Perfume Reviews: Library of Flowers Linden & Arboretum

Posted on July 2, 2013 by Kafkaesque

It all started as somewhat of a dream when I, sleep-deprived from insomnia, decided to order some perfume samples at 4:27 a.m. upon email notice of a Flash Sale from Surrender to Chance. I wanted some floral scents to counterbalance the blog’s heavy focus on ambers, orientals, and woody fragrances. And I actually thought I was ordering another brand entirely — April Aromatics — which just goes to show you how little sleep I sometimes get. What started as a dazed dream ended up as a bit of a nightmare.

Source: The Perfumed Court.

Library of Flowers is the latest perfume house from Margot Elena, who also founded and owns Tokyo Milk and Lollia. The new brand focuses entirely on flowers, and is described as “American small batch perfumery” that has been “carefully crafted to create memorable journeys through sight and scent… [M]oments are captured in artful perfumes waiting to be released upon happy whim. The perfect pick me up to nourish the senses and inspire the gardens of the imagination.” It turns out that the line even got a small feature in the April 2013 issue of Oprah’s O Magazine. I ordered Linden and Arboretum — and one of them was absolute, unmitigated hell.

LINDEN:

Library of Flowers Linden.

Each Library of Fragrance perfume features a single top, middle and base note, and is an eau de parfum. Thus, for Linden, the notes are:

Top: Linden Blossom Middle: Narcissus Bottom: Clover Honey.

Linden blossom is sometimes called Lime Blossom, and comes from the Tillia tree. It has a sweet, bright, floral aroma that is infused with honey notes. I love honey in fragrances, so I was quite looking forward to Linden, ordering mistake notwithstanding.

Linden blossom. Source: www.selfsufficientish.com

Linden opens on my skin with airy, green, floral notes like magnolia and sweet honeysuckle combined, lightly sprinkled with honey and with a whisper of soapiness lurking underneath. The smell feels almost clear as a bell, except that there is an unusual fuzzy feeling around the edges. It almost feels like light, springy, fluffy, floral-infused cotton balls. The sweet coziness of the scent kept conjuring up images of those extraordinarily fluffy, plush, white, bathrobes you get at very expensive hotels, and which have a very clean, lightly soapy, floral aroma. As the moments progress, the whiff of soft cotton grows stronger underlying that billowy, airy, clear, clean, fresh, softly floral bouquet. I didn’t quite know what to make of it. True, there are faintly floral notes as well; there is a daffodil (narcissus) element that emerges briefly, but it smells more laundry-like than anything you’d smell in a field or florist shop.

Bounce fabric softener and anti-lint dryer sheets.

Then, exactly twelve minutes later, BOOM! Chemical, synthetic notes take over, screeching out exactly like Bounce fabric softener sheets for the dryer. It feels as though I’ve cloaked my entire arm with soapy, clean, white musk and chemicals, right down to Bounce’s underlying chemical florals. It’s unbearably hideous for someone like myself who finds the words “soapy, fresh and clean” — let alone “Bounce fabric softener sheets” — to be expletives in perfumery. And, actually, expletives were abounding out of my mouth as Linden progressed unchanged (and with initially powerful projection) to remain as the very pinnacle of chemical, laundry detergent artificiality for the next seven hours. Terrible, really terrible.

Shortly before the eighth hour, Linden suddenly decides to shift a little. The Bounce accord recedes, somewhat (it’s all relative), and the perfume manifest a strong honey note atop more individually distinct floral notes. Instead of amorphous, abstract, chemical florals, there is now a clear element of sweet honeysuckle mixed in with creamy magnolia. Lindn is still primarily a clean, fresh, white musk fragrance, though it is now, thankfully, a skin scent. Despite that sudden breakthrough, Linden eventually returns to being nothing more than a fresh, white, floral musk — abstract, chemical, and wholly artificial. It finally dies away 10.25 hours later. Words cannot express my utter disgust with the whole thing.

ARBORETUM:

Arboretum with box.

Arboretum is an eau de parfum, and its notes are simple:

Green cardamom, ylang ylang, and amber resin.

