede. Is there a place for both of them in a perfume collection? Absolutely, especially as they are very different. But one fragrance often makes me contemplate a nap, and it’s not the Lutens….

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: Both versions of Knize Ten are eau de toilette in concentration that generally come in 2 sizes: 50 ml/1.7 oz and 125 ml/4.2 oz. Knize Ten costs $70 for the 50 ml, and $115 for the 125 ml bottle, with a European price of €48 and €82. The two sizes of Knize Ten Golden Edition cost $80 and $125, respectively, or €51 and €86. Knize has a website, but no online e-store from which you can buy the fragrances. In the U.S.: Luckyscent carries Knize Ten and Knize Gold in both sizes, though they are sold out of the Gold Edition in the 125 ml bottle. However, Perfume Gold sells both perfumes at the same price as Luckyscent, isn’t out of stock of the Gold, and also offers samples. Outside the U.S.: Knize fragrances are known to be hard to find, and I didn’t locate a ton of international vendors, especially for the Gold Edition. In the UK, I found Knize Ten at Manufactum which also offers a 15 ml bottle for ₤12,50. It doesn’t have the 50 ml bottle, but sells the 125 ml one for ₤83. There is also a huge 225 ml option. The site has some Knize Ten body products, but doesn’t sell the Golden Edition. London’s Les Senteurs also carries Knize Ten, sells the 50 ml bottle for ₤60, along with a sample, but it too doesn’t have the Golden Edition. However, Germany’s First in Fragrance has it, along with all the Knize toiletries, which include bath and shaving items. There, Knize Ten costs €48 and €82, while the Golden Edition is priced at €51 and €86, depending on size. Samples are available for both. Knize Ten is sold at some Russian retailers, but I couldn’t find any Middle Eastern sites, and the company’s website doesn’t have a list of vendors. Samples: Surrender to Chance has Knize Ten starting at $5 for a 1 ml vial, while the Gold Edition starts at $3.99 for a 1/2 ml vial. A number of the retailers listed above also offer samples for sale.

Dior Patchouli Imperial (La Collection Privée)

Posted on December 13, 2013 by Kafkaesque

Patchouli Imperial is a crisp, aromatic, desiccated, very woody men’s cologne that is far from the patchouli soliflore that its name would imply. It starts off as a men’s fougère, before turning into a scent with faint ties to Guerlain‘s L’Instant Pour Homme and, to a much lesser extent, Habit Rouge. Eventually, it ends up as a dry woody fragrance with an ambered touch, but little character.

Source: Dior

Patchouli Imperial is part of Dior’s prestige line of fragrances called La Collection Privée. (The line is sometimes called La Collection Couturier on places like Fragrantica and Surrender to Chance, but I will go with the name used by Dior itself on its website.) The eau de parfum was released in 2011, the creation of François Demarchy, the artistic director and nose for Parfums Dior. Dior describes the scent as follows:

Potent and sensual, Patchouli is an essential House of Dior ingredient that took up its place at the beginning of the New Look revolution in 1947.

Full of elegance, François Demachy’s composition, Patchouli Impérial, is a celebration of this legendary oriental ingredient with notes as sultry as they are sophisticated. “Patchouli is a major note, the most animal of all the plant notes. It is refined, revealing unprecedented elegance.”

Dior’s very limited — and I would argue, very incomplete — list of notes only mentions:

Russian Coriander, Indonesian Patchouli, Indian and New Caledonian sandalwood.

Source: Dior

Fragrantica voters add in cedar, Sicilian mandarin, and Calabrian bergamot. I agree with them, but would also include some other things. What I smell is:

Lavender, Bergamot, Lime, Virginia Cedar, Russian Coriander, Indonesian Patchouli, Cocoa, Indian and New Caledonian/Australian sandalwood, and something ambered.

Source: 123rf.com

Patchouli Imperial opens on my skin with cologne and fougère traits of lavender, bitter lime, bitter dried orange peel, bergamot, lemony peppered coriander, and dust. It is followed by a sour wood note that is simultaneously green, unripe, and desiccated. Dustiness infuses everything, especially the coriander which smells old, stale, and sharp. It’s not the dustiness of patchouli, but rather, of a dirt road or a crypt.

The wood note isn’t appealing either, as it is slightly off, almost like rancid “sandalwood.” A few months ago, I received a concentrated Australian sandalwood oil, and it smells extremely close to the aroma in Patchouli Imperial. The oil had an oddly medicinal, mentholated edge which isn’t apparent here, but it had the same “off,” green tonality that eventually turned a bit creamy like sour buttermilk.

Photo: D&M Canon. dmcanon.blogspot.com

The dustiness is quite something. It leaves an itchiness at the back of my throat, but more than that, it creates a staleness around the notes that robs the citric elements of all their brightness and zestiness. It also amplifies the definite herbaceous quality in Patchouli Imperial, especially the lavender which has all the dried, pungent, sharp characteristics that I loathe so much. The overall effect is to a create a fragrance that is as much a dry woody scent as it is an aromatic, fougère cologne.

Source: vfxdude.com

Other notes soon arrive to join the bitter citruses, pungent lavender, sour green woods, and dried tonalities. At first, it is cedar which is equally dry and musty. Then, there is a hint of creamy sweetness that cuts through the stale, bitter, and arid accords, but it is very muted. More noticeable is a sour medicinal element that appears after about five minutes. It is sharp and pungent, but it doesn’t smell like the camphorated, leafy darkness of patchouli. Instead, it has an almost leathered greenness that feels like a distant cousin to galbanum.

Patchouli Imperial is such an odd mix of sourness, greenness, dark brown desiccation and aridity, dust, staleness, and pungency. Dried lavender, dried bitter orange peel, bitter lemon, heaping amounts of peppered coriander, dust, dry cedar, unripe sour buttermilk “sandalwood,” and more dust — it’s really unpleasant to my nose. I’ve tried Patchouli Imperial a few times over the last 6 months, and most recently again in Paris’ Charles de Gaulle airport in October, and each time, I’ve recoiled at its opening. People sometimes use the term “old lady” as a derogatory way to describe fragrances; I dislike the term as something that is both sexist and not particularly useful as a descriptor, but I’ve often wondered why no-one describes fragrances as being “old man” in nature.