Arboretum opens on my skin with green, floral notes infused by honey. There is a fresh, light, almost fruited cardamom that feels as though it is still a green pod on a tree, instead of dried and concentrated. The floral notes are interesting because, to my nose, they resemble white lilies — stargazer lilies, to be exact — more than anything close to ylang-ylang with its buttery, sometimes banana-like, custardy richness. The note is fresh, green, airy and crisp. Arboretum’s base is flecked by light dashes of sweet vanilla which feels quietly muted and somewhat synthetic, though nothing close to the horrifying degree of Linden. Twenty minutes in, Arboretum starts to gain some fresh, clean, white, synthetic musk accords in its base, but the primary bouquet is still of airy, green lilies. The sillage is decent at first, but quickly becomes much softer.

Ylang-ylang

Arboretum doesn’t change enormously for the first half of its life. By the middle of the third hour, it is a soft, white, floral musk with a tinge of soapy lilies underlying it, and very much a skin scent. Around the start of the sixth hour, however, Arboretum suddenly takes on amber hues, and the ylang-ylang makes a strong appearance. The fragrance is now a buttery, custardy, soft, velvety, slightly banana-like, ylang-ylang floral atop soapy amber and light musk. Arboretum no longers feels so crisply airy and green, but, rather, warm and very much like a silky, golden gauze. The fragrance continues to soften until, finally, around the middle of the eighth hour, it is merely a soft, abstract floral note tinged by a vague sense of something ambered.

As a whole, Arboretum was a pleasant scent, though I don’t know how much of my assessment is relative to the sheer horror that was Linden. Arboretum certainly never felt close to the painfully synthetic, cheap, and artificial qualities of its sibling. I somewhat enjoyed the lily parts, and I thought the green cardamom aspect was quite interesting. If you’re looking for an inexpensive, greenishly airy, white floral fragrance that eventually becomes slightly richer, warmer and more ambered towards the end, I suppose you could do a lot worse. But, under no circumstances, would I recommend Linden. Save yourself $54, and just take a few dryer sheets to scrub up and down your arm instead.

DETAILS:

LINDEN Cost & Availability: Linden is an eau de parfum that is available in 1.7 oz/50 ml bottles for $54 or as 70.8 g solid perfume for $21. It can be purchased directly from the Library of Flowers website (which also offers a variety of accompanying products like bath gel, handcream and a Linden candle) and which offers free domestic shipping on all orders over $75. For International shipping, call the company at t 1-888-896-6398 for details. You can also purchase Linden perfume from Beautyhabit which ships overseas. Samples: You can find Linden at Surrender to Chance where prices start at $2.99 for a 1 ml vial or at The Perfumed Court where prices start at $2.95.

ARBORETUM Cost & Availability: Arborteum is an eau de parfum that is available in 1.7 oz/50 ml bottles for $54 or as 70.8 g solid perfume for $21. It can be purchased directly from the Library of Flowers website (which also offers a variety of accompanying products like bath gel, handcream and a candle). You can also purchase Arboretum perfume from Beautyhabit. Samples: You can find Arboretum at Surrender to Chance where prices start at $2.99 for a 1 ml vial, or at The Perfumed Court. Both sites offer sampler sets of the whole Library of Flowers line should you be so interested.

Perfume Review: Jovoy Paris La Liturgie des Heures

Posted on July 1, 2013 by Kafkaesque

Photo: StormchaserMike Photograph via Flickr (link to website embedded within.)

A sea of pine trees as far as the eye can see, half covered with snow, half green-grey and reflecting the cold winter light. Pine cones and needles blanket the forest floor, releasing their fresh, pungent, resinous oil with every crunching footstep. A thin stream of white smoke issues from a nearby church, its ancient stones protecting its darkened, dusty inner sanctum where priests are getting ready for Mass. They light the candles for Vespers and burn the myrrh. It’s time for the one of the oldest canonical rituals of the Catholic Church, the Liturgy of the Hours.

That is the vision which comes to mind when I wear Jovoy Paris‘ fragrance, La Liturgie des Heures (hereinafter “Liturgie des Heures” or just “Liturgie.”) Most hardcore perfumistas have heard of Jovoy, a Paris boutique that is a mecca for buying the most high-end, exclusive or rare fragrances, but what many people don’t know is that Jovoy was once a perfume house. As Luckyscent explains, Jovoy was founded in 1923 by Blanche Arvoy and “was known for selling perfumes for the ‘gentlemen’s nieces’, a polite way Parisian dandies described buying gifts for their mistresses[.]” Amusingly, Jovoy itself candidly admits to this twist in its past:

The perfumes of the early hours of Jovoy were made for the mistresses of the Paris of the Roaring Twenties. In other world, opulent fragrance for women who wanted to be seen, using in quantities prohibited by modern law, raw material now often missing.

Jovoy Paris La Liturgie des Heures

Though the house declined in the bleak years of the Depression and ended completely during WWII, it was resurrected in 2006 by Francois Hénin who launched a new range of fragrances. In 2011, La Liturgie des Heures joined their ranks. It is an eau de parfum that was created by Robertet perfumer, Jacques Flori, and which is described by Francois Hénin as evoking “the image of an old monastery where the scent of burning incense fills the air just like the chanting of daily prayers.” Fragrantica lists its notes as follows:

Top notes: fresh green notes, cypress
Heart notes: incense, olibanum [frankincense], cistus [labdanum], myrrh
Base notes: musk

Source: listofimages.com

La Liturgie des Heures opens on my skin with a burst of pine trees, incense and green notes, followed by traces of a sweet, almost nutty myrrh, slightly leathered labdanum, and musk. One is transported to a cold, pine forest covered by crisp snow, but I have to admit, the notes are a little too reminiscent of pure pine oil and verge on a non-chemical version of Pine-Sol household cleaner. There is almost an oily feel to the pine, as if you had just mashed up the tree’s needles in your hands, leaving a strong, overly fragrant, concentrated oil behind. The aroma feels a little odd juxtaposed next to the leather undertones and the very cold, dry, vaguely dusty undertones of High Church incense. Yet, once you wrap your head around the combination, it almost feels pleasant.

As the minutes pass, the undertones of frankincense, myrrh and leather undulate, swaying from the foreground to the background. Sometimes, Liturgie smells like nothing more than a Christmas tree; at other times, the subtle touch of sweetness from the myrrh and churchy incense meet the pine notes head-on. Thirty minutes in, the base notes rise fully to the surface and the perfume becomes sweeter, more layered, and less like Pine-Sol oil. The myrrh turns the frankincense warmer, less dusty and arid, while the leather adds touches of a darker, almost leathery resin to the pine. A subtle, clean muskiness joins the trio and, flickering in the background, a subtle whiff of soapiness.

Photo: David Gunter Source: Flickr (website link embedded within photo.)

Liturgie continues on for another two hours as a warm, slightly sweetened, incense-infused, resinous pine tree scent with fluctuating levels of soapiness and musk. By the third hour, however, the clean white musk has grown in strength. Sharp and synthetic, it makes Liturgie feel a lot like Heeley‘s Cardinal, especially now that the pine note has receded to the background. I truly can’t stand synthetic white musk, let alone soapiness, and both elements form a strong backdrop to the scent. By the middle of the sixth hour, La Liturgie des Heures is primarily centered around nutty myrrh, ambered labdanum, and the sweet church incense — all infused with soap and clean, white musk.

The fragrance sticks on its linear course for another few hours, until it fades away to an amorphous, abstract, musky, clean sweetness. All in all, Liturgie lasted 8.25 hours on my skin and with moderate-to-low sillage. Others, however, have reported significantly less time, with one commentator on Basenotes writing that “[p]rojection is on the low side of average and longevity is well below average at 2-3 hours on skin.”

Liturgie wasn’t my cup of tea, and my feelings for it strongly parallel those of Freddie from Smelly Thoughts whose brief review reads as follows:

La Liturgie des Heures opens not too dissimilar to April Aromatics’ Calling All Angels, with its dry woods and incense, only this is a touch more peppery, and more “sticky”. Along with the overload of bitter resins and incense – bits of harsh greenery cut through it: pine and cypress mainly… a mix of sticky, sweet forest floor, and more herbal coniferous greens.

It pretty much stays this way throughout it’s life. It’s totally not my kind of perfume and not how I like to smell (also very bored of the overload of foresty/incense fragrances)… but still, this is a solid enough example for people who like that kind of thing Not bad!

I agree. It is a solid perfume that should please those who like churchy, incense fragrances — if they don’t mind either soapiness, white musk, or smelling just like a Christmas tree.