Well, let me use it here. Patchouli Imperial has a sour, stale, musty “old man” aroma. It reminds me distinctly of an old Greek man I once knew whose old-fashioned fougère cologne mixed with a definite dustiness from his old books, as well as a subtle whisper of sour staleness from his unshaven face and his ancient, brown cardigan. He was a very sweet chap, but I wouldn’t want to smell like him.

Light, natural, cocoa powder.

Fifteen minutes in, a creamy cocoa powder pops up in the sidelines, adding to the discordant jangle. The stale coriander powder grows sharper, as do the lemon and lime. The sour green sandalwood darts in and out, toying with the musty woodiness of the cedar. Thankfully, the pungency of the lavender softens a little, and that brief flicker of leathered greenness vanishes. The desiccated woodiness in the base remains, however, and my throat feels scratchier than ever. It has to be something synthetic, especially as there is something distinctly sharp in Patchouli Imperial when smelled up close.

“Dusty Woods” by Brenejohn on DeviantArt. brenejohn.deviantart.com

It takes about 25 minutes for Patchouli Imperial to soften, and for those sharp, pungent edges to get smoothed out. The fragrance’s sillage drops to a few inches above the skin, and turns mellower. It’s still incredibly dry, however, with a bouquet that is primarily woody lavender cologne with various dusty bits, an abstract patchouli, lemon, peppered coriander, and cedar. The patchouli that is starting to appear isn’t spicy, sweet, ambered, or mellow. It’s merely another form of dry woods with a dusty, herbal facet. The subtle whispers of cocoa and that green, unripe “sandalwood” in the base give Patchouli Imperial a very distant kinship with Guerlain‘s L’Instant Pour Homme Eau de Toilette (“LIDG”). Yet, the Dior has none of the latter’s black tea, its floral tonalities, or its creamy sweetness. At times, the dry citric and fougère elements remind me of Habit Rouge’s opening, but that fragrance was never sour, stale, or musty either.

Patchouli Imperial eventually loses its unpleasant start. The citric aromatics and lavender recede to the sidelines at the end of the first hour, but it takes a while longer for the creamy undertone and cocoa to fully emerge and to turn the fragrance into something less stale. The notes blur into each other, and Patchouli Imperial becomes a soft, gauzy, sheer haze of citric aromatics, dry woods, dry patchouli, dry cocoa powder, and some abstract creaminess. Tiny whispers of lavender and peppered coriander lurk underneath, but they’re muffled. Patchouli Imperial is a skin scent after 90 minutes, though the fragrance is still strong when sniffed up close.

“Golden Brown” by Emily Faulkner. Source: redbubble.com

Around 2.25 hours into Patchouli Imperial’s development, the fragrance takes on the characteristic that will remain for a while: a blurry soft, citrus, patchouli, woody scent. The amount of cocoa powder waxes and wanes, but the note feels increasingly nebulous and abstract as the hours pass. The best way I can describe it is as something that smells like dry sweetness, instead of actual chocolate. The patchouli also feels abstract, verging more an a generalized dry woodiness that has a hint of some sweetness than any actual, distinct “patchouli” in its own right. The citrus element finally fades away around the middle of the fourth hour, and an abstract “ambery” quality takes its place. In its final drydown, Patchouli Imperial is a nebulous, gauzy whisper of dry woods just lightly flecked with some ambered sweetness and a hint of powder.

Source: wallsave.com

Like all its Dior Privé siblings, Patchouli Imperial has moderate sillage and good longevity. At first, the fragrance is quite potent and strong, but the projection drops after 90 minutes, and Patchouli Imperial wears close to the skin for the rest of its duration. Dior intentionally wants its fragrances to be refined, unobtrusive, discreet, but strong and long-lasting, and Patchouli Imperial is no exception. All in all, it lasted a little over 9 hours on me. On people with normal skin, the more oriental or ambered Privé fragrances can last much longer.

I’m not at all enthusiastic about Patchouli Imperial. I’m not judging it as a patchouli fragrance, because, by and large, it isn’t one in my opinion. I’m judging it as a men’s cologne, and I think there are better takes on this particular profile than Patchouli Imperial. Its opening is horrid and incredibly unpleasant. While the fragrance subsequently improves and loses that discordant, jangling, dry, sour staleness, it merely devolves into a generic citric, dry woody scent before ending up as a slightly less dry, ambered, woody blur. I should probably repeat the word “dry” a few more times, but I think you’ve gotten the point by now.

You might argue that Patchouli Imperial is a refined take on patchouli, but it wasn’t on my skin. It felt uninteresting, average, and unoriginal more than anything else. For patchouli-mixed scents, I think you’d do far better with Guerlain’s L’Instant Pour Homme in either concentration (as there are olfactory differences between the two) or Chanel‘s Coromandel. For fragrances that primarily focused on patchouli, there are a host of options that I would recommend before this one, starting with Profumum‘s Patchouly. On the other hand, I think men who hate patchouli may enjoy Patchouli Imperial. By their standards, the note may seem very clean, fresh, and refined.

On Fragrantica, reviewers are more enthusiastic than I am about Patchouli Imperial. Some seem to have experienced much more actual patchouli than I did. Others compare the scent to Givenchy Gentleman or Nasomatto’s Absinth. I haven’t tried either to be able to compare. A number of people mention both amber and powder in the drydown, while a few bring up mentholated notes in the start. The comment that amused me the most came from a poster who said he got the most bizarre unsolicited comments whenever he wore Patchouli Imperial from friends who “associate it with along the lines of Caveman, Mummy’s Tomb, DOM, Closet filled of mothballs etc.” I suspect that is the crypt-like dust that dominates Patchouli Imperial’s start.