There are a number of High Church-type fragrances out there, but I’m only familiar with Heeley’s Cardinal. I think Liturgie has some similarities, but primarily in terms of the synthetic white musk. A Fragrantica commentator, “magic gingerbread,” who has far greater knowledge of this genre of fragrances has some interesting comparisons which may prove useful to a few of you:

Quite beautyful incense and coniferous fragrance reminding me somewhat Hinoki by CdG. Especially at the beginning when I smell raw olibanum resin and balmy, cold and fresh cypress note. This stage is unfortunately of rather weak sillage. Drydown is much stronger in projection, but no suprise in that, it is pure labdanum and that’s the way labdanum behaves – here it’s slightly sour, thick and oily, kind of like in Norma Kamali’s Incense. Nice, but I prefer olibanum stage.

The name “Liturgy of the hours” clearly suggests a churchy fragrance, but I don’t see it that way. Most certainly I don’t see any churchy association in corniferous olibanum note. However labdanum brings me some images of deep, old catacombs from the early age of christianity. Anyway, this is not catholic catherdal type of fragrance like Avignon or Cardinal.

Again, I’m not an expert on churchy fragrances, so I can’t comment on the comparisons. All I can say is that I love labdanum but didn’t enjoy its manifestation here, thanks to the impact of the terribly clean, soapy accord; and I found it hard to muster up much enthusiasm for La Liturgie des Heures as a whole. I think that stems, in part, because of some notes I really dislike, and, in part, because of Liturgie’s linearity. But it’s not a terrible fragrance and, if you’re really into churchy scents, then you may want to keep it in mind.

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: La Liturgie des Heures 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 Luckyscent, MinNY, Aedes, and Aaron’s Apothecary. Outside the U.S.: in the UK, La Liturgie des Heures is available in both sizes from Bloom Perfume, with the smaller 1.7 oz bottle retailing for £70. The larger size is also available at Roullier White in the 100 ml size for £100, with a sample also available for purchase, along with Harvey Nichols and Liberty London. In Italy, Liturgie is sold at Vittoria Profumi and Sacro Cuoro Profumi for €120. In France, you can also purchase it from Soleil d’Or. In Russia, it is sold at iPerfume. For Germany and the rest of Europe, you can purchase it from 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. Samples: I obtained my sample from Surrender to Chance where prices start at $4.99 for a 1 ml vial. Many of the retailers listed above also sell samples of Liturgie.

Perfume Review – Lubin Idole (Eau de Toilette): Take Me To The Jungle

Posted on May 30, 2013 by Kafkaesque

African sunset, Zambia.

Set the jungle on fire!

Set it ablaze “with a woody liqueur rich in scorching spices, as sweet as sugar cane, and as warm as leather.” That was the express goal of famous perfumer, Olivia Giacobetti, in creating Idole, the much-loved fragrance from the ancient French perfume house of Lubin. Idole is a reinvention of a 1962 Lubin fragrance, and is supposedly their 466th creation! It would sound like a complete lie from anyone else but Lubin, a perfume house whose storied history utterly fascinates me.

Lubin was founded in 1798 by Pierre François Lubin, soon after the French Revolution. He had apprenticed under the perfumer who served Marie-Antoinette but this was a new political climate. Lubin soon won favour with Napoleon’s Imperial court and his scents were beloved by both Empress Josephine and Napoleon’s influential sister, Pauline. The royal courts of Europe soon followed suit, from the King of England to the Tsar of Russia. Once Napoleon fell, the seemingly wily, pragmatic Lubin managed to curry favour with the new royal dynasty by dedicating his fragrances to the Bourbon queen, Marie-Amélie. A very ambitious man, Lubin seemed to need more worlds to conquer and, in 1830, became the first perfume-maker to conquer the New World with perfumes that reached the banks of the Mississippi. I have no idea if that last part of biographical past was embellished a little bit but, frankly, I don’t care one whit. For a history fanatic like myself, it is all utterly fascinating.

Idole was released in 2005 as an eau de toilette. In 2012, Lubin issued an Eau de Parfum version which I’ve read is largely similar to the Eau de Toilette with only minor differences and considerably greater depth. This review is only for the Eau de Toilette version. The Lubin press release (as quoted by Libertine Perfumes) describes the fragrance as follows:

Inspired by the ancient maritime spice routes, from Madagascar and Zanzibar in East Africa to Java in the Spice Islands of Indonesia, Idole is a seductive fragrance that never overwhelms. Rum and exotic spices mingle with dark, smoky woods and leather, creating a warm and seductive fragrance.