I generally really like the Dior Privée line, but Patchouli Imperial is a complete pass for me. I don’t enjoy it as a cologne, and it’s definitely not my idea of a beautiful patchouli.

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: Patchouli Imperial is an eau de parfum that is available exclusively at Dior boutiques, at Dior online, and a few select, high-end department stores. Dior Privée perfumes come in two sizes: the 4.25 fl oz/125 ml costs $170 with the new Dior price increase, while the 8.5 fl oz/250 ml costs $250. (There is a third option which is so enormous, I can’t imagine anyone buying it.)

In the U.S.: Patchouli Imperial is found at Dior’s NYC boutique, and at the main Las Vegas store [call (702) 369-6072]. Ordering from the store is best as they will give you a free 5 ml mini bottle of the Dior perfume of your choice, along with 3-4 small 1 ml dab vial sample bottles, to go with your purchase. Even better, you will get free shipping and pay no tax. U.S. Department Stores: New York’s Bergdorf Goodman, San Francisco’s Neiman Marcus, and the Saks Fifth Avenue in Chevy Chase, Maryland also carry the Dior Privée line collection of perfumes.

Outside of the US: The Dior International page offers all their Privée fragrances for you to order online. This is the listing for Patchouli Imperial, but there doesn’t seem to be an e-store from which to purchase it. In addition, you can use the Points of Sale page on the Dior website to find a location for a Dior store near you. You can also navigate the Dior website’s International section to buy the perfume online. The problem is that the site is not very straight-forward. If you go to this page, look at the very far right to the bottom where it will say, in black, “International Version” and click on that. You should see options for Europe, Asia-Oceana, and South America. Within Europe, there are different sub-sites divided by country. The one closest to you should have the perfume available for sale.

Samples: If you want to give Patchouli Imperial a sniff, samples are available at Surrender to Chance where prices start at $3.00 for a 1 ml vial. If you’re interested in trying the whole Privée line (minus the discontinued Vetiver), Surrender to Chance sells all 13 fragrances in a sampler set for $35.99.

Les Néréides Patchouli Antique (Patchouli Précieux)

Posted on December 9, 2013 by Kafkaesque

Source: worldofstock.com

A keepsake memento box made of cedar, left in a dusty old attic, only to be found and doused with rum and cognac, then to transform as if by alchemy to something quite different. That is part of the journey you take with Patchouli Antique from Les Néréides, a French perfume house that initially started in the world of expensive, high-end costume jewelry before branching out into perfume. Their fragrances represent their overall ethos of the most basic, simple ingredients, presented in the most refined manner. They eschew expensive or fancy bottling, preferring to opt for a minimalistic aesthetic, both to appearance and, to some degree, the perfume itself.

Patchouli Antique or, Patchouli Précieux, as it is now known.

Patchouli Antique (or Patchouli Précieux as it has now been renamed) embodies that aesthetic for much of its journey, though its opening is wonderfully complex and nuanced. The fragrance is an eau de toilette that is classified as an “Oriental Woody” on Fragrantica, and its notes are not complicated according to most sites. Luckyscent says that they are nothing more than:

Indonesian patchouli, Vanilla, and musk.

However, one French retailer provides something very different. Olivolga describes Patchouli Antique as follows:

Patchouli Antique becomes Patchouli Précieux, the perfume is the same.

The story of Patchouli Précieux: The soothing scent of rich, clean earth freshened by rain. This is the loamy soil of an enchanted hillside at dusk as you lay in the grass and watch the clouds. The opening is very intense, but give it a moment and the trademark gentle touch of Les Nereides becomes apparent. The patchouli retains its earthiness, but becomes soft and deep, melding with layers of pillowy vanilla and smooth musk to create a dreamy landscape … Bewitching!

Base: patchouli, cedar wood, sandalwood, vanilla, musk
Head: sweet orange, green note
Middle: Gurjum balm, scots pine

Source: footage.shutterstock.com

Patchouli Antique opens on my skin with a rich cocktail of notes. It is a blend of sweet, chewy, dusty, slightly medicinal, red-brown patchouli with booziness, followed by tobacco and a subtle whisper of leather. It is patchouli in all its true splendour with a spicy, sweet, smoky character that also has subtle touches of green, woody dryness, and dark resinous amber. The amorphous “boozy” note soon turns into something delineated and distinct, as both a fruited rum and a very aged, nutty cognac. Yet, the whole top bouquet is paradoxically filled with antique dust and old woods. Patchouli Antique smells much like an old cedar memory chest stuck in a dusty attic for years, then doused by a pirate’s stash of booze.

Source: cigarettezoom.com

Patchouli Antique is initially very strong, but it quickly softens to become a beautiful blend of dark notes that envelops you in a small cloud. The rum smells as though it was seeped in juicy, Seville oranges. Though the fruity note is quickly subsumed by the patchouli, dusty, and smoky woods, it pops up occasionally to counter the dryness of the perfume’s base. The tobacco is simply lovely, and may be one of my favorite parts of Patchouli Antique’s opening. It smells just like the rich, fragrant, very fruited pipe tobacco that my uncle used. There is also a subtle leatheriness underlying the scent, but it’s burnished, aged, and completely doused by cognac. The overall blend is faintly similar to Oriza L. Legrand‘s Horizon patchouli, but Les Nereides’ version is much richer and more complex.

Source: thejewelerblog.wordpress.com

Ten minutes in, Patchouli Antique is like a dark topaz stone made from boozy patchouli and dry, dusty cedar, throwing off rich nuances of leather and sweet pipe tobacco like little, brown rays. There is the faintest hint of creamy vanilla lurking deep down below, but it is subtle at this point. The whole thing lies nestled in a smoky, resinous, slightly green cocoon that was initially quite muted, but which suddenly rises to the surface. It takes exactly 13 minutes for the patchouli’s green side to emerge. It’s metholated and slightly medicinal, but it’s much more minty as a whole. Patchouli is a plant in the mint family, and there are definite reflections of that side in the perfume, though they are quite soft at first.