Serge Mansau designed the stunning bottle to much international acclaim with the inspiration being the sail of the traditional wooden boat known as a felucca, and features a carved African mask on the cap — a true collector’s item[.]

If you ever have time to spare, I urge you to check the Lubin website for their gorgeous graphics, music and the detailed story associated with Idole, which is as well done for Idole as it is for all their scents. As for the bottle, it is truly spectacular. One of the most eye-catching and unusual I’ve seen.

The notes in Idole include:

rum absolute, saffron, bitter orange peel, black cumin, Doum palm, smoked ebony, sugar cane, leather and red sandalwood.

As a side note, “black cumin” is another name for Nigella Sativa and seems to be quite unrelated to the type of cumin that is used in Indian curries. According to Wikipedia, Nigella Sativa is sometimes alternatively called “Fennel Flower,” “Nutmeg Flower,” or “Roman Coriander.” Its Turkish name — “çörek otu” — literally means “bun’s herb” from its use in flavouring the çörek buns. With a sweet, bitter taste, it is frequently used in Middle Eastern pastries or in liqueurs.

Sunset at Lake Kariba, Zimbabwe. Photo by: de Paula FJ via Flickr: http://www.flickr.com/photos/fjota/2573634501/

Idole EDT opens on my skin with a strong note of actual, pure rum infused with sugar cane and followed immediately thereafter by loads of saffron. The latter is spicy, nutty, and sweet, but nothing like the dessert-like saffron used by Giacobetti in her famous Safran Troublant for L’Artisan Parfumeur. Idole’s top notes blend together to create a beautiful sum-total which is then joined by touches of bitter orange peel and a smoky, creamy, smooth wood note. I was extremely taken aback by just how airy the perfume is, given the richness of all those accords.

NW Africa fire dance via viewphotos.org

Within a few minutes, the perfume starts to shift. The saffron becomes less obvious as an individually distinct note, receding to the background to lend its indirect effect to the perfume’s rum, sugar cane notes. A very smoky, woody element that I assume is the Doum Palm muscles its way to the top. On its footsteps is a hint of some dry, dark, minutely bittered spice with an anise-like undertone which I assume is the “black cumin.” Flickering touches of something leathery dance at the periphery. The combination of elements swirls together to create a very spiced, rummy, woody, ambered feel. It is soft, almost gauzy on my skin, especially as compared to similarly boozy ambers with spice, but, despite that airy, lightweight feel, the notes seem rich, smooth and very warm. At least in the beginning….

One of Lubin’s associated images for Idole.

Thirty minutes in, Idole’s woody notes become very prominent. I’ve never smelled “Doum Palm,” but anyone who has been to the tropics knows the smell of palm trees with their almost vegetal, very beige, warmly woody aroma. Here, there is something darker lurking underneath, adding an almost smoky edge to the note. It’s probably the ebony. In his admiring Four Star review of Idole in Perfumes: The A-Z Guide, the famed perfume critic, Luca Turin, wrote that the perfume had “an eerie driftwood gray note at its center,” and I think that’s as good a way as any to describe the unusual smelling note. Alongside, there is a sugar cane-infused leather accord that feels wonderfully brown and rich. Saffron lurks in the background, adding a delicate touch of nuttiness to the underlying elements but it’s never strongly pronounced. To be honest, I would have preferred much more of it, along with the bitter peel orange accord which seems to have largely vanished from sight.

Traditional African Dogon Masque via Wikicommons

Idole remains that way for the rest of its duration on my skin — spiced rum and sugar cane with strongly woody notes that are smoked and supported by tinges of leather. It doesn’t fundamentally morph in any way, though the leather nuances recede about 90 minutes in and the darker, smoky wood accord becomes somewhat stronger. The smoke is perhaps one of my favorite parts, and its light tendrils embrace the wood in a truly lovely way. The flickering touches of the anise-like black cumin are also very pretty, though the note is even more muted after an hour than it was initially. In its final moments, Idole is primarily a musky, abstract rum with hints of woodiness and a sprinkling of sugar cane. All in all, it lasted 6.75 hours on my perfume-consuming skin, always feeling incredibly light and airy. The sillage wasn’t bad, but Idole isn’t a scent with enormous projection. Like everything else about the scent, it is moderate.