Source: 1stdibs.com

Much more noticeable, however, is the woody dustiness that becomes stronger, and a quiet creaminess in texture. Patchouli Antique increasingly smells like the creamiest of very ancient apothecary cabinets, made out of cedar, covered by a light film of ancient dust, then heavily infused with dark, chewy, spicy patchouli. I think the creaminess is due solely to the vanilla which isn’t distinct in its own right at this point, but which works indirectly in the base to create that textural feel and smoothness. It rounds out any rough edges, making sure that Patchouli Antique is not too green or woody.

Abstract Mint Green and Chocolate Brown art on canvas by Heatherdaypaintings on Etsy. (Website link embedded within photo.)

To my regret, the creaminess also serves to diffuse the boozy rum and cognac accord, weakening it and making it fade away almost completely by the 20-minute mark. Taking its place is a creamy mint tonality that soon dominates both the patchouli and the scent as a whole. It is as though Patchouli Antique has entered into a completely new phase where the primary bouquet is creamy mint patchouli, followed by dusty cedar and the merest hint of something leathery. The fragrance has the feel of heavy creamy, though not in any fresh, sour, or particularly sweetened way. The dry, woody, and minty elements cut through the vanilla, to help ensure that the primary focus is on the greener side of the patchouli. I have to say, I really miss the lovely fruited tobacco and run-cognac, and I’m not crazy about feeling like a creamy mint ice-cream infused with patchouli chips.

Source: 123rf.com

The second stage is short-lived, a quick transitional bridge to Patchouli Antique’s main phase which begins at the end of the first hour. The vanilla blooms in its own right, overtaking the mentholated mint element, and turning Patchouli Antique into a creamy patchouli-vanilla scent with a very dusty, woody undertone. The mint remains, as does the dry cedar, but both move increasingly to the sidelines. The patchouli has lost much of its chewy, spicy, smoky darkness, feeling washed, and somewhat cleaned by creamy vanillic softness. The whole thing hovers an inch above the skin, and feels very airy.

At the 90-minute mark, Patchouli Antique on my skin is 4 parts vanilla, 3 parts patchouli, 2 parts mint, and 1 part dusty, dry, amorphous woods. Occasionally, the patchouli will dominate the vanilla, but, generally, it feels much more enveloped by the creamy note. To be clear, however, the fragrance is never gourmand at all. Patchouli Antique lacks the sweetness for that, but the patchouli remains very muffled for much of the time. I would have far preferred more of the rich, spicy, smokiness of patchouli in a redder, brown fragrance than such a creamily beige one dominated by soft vanilla. That said, Patchouli Antique is a refined scent where all of the edges have been smoothed out.

However, I think it may have gone too much in the direction of cleaning the patchouli of its dark earthiness, funk, and spicy leatheriness. How people can compare Patchouli Antique to a monster of medicinal funk, smoky vetiver woodiness, and intense darkness like Reminiscence‘sPatchouli or Elixir Patchouli is completely beyond me. I see very little in common between the three scents, except the boozy element that both Reminiscence fragrances begin with if a lot is applied. On my skin, the greenness in the Nereides fragrance is primarily mint, whereas it was heavily camphorous and mentholated with the Reminiscence duo, in addition to being infused by an intense, smoked vetiver.

The overall lack of smokiness in Patchouli Antique also removes it from the realm of Chanel‘s spectacular Coromandel which is one of my favorite perfumes primarily because of its gorgeous patchouli drydown. In Coromandel, the patchouli turns into something like a creamy Chai tea dusted with white chocolate and infused with frankincense, but it always smells like sweet, spicy patchouli. The patchouli in Les Nereides’ version is much blander, creamier, cleaner, and softer, without the incense or spicy sweetness. There are minuscule flickers of both deep down, but they are heavily muffled.

Source: stonecontact.com

In fact, Patchouli Antique seems increasingly like a vanilla fragrance with just dashes of patchouli tossed in. At the start of the third hour, Patchouli Antique is a creamy, woody vanilla with patchouli, followed by a touch of synthetic white musk in the base. It is also now a skin scent, though it is still noticeable up close. It soon devolves further, turning slightly powdery, until it is a mere gauzy smear of woody vanilla, followed by patchouli and white musk. It feels like a wispy, drier, simpler, less sweetened cousin to something like Serge Lutens‘ Un Bois Vanillé. I like the latter quite a bit, but it is not what I’m looking for in a fragrance that is supposed to center around patchouli.

Patchouli Antique has very good longevity on my perfume-consuming skin for a fragrance that is an eau de toilette, but it is hardly as spectacular as others seem to report. Around 7.5 hours into its development, the fragrance is almost gone. It dies away entirely an hour later, 8.5 hours from the start, as a blur of dusty, woody sweetness. The sillage was initially strong with a large application, but soft with a smaller one. The average, overall projection as a whole for the fragrance’s lifespan was soft.

Suzanne on Bois de Jasmin has a detailed assessment of Patchouli Antique which I agree with in small part, though I think she experienced far more of the lovely opening phase of the fragrance than I did. Her review reads, in part, as follows:

Les Néréides Patchouli Antique is one of a number of patchouli-centric fragrances in niche perfume lines that strips away the past and presents patchouli as something eminently more palatable for modern tastes. […]

Although the lasting power is superb and the strength impressive, Patchouli Antique is a mellow liquid using vanilla not as a sweetening agent but as a smoothing one. Vanilla takes the edge off the green, aromatic and slightly minty quality that the note possesses in isolation. The “antique” of the name conjures up ideas of aging and one is hard-pressed to escape a noticeable mustiness that creeps into the fragrance after a fruity and golden opening.

Patchouli Antique is not enslaved to the herbal origin of the note. After the fruitiness of the opening comes a lovely, semi-damp earthiness similar to what one finds in L’Artisan Voleur de Roses and then the notes of wood, paper, leather, and perhaps a vapor of alcohol. […]

Vanilla comes into play in the drydown, rubbing out the earlier earthy and liqueur-like qualities but not in a degree that makes the fragrance gourmand. It does tend to desensitize the patchouli a bit[.][…]

Depending on the method of application (spraying or dabbing) it can become almost a skin scent when applied in moderation, or it can announce itself as patchouli and it will elicit remark when used that way.

I envy Suzanne for an experience that seems much boozier and for far longer than my own. On my skin, I had a liqueur and earthy patchouli phase that may have lasted 20 minutes at most, followed then by heavy mint ice-cream patchouli, woody vanilla-patchouli, and finally, just plain woody, powdery vanilla.

On Fragrantica, the reviews are mixed, as some people find the scent too musty, minty, or mentholated. As noted earlier, 10 people voted that Patchouli Antique was extremely similar to Reminiscence’s Elixir that I reviewed yesterday, but I can’t see any overlap at all. In the Fragrantica comments, others bring up Parfumerie Generale‘s Coze, a scent I haven’t tried, as well as other patchouli mainstays. A few examples of the range of opinions:

I detect no patchouli at all in this, at least not as I understand it. [¶] It goes on minty, medicinal and slightly weird-smelling and reminds me of semi-fresh breath that someone’s been trying to conceal by chewing gum. Camphorous. [¶] There’s also something reminiscent of pu-erh tea emerging after a while. [¶] None of these notes are anything I associate with a personal fragrance applied for the pleasure of oneself or those around you. Terrible.

This is a thick, chewy patchouli, reminiscent of Coze in my opinion. Where Coze is heavy on the tobacco, this is heavy on the chocolate note (though none is officially listed) this is a great winter scent and if you like Coromandel, Borneo 1834 and Coze, this is most definitely a must have.

It’s an interesting scent – I think that’s the kindest thing I can say about it. […] It makes me think of dusty attics and cobwebs and stale cigarette smoke. I imagine being a child and finding clothes from 80 years ago that still have the faint scent of perfume on them – that’s the smell that I get. It’s evocative in a way but if I want to smell like this and I could live in a damp house with a bunch of smokers, wear Opium to bed and get up without showering and go out. Not my thing really.

This is not simply a patchouli fragrance, this is patchoulissimo. No frils, pleasantly unrefined, simple and extremely earthy patch with powdery/ambery undertones. Honest, unpretentious yet attention worthy for any patch lover…I stick with more complex interpretations of the main theme, but if you’re up for a classic no surprise patchouli, check this out, this is quality stuff.

As many of the reviews on Luckyscent mention, this really does have a musty opening note. In fact, on me, it is bordering on downright mildewy! But strangely, it’s mildewy in an endearing, nostalgic way…reminding me of memories made while playing with my cousins in the attic of their summer cabin. [¶] Eventually, after not too long, the mustiness fades and I am left with a soft, powdery, sweet patchouly.

I must say it`s horrific. Very strong tobacco and medicinal patchouli. So very much not up my alley.

The kind of purple, fruited patchouli to avoid if you want real patchouli. Source: Shutterstock.com

What purple, fruited patchouli feels like, and what to avoid if you want real patchouli. Source: Shutterstock.com

You have to be a lover of true patchouli scents to appreciate Patchouli Antique. Given the note’s notoriety since the 1970s with all the negative associations to hippies and “head shops,” true patchouli with all its spicy, sweet, smoky, earthy funk isn’t common in modern perfumery. What is listed as “patchouli” is the terrible purple fruit-chouli kind with its overwhelmingly syrupy, jammy, fruited, berried molasses that accompanies roses scents or which is used as the base in fake, neo-quasi “chypres” now that oakmoss has essentially become a thing of the past. People used to the patchouli in commercial, mainstream scents like Chanel‘s Coco Noir or Marc Jacob‘s Lola (to give just two of a plethora of examples) will undoubtedly respond to Patchouli Antique with some of the reactions noted above.

That said, Patchouli Antique does have a mustiness and dustiness that isn’t typical of even dark, true patchouli fragrances. Tobacco and leather are more characteristic undertones, but, as some of the comments above demonstrate, skin chemistry may play a role in determining how they manifest themselves on your skin. If your chemistry always turns tobacco into an ashtray, or if you hate tobacco fragrances as a whole, then patchouli may be a problematic note for you in general. If, however, you love fragrances like Coromandel, Borneo 1834, or Guerlain‘s L’Instant de Guerlain Pour Homme Extreme (LIDGE), chances are that you already like the real kind of patchouli.

Whether you will like Patchouli Antique, on the other hand, will very much depend on how much vanilla you want in your patchouli fragrance. For me, the patchouli is far too stripped down and denuded, the vanilla dominates too much of the fragrance’s overall lifespan, and I’m not crazy about the mint phase. In short, I’ll stick to the gorgeous, smoky Coromandel if I want a patchouli-vanilla fix. However, if you don’t mind a scent that is predominantly dry woody vanilla, and if you don’t mind a powdery touch, then you should give Patchouli Antique a sniff. It has a lovely, boozy opening (brief though it is), the drydown is very soft, and it is very affordable at $70 for a large 100 ml bottle. I know someone who enjoys powdery scents and loves patchouli; she uses Patchouli Antique every night as a comforting, soothing bed-time scent. You might feel the same way.