I liked Idole, but I have to admit, I was surprised it wasn’t more complex or nuanced. After all that I had heard about it, I had thought it would be darker, smokier, heavier. I had thought the jungle would be on FIRE; and it wasn’t, except for a few, itsy bitsy logs. (It didn’t help that Giacobetti’s quote kept making the refrains of the old 1980s song — “The roof! The roof! The roof is on Fire! Let the *___* burn” — ring out continuously in my head.) Also, for my personal tastes, Idole was far too soft and sheer. It seems to be Giacobetti’s signature to make heavy elements feel positively airy, but I really had expected far more, something that would take me to the heart of darkness, to reference the famous Joseph Conrad book, and to full sense of an African-like Apocalypse Now.

The Heart of Darkness and the Apocalypse Now that I had expected. Via hdwpapers.com

That said, I think Idole EDT would be a perfect choice for those who don’t want to give up their Orientals during the hot, sticky summer months. It is quite a versatile ambery Oriental, given its moderation on all fronts. Plus, its dry notes make it suitable for those who don’t like their boozy scents to verge on the gourmand. I also think Idole is highly unisex. Judging by what appeared on my skin, I don’t think it’s masculine at all. On Fragrantica, a number of people disagree, but I think it’s a highly subjective matter that all depends on your personal tastes. If you like clean, fresh, fruity, floral or dessert scents, then Yes, Idole may seem masculine with its smoked woody notes and leather nuances. If you’re used to Orientals, then, No.

African tribal makeup via iStock.

As a whole, Idole is a much-loved fragrance. Though there is a firm split on the issue of sillage and longevity, most people on Fragrantica either admire or flat-out adore the fragrance itself. Perhaps the most useful review comes from The Non-Blonde who, like me, wanted to love Idole EDT, but who struggled with its development on her skin and with its overall lack of depth. She ended up being blown away instead by the new Idole Eau de Parfum which is clearly something I have to seek out post-haste:

I first met (the modern) Idole de Lubin shortly after it came out in 2005. It was stunning. Completely and utterly breathtaking with its boozy opening and intense dark spicy heart. I loved it and tried for a long time to make it work, but there was a hollowness halfway through Idole EDT that make it fade and die on my skin much too quickly. It was like a great romance that didn’t survive the hardships of reality, but made me wistful whenever I looked back.

Six years later we meet again. Idole EDP is a changed perfume. Stronger, fuller and more reliable. I smell less cumin and more leather, the rum is sweeter and the incense smokier. It’s all I ever wanted Idole to be, and here it is- more brooding, taller but familiar. I want to bury my face in its warmth, wrap it over my shoulder and breath the dark woody aroma.

In asking her to create Idole EDP, Lubin allowed perfumer Olivia Giacobetti to make things right, to let Idole become what it was meant to be. It’s one of the best incense perfumes around, romantic and mysterious. On Luckyscent’s masculine-feminine spectrum they placed it slightly to the manly side and I agree, sort of. The rum-cumin-smokes wood ensures that Idole will appeal to men and smell magnificent on them, but women who have a thing for the dark side and wear perfumes such as Black Cashmere, Safran Troublant, Passage d’Enfer or Tea For Two will find a lot to love in it (the last three are also by Giacobetti).

Out of all the big bloggers out there, I find the Non-Blonde is the one whose views and experiences are always the closest to my own. We rarely seem to diverge in any serious respect. In contrast, I almost always differ widely in opinion, skin experiences, and detected notes from Bois de Jasmin — to the point that I often wonder if we’re smelling the same fragrance. I bring that up only because Bois de Jasmin swooned for Idole Eau de Toilette, writing about it as if it were one of the darkest, smokiest, most richly spiced, heavy fragrances she’d smelled in a while:

The warmth of spices is layered over the vibrant richness of woods, making Idole de Lubin one of the most voluptuous and darkest fragrances composed by Olivia Giacobetti. It does not evoke the images of transparency and hazy glow. Instead, the fragrance burns with the passionate intensity of sweet spices. A hot flame of clove accented by pepper slowly spills into the heart of the composition where it dies down in the smooth folds of orange sweetened leather. The base is filled with the caramel redolent vapors of rum, their warmth imbuing the darkness of woods with appealing sweetness. Against the backdrop of dark rosy sandalwood, a whisper of incense smoke lends an ethereal touch.