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: Patchouli Antique or Patchouli Precieux (the new name) is an eau de toilette that is most commonly sold in a 100 ml/ 3.4 oz bottle and which costs $70, or €65. A few places offer the 30 ml bottle which costs €35 (or €29 on sale). There is also a body lotion. Generally, you will find the perfume under the old name being sold at a discount, or that sites carrying it are sold out, as they make way for the new bottle. In the U.S.: Luckyscent carries Patchouli Antique in the old 100 ml bottle for $70, but they are currently sold out. They also sell a 0.7 ml sample for $3. Outside the U.S.: You can buy Patchouli Antique directly from Les Néréides where it is sold under the new name, “Patchouli Precieux,” and is available in both sizes. The 100 ml bottle costs €65, while the 30 ml bottle costs €35. I found the perfume discounted on a few sites under the old name: the Netherlands’ DePluymGraaff sells the 100 ml bottle for €49, while Italy’s Scent Bar sells the 100 ml for €55 and the 30 ml for €29. In the UK, Les Nereides had a shop in London in Kings Road, but I read that it has closed. The brand’s jewellery is carried by the House of Fraser, but not its scents so far as I can tell by the website. I found Patchouli Antique at Ursula and Odette, but the site has no e-store. You can perhaps call to purchase. Elsewhere in Europe, France’s Olivolga sells Patchouli Antique in the 100 ml bottle for €65, as does Linea Chic. Germany’s First in France has Patchouli Antique on sale for €49, perhaps because it is the old bottle with the old name, but they are sold out. They offer samples of the scent for €4. Les Nereides shops: Les Nereides has stores in Paris, while its line is also carried at Paris’ Les Galleries Lafayettes and Printemps. There are also Les Nereides boutiques in Sydney, Odessa, Hong Kong, China, and Japan. You can look up their locations at Les Nereides Store Locator. Samples: I obtained my sample from eBay, but Patchouli Antique is also available at Surrender to Chance starting at 2.99 for a 1 ml vial. Many of the sites listed above offer vials for sale.

Jovoy Paris Private Label: Mad Max’s Smoked Vetiver Leather

Posted on November 24, 2013 by Kafkaesque

Mad Max 2.

Mad Max in black leather, burning up the roads. A bomb blast that left bubbling, tarry, rubbery asphalt. The burning, black tire bonfires used as smoke signals in Black Hawk Down. Vetiver on steroids, then nuked with napalm. Peppermints and candy canes at Christmas. Peaty single-malt Scotch, and aged cognac. The quiet, firm, confident masculinity of Gary Cooper or Rhett Butler which hides a sensitive heart. And, beatnik patchouli from the 1960s “Summer of Love.”

Private Label. Source: Bloom Perfumery.

Those incongruous, contradictory thoughts are what come to mind when I wear Jovoy Paris‘ fragrance, Private Label. Most hardcore perfumistas have heard of Jovoy, a Paris boutique that is a mecca for buying the most high-end, exclusive, or rare fragrances. What many people don’t know is that Jovoy was once a perfume house going back to the Roaring Twenties, and “known for selling perfumes for the ‘gentlemen’s nieces’, a polite way Parisian dandies described buying gifts for their mistresses[.]” The house declined in the bleak years of the Depression, and ended completely during WWII, but it was resurrected in 2006 by Francois Hénin who launched a new range of fragrances.

In 2012, Private Label joined their ranks. It is an eau de parfum created by Cécile Zarokian, and Aedes says that it was “commissioned for a Jovoy client looking for a strong, oriental fragrance that is masculine, woody and ‘oud-free’.” Private Label is actually Francois Hénin’s personal favorite, his “ideal oriental scent.” He says, “This is the archetypal parfum de silage: it leaves a distinct trail while remaining consistent over time.” Luckyscent lists its notes as follows:

Papyrus, vetiver, leather, patchouli, sandalwood, Cistus labdanum

Source: thegiftedpony.com

Each and every time I smell Private Label from afar, my immediate first impression is peppermints. To be precise: twisted, deranged, napalm-smoked, nuclear, apocalyptic, smoked peppermints in the middle of the snowiest pine forest somewhere in Siberia. It’s an impression that I can’t shake off, and it’s one I generally like.

The problem, however, is when I smell Private Label up close, as the result is distinctly less enchanting. In a nutshell, Private Label has a consistent structural backbone of burnt rubber and bubbling tar from a hot, melting asphalt road. The note is there in Private Label’s development from start to finish, varying only in its prominence, order of appearance, or forcefulness. It is always mentholated and camphorous, with a subtext of eucalyptus and peppermints, but also of sharp smoke and burnt rubber. Whenever I think that it has been tamed by patchouli, whenever I think that Private Label has been softened with labdanum amber and a big splash of aged cognac, I’ll smell another part of my arm, and that rubbery, Mad Max, medicinal, burnt napalm smell will suddenly pop back up.

Birch Tar pitch via Wikicommons.

Private Label lists “leather” in its notes and, yes, the fragrance is often summarized as a vetiver-leather fragrance. To me, however, that description doesn’t tell the whole story. On my skin, Private Label isn’t a leather fragrance so much as it is birch tar one. There is a huge difference to my mind. Huge. Birch tar is a resinous extract that has been traditionally used to coat and treat rawhide and, as such, the camphorous, pine-y, phenolic, sometimes sulphurous ingredient is often used in perfumery to replicate the aroma of a certain type of black “leather.”

Cade oil from a juniper tree. Source: purearomaoils.com

The Perfume Shrine states that “[r]endering a leather note in perfumery is a challenge for the perfumer[,]” and that what is “actually used” to create that olfactory impression are vegetal or synthetic ingredients which can include birch tar, juniper cade and quinoline. To my nose, Jovoy Private Label reflects multiple facets of each of these notes which really dominate the fragrance’s overall bouquet for much of its evolution. I could tell you that Private Label smells of “leather” and smoke, but those general terms have the potential to give you a very misleading impression of this utterly uncompromising, aggressively intense, very hardcore scent.

So, let’s take a look at The Perfume Shrine’s explanation of what the key notes actually smell like:

Birch: Betula Alba, the tree known as birch [….] Traditionally used in tanneries in Russia, Finland and Northern Europe in general, its bark produces birch tar and resin, an intensely wintergreen and tar-like odour, which has been used in Cuir de Russie type of scents in the distant past.