While the composition does not have a soft translucence characteristic of Olivia Giacobetti’s creations, her take on an oriental theme is interesting in terms of its ability to give airiness to the dark and heavy wood notes and to maintain outstanding tenacity. Like gold embroidery on silk, Idole de Lubin is a beautiful compromise between opulent richness and refined softness.

Obviously, perceptions of darkness, spice, and orientalism are a very relative thing. I do think that Idole is a pretty fragrance, but I didn’t find it even a tenth as complex, nuanced or “voluptuous” as what she experienced. (And I certainly didn’t detect any cloves or sandalwood.) Instead, I agree with The Non-Blonde’s impressions of ultimate hollowness, general softness, and insufficient depth or body. Even Now Smell This felt the same way, writing:

Olivia Giacobetti… fragrances make a virtue of simplicity and rarely raise their voice above a whisper, and Idole is no exception. It starts with peppery spices in a cloud of rum; the orange peel and saffron shine through beautifully as the alcohol burns off. The spice notes linger on into the dry down, lending an exotic touch to the smoky charred woods and leather. After an hour or so, it is rather mild and soft, just a whisper of leather and woods, no more than lightly sweet, with a subtle, close to the skin presence.

Idole EDP

Clearly, whether it’s on Fragrantica or between bloggers, there is a huge split on the issue of Idole’s richness. Since perfume is so subjective — especially in areas pertaining to richness, heaviness, spiciness, and depth — then, if you’re tempted by the fragrance, I would strongly recommend that you try both the Eau de Toilette and the fuller, seemingly more complex Eau de Parfum version before buying. Or, if you know you prefer heavier, richer perfumes, just opt right away for a sniff of the Eau de Parfum instead. The prices for both are excellent, especially given the size of the bottles and the fact that such enormously loved niche perfumes (in stunningly gorgeous, unusual bottles) are rarely so reasonable: the EDT comes in a 2.5 oz/75 ml bottle that retails for $120 or €95, while the Eau de Parfum comes in a large 3.4 oz/100 ml bottle that costs $160 or €120. The relatively low cost of the fragrance, especially in Eau de Toilette form, may be one reason why many of the retailers that I have linked to below list the Eau de Toilette as one of their best sellers. In fact, it is completely sold out on Luckyscent at the moment.

Whichever version you opt for, I think Oriental lovers should definitely try Idole. If you’re lucky, it will take you to the heart of Africa and set the jungle on FIRE!

African Masai Warrior. Source: Foursquare.com

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: Lubin comes in Eau de Toilette and Eau de Parfum. This review is only for the former which is available in a 75 ml/2.5 oz size for $120 or €95. In the US, Idole EDT is currently sold out on Luckyscent but it is available at Aedes and on BeautyHabit. I could only find the EDP version on MinNY. In Europe, Essenza Nobile and First in Fragrance both carry Idole EDT for €95. The site also sells samples. In the UK, Harrods carries Idole at Roja Dove’s Haute Parfumerie division (which doesn’t have its perfumes listed online). In Australia, Idole EDT is available at Libertine for USD$199. In the UAE, Karji is the exclusive distributor for Lubin. For all other countries, the Lubin website offers a list of retailers from Canada to the Netherlands, France and Hong Kong. As for the Eau de Parfum, it costs $160 for a large 3.4 oz/100 ml bottle, instead of $120 for the 2.5 oz/75 ml EDT. It is sold at all the same retailers listed above for the Eau de Toilette version. To make life easier for you, here is the Luckyscent EDP link for any US readers. Samples: Surrender to Chance sells Idole EDT starting at $4.99 for a 1 ml vial. It does not carry samples of the Eau de Parfum, except for the vintage 1962 version which is universally considered to be a totally different fragrance.

Perfume Review – Vintage M7 from YSL (Original Version): Refined Masculinity

Posted on May 27, 2013 by Kafkaesque

There’s a man who comes to mind when I wear (vintage) M7, the groundbreaking oud eau de toilette from YSL. Each and every time, I see Zinedine Zidane (or “Zizou”), the legendary football/soccer player. He is dressed in the most beautifully tailored, sleek, expensive, dark suit as he sits in the shadows on the white marbled terrace of the Monte-Carlo’s Hermitage hotel one balmy summer’s night.

It is the annual International Fireworks festival, and smoke filled the starry sky above, jostling with the aromatic scent of the Mediterranean. To his right, the vast yachts of the Monaco port lay down below; to his left, the dizzying array of the rare, unique, stratospherically expensive cars that are parked in front of the nearby Hotel de Paris, with the tinkling sounds of the glittering casino behind them. He sits, enjoying Spain’s fiery exhibition and the accompanying sounds of Ravel’s Bolero that play out somewhere from the darkened sea ahead of him. He is a sight, this man with his big hands lightly dusted with hair around a snifter of brandy, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his beautifully chiseled lips, his face so rawly sharp and contoured that it almost verges on the ugly were it not so fierce. There is a clattering of heels behind him; a beautiful woman approaches, leans down to whisper in his ear, and tries to sneak her room key into his jacket. He stops her with a gentle smile and a firm shake of his head, and she walks away with a sigh. One of many women who tried that night, entranced by the lure of the man, and the scent of M7.

Zinedine Zidane may be a forceful, brutal panther on the football field but, in a suit, he is the most perfect embodiment of raw, sharply-chiseled masculinity and muscular power sheathed in refinement. Tamed, he is sophisticated, jawdroppingly sexy, debonair and virile. He is exactly like M7 which is an oud fragrance that belongs in Monte-Carlo, my old home, and nowhere else.

Released in 2002, YSL’s M7 was far, far ahead of its time — and its brash arrival on the scene was not helped by print ads featuring a beautiful, hairy, male model in full frontal nudity. M7 was a total bomb and marketplace failure, but in its legacy and its huge effects on the now-endless oud perfume market, it may be one of the most influential perfumes of the past few decades.

The vintage bottle and box for M7, original 2002 version.

M7 is an eau de toilette that was released by YSL in 2002 under the direction of Tom Ford. The actual noses were Jacques Cavalier and Alberto Morillas. M7’s huge failure led YSL to reformulate it in 2008 — undoubtedly at the order of YSL Beauté’s new overlord, L’Oreal. The reformulated version lasted two years until 2010 when the whole perfume was quietly taken off the market. In 2011, YSL launched M7 Oud Absolu, a de-fanged version of the original monster. (And, somewhere in between all these changes, they found the time to release M7 Fresh, too! Clearly, they were at a loss with what to do with M7 and were trying every possible avenue to fix the problem and their loss in anticipated revenue.) M7 itself faded away, only to become a prized commodity on eBay where it is still available and where it is snapped up with ferocious intensity. I was lucky to have a friend send me a small amount of his bottle (which he bought on eBay), and I think it’s beautiful.

The official notes in M7 are as follows:

Top: Bergamot, mandarin, rosemary.
Middle: Vetiver, agarwood.
Base: Amber, musk, mandrake root.

I would bet my life that those notes aren’t even the half of it. I would bet you anything! I smell far, far more in M7, starting with walloping doses of labdanum, going through to spices like cardamom, florals and some sort of incense, before ending with vanilla. If there is no labdanum and incense in M7, I will eat my hat. (I will eat my hat, I tell you!) The amount of stuff I detect is so far in excess of those measly, abbreviated, 8 official notes that my personal list of what I smell would look something like this:

Top: Bergamot, mandarin, rosemary, cardamom, clary sage.
Middle: Vetiver, agarwood, Damascena rose, black coffee grinds, jasmine [perhaps Jasmine Sambac].
Base: Amber [probably something like Tolu Balsam], musk, mandrake root, labdanum, incense/frankincense, and something vanilla.

Vintage, original M7 opens on my skin with a beautiful burst of zesty, lemon-nuanced bergamot and rosemary. Within seconds, the citrus aromatic turned honeyed and warm, dusted by spices. There has to be cardamom in M7, I have no doubt. Subtle hints of oud flicker in the background, slow at first, and never medicinal or similar to rubbery pink Band-Aids. Instead, it feels warmly musked, slightly earthy, heavily infused with honey, and oddly floral in nature.

Labdanum compiled into a chunk. Source: Fragrantica

There are massive doses of labdanum under that wood. For one thing, that secondary burst of notes quickly turns into an aroma that can only be called “cherry cola.” For a number of people, “cherry cola” is a scent strongly and consistently evoked