Juniper and cade oil:
Juniper trees produce dark viscuous oil (cade) upon getting burned which possesses a smoky aroma that reminds one of campfires in the forests. Also used in Cuir de Russie type of scents in the past along with birch. […]

The major revolution in the production of leathery notes in perfumery came in the 1880s with the apparition of quinolines, a family of aromachemicals with a pungent leather and smoke odour that was used in the production of the modern Cuir de Russie scents appearing at the beginning of the 20th century such as Chanel’s (1924) as well as in Caron’s Tabac Blond (1919), Lanvin’s Scandal (1933) and, most importantly, Piguet’s Bandit (1944). […][¶]

isobutyl quinoline … possesses a fiercely potent odour profile described as earthy, rooty, and nutty, echoing certain facets of oakmoss and vetiver and blending very well with both. Isobutyl quinoline also has ambery, woody, tobacco-like undertones: a really rich aromachemical!

Scene from Mad Max 2 via cinemasights.com

I suspect all three things are used in Jovoy’s Private Label when it summarily mentions mere “leather.” The perfume is a vetiver scent in many ways, but it is vetiver transformed into one living in Mad Max’s world, a scent that the Road Warrior would wear with its uncompromising smoke, tar, asphalt, and rubber facets. If any of you love the toughness of Robert Piguet‘s vintage Bandit and the birch tar smoke of Andy Tauer‘s Lonestar Memories, but want both taken up a notch and infused with smoked vetiver, then Jovoy’s Private Label is for you.

Photo: Narinder Nanu via washingtonpost.com

Private Label opens on my skin with a forceful blast of mentholated tar, medicinal astringent, chewy patchouli, smoky vetiver, and piney juniper-cade smoke. The patchouli has hints of aged cognac underlying it, but its more dominant nuance is an earthy, almost medicinal, slightly mentholated note that evokes a black, 1960s “head shop,” hippie scent. Private Label most definitely has leather seeping all throughout, infusing all the other notes, but as explained above, this is really birch tar and cade “leather.” It smells like campfire bonfires, smoked rubber, diesel fuel, and a tarmac set aflame until the asphalt is hot, almost bubbling, and smoking. I rarely think that notes have a heated temperature, but the “leather” in Private Label starts off feeling as though the piney, sulphurous resin has been set on fire.

Tar pit bubbles. Source: Los Angeles’ La Brea tar and asphalt pits. tarpits.org

One reviewer for the fragrance had a very different impression of both the note and Private Label’s opening blast. For Freddie of Smelly Thoughts, the leather made him think of a rubber dildo. No, he said that, really!

Private Label opens with a harsh, nail-varnish leather. A raw, earthy, smoky vetiver comes in quickly and together – the combination is pretty foul. It smells black and rubbery (yes, dildo was the first word that came into my head then too), with squeaky vinyl (stop!!!), and underneath, a resinous amber (lots of labdanum), a bit of incense and other bitter greens that just make it worse and worse.

I can see why he’d think that way, but I don’t hate it the way he does, and a large reason why may be due to the peppermints. On my skin, the patchouli’s underlying sweetness interacts with the mentholated, chilled accord to create a definite, very strong impression of hard-boiled, peppermint sweets. Christmas candy canes, perhaps, except these have been burnt and are emitting a sweet-bitter smokiness that is infused with eucalyptus. It’s an interesting aroma, and makes Private Label quite an arresting fragrance. From afar.

Photo: Larry Workman. Source: ssl.panoramio.com

Ten minutes in, Private Label starts the slow (very, very slow) process towards softness and mellowness. The labdanum starts to move in the base, the aged cognac and sweet peppermint elements increase, and Private Label loses some of that bubbling asphalt feel. It’s a fractional change, though, as the perfume’s primary scent is that of the darkest, smokiest vetiver mixed with the very tarriest, smokiest, eucalyptus, cade rubber. It is simultaneously bone-dry, and sticky with chewy patchouli earthiness and the minty sweetness.

As time passes, the amber and vetiver elements becomes more dominant, and the birch-cade tar recedes, but it takes a lot of time and the rubber element never fully vanishes. What is interesting to me is the contrast between the mentholated, sweet peppermint, candy canes in the top layer, and the aged cognac in the bottom. In some ways, there is almost a peaty, single malt Scotch vibe to Private Label.

Source: high-definition-wallpapers.info

Around the second hour, when the juniper tar has receded to glower menacingly and threateningly from the sidelines, the other notes create a lovely winter bouquet from afar. I think of pine forests in the snow, candy canes on Christmas trees, aged cognac in a snifter beside a leather armchair by a warm, amber fire, and a chimney that is lightly smoking. It’s a visual that shatters whenever that resinous, burning,tar pops back up, skipping around different parts of my arm to show up at different times, and always taking me back to Mad Max in an apocalyptic world where the men are clothed in black, rubbery leather and the sole plant left on earth is a vetiver bush turned mutant through a napalm bomb.

Peat, in bricks, and used in a fire. Source: freeirishphotos.com

The core essence of Private Label doesn’t change for hours on end. All that happens is a fluctuation in the prominence of certain notes, and a dropping of the fragrance’s sillage. After 60-minutes, Private Label hovers about 3 inches above my skin; by the end of the fourth hour, it is a skin scent, though it remains extremely potent when sniffed up close. The prominence of the smoke elements varies, with the birch tar seeming softer and more manageable for a brief period around the second hour. Then, suddenly, at the start of the third hour, Private Label somehow seems even smokier! Though the mentholated notes are much less, the vetiver has overtaken the birch tar as the dominant element, and my word, is it dark! I’ve never encountered vetiver that is quite so smoked. This is not smooth vetiver like in Chanel’s Sycomore, but some sort of mutant hybrid created in a peaty bonfire.

Source: colourbox.com

The vetiver continues to dominate the rest of Private Label’s development. By the end of the fourth hour, the perfume is a peppermint-eucalyptus vetiver over a soft amber infused with patchouli, cognac, leather, menthol, and the tiniest hint of sandalwood. It is soft in sillage, but still sharp and hard in actual scent. By the start of the seventh hour, Private Label is a peppermint vetiver over amber. The burnt rubber element continues to pop up here and there, hiding behind the other notes on some parts of my arm, while smelling of full-on acrid smoke and melting asphalt on a few tiny patches. In Private Label’s very final moments, the fragrance is merely a blur of woody sweetness with lingering traces of sharpness, rubber and smoke. All in all, it consistently lasted over 12 hours on my skin, with soft sillage but sharp notes.

I’m very torn on Private Label. The whole thing is a medley that, at times, fascinates and intrigues. At other times, however, it bewilders with a bit of cacophony, and those occasions tend to trump the more positive ones. From afar, it can be really pretty, but do you want a fragrance that you sometimes don’t dare to smell close up lest you singe your nostrils? I’m also not sure how versatile the perfume is, because it feels like a definite mood scent. Would anyone want to wear Private Label outside the snowy months of winter? Still, the seasonal issue doesn’t seem to matter so much as the gender one.

I generally believe that all fragrances are unisex in nature, but I think Private Label definitely skews more masculine. I suspect a number of women would recoil sharply at the fragrance, finding it medicinal, “chemical” (to quote one disgusted woman who smelled it on my arm), pungently aggressive, and unpleasantly rubbery. Hell, even some men do, judging by the reaction of Freddie from Smelly Thoughts. And he’s a chap with very avant-garde, extreme tastes!

However, I think that there is a narrow group of people who may very much enjoy Private Label: men and women who adore vetiver, but who also love birch tar, smoky fragrances, mentholated eucalyptus blends, and black leather notes. For me, it’s as though Andy Tauer’s Lonestar Memories and Naomi Goodsir‘s Bois d’Ascece had a swingers’ orgy with bucketfuls of tarry cade, a very hippie Woodstock patchouli, Santa Claus’ peppermint-eucalyptus muscle rub, Olivier Durbano‘s Black Tourmaline, and Serge Lutens‘ Fille en Aiguilles. Nine months later, the baby that resulted was Private Label.

Gary Cooper. Source: allocine.fr

If that sounds like an odd fragrance that is far too harsh, I should add that I also see softness lurking in Private Blend’s heart. On the right man and the right skin, Private Blend would be a smoking hot fragrance, oozing sex appeal. It is a scent that exudes tough, confident masculinity but with glimpses of an underlying softness and sensitivity. The smoky rubber side might seem appropriate for Christian Bale’s Dark Knight, but I can’t help but also see Gary Cooper or Clark Gable’s Rhett Butler wearing Private Label. Peppermints, tough leather, smoky woods, aged cognac, and amber seem like an incredibly sexy combination. If I close my eyes, I can actually conjure up the man who would wear this, and envision sniffing the scent wafting from his neck. It would be damn hot.

Gary Cooper, “A Man’s Man” via thewildmagazine.com

On Fragrantica, guys seem to love Private Label, calling it a fragrance that is unapologetically masculine, or perfect for a true vetiver lover. Take one commentator, “Alfarom,” who writes:

Probably my favorite among this line…at least so far.

A no-compromise, extremely woody-earthy, peatchouli-vetiver concoction enriched by warm leathery undertones (castoreum?) and dry sandalwood facets. What’s not to like? Absolutely assertive and straight forward. It has an overall “familiar” vibe which I can’t currently put my finger on but the general feel of the composition, is of something “pushed to the limits”.

If you like unapologetic, masculine, dark-&-dry fragrances, you have to try this.

Outstanding projection and extremely good lasting power.

Others echo his words and general impression:

probably one of the most true to life vetiver fragrances out there. the leather creates something dark and smoky that is balanced by a good dose of sandalwood.

One Of The Best Fragrances Money Can Buy, Fullstop

As if a sandalwood/Champaca/patchouli incense stick has been liquefied. Resinous, smokey and altogether as perfectly done as any fragrance can get. There is a hint of sweetness that makes me reminisce of another fragrance, but I can’t put my finger on which one it is. Guaic wood isn’t mentioned but it seems to make an appearance.

A very sexy, dry and smoky vetiver. This is a fragrance for true vetiver lovers. Very well balanced and a truly finished product. Excellent sillage and longevity. This one is a 10 out of 10 for me.

I think Private Label is too potentially difficult a scent to buy blindly (not that I ever recommend that in general!), and it’s certainly not for me, but I do think it would be a great fragrance for a very narrow group of people. If you love deeply smoky juniper cade, mentholated birch tar, rubbered black leather, chewy patchouli, and peaty, smoked vetiver, you should give Private Label a sniff. When I say that it would be “smokin’ hot,” I mean it in all senses of the phrase, good and bad….

Disclosure: I obtained my sample from Jovoy itself, but it was while I was in the store, browsing as a customer. My sample was not given to me for the purposes of a review. I do not do paid reviews, and my opinions are my own.

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: Private Label is an eau de parfum that comes in a 100 ml/3.4 oz bottle that costs $180, €120, or £100. It is available directly from Jovoy Paris which also offers a smaller 1.7 oz/50 ml bottle for €80. In the U.S.: it is available at

MinNY, Luckyscent, Aedes, and Aaron’s Apothecary. Outside the U.S.: In the UK, Private Label is available in both sizes from Bloom Perfumery, with the smaller 1.7 oz bottle retailing for £70. Samples are also available for purchase. The larger 100 ml size is also sold at Roullier White for £100, with a sample similarly available for purchase. Other retailers include Harvey Nichols and Liberty London. In France, the perfume is obviously available from Jovoy, but you can also buy Jovoy fragrances from Soleil d’Or. In the Netherlands, all the Jovoy line of perfumes are sold at ParfumMaria. In Italy, you can find them at Vittoria Profumi and Sacro Cuoro Profumi for €120. In Croatia, the line is sold at Flores in Zagreb, but their website is currently undergoing construction. In Russia, Jovoy is sold at iPerfume. For Germany and the rest of Europe, the entire Jovoy line is available at First in Fragrance in Germany (which also ships worldwide and sells samples), but the price is €5 higher at €125 a bottle. Same story with Germany’s Meinduft, though the latter does offer the smaller bottles at €85. Samples: I obtained my sample while at Jovoy itself, but a number of the retailers listed above also offer vials of the fragrance for purchase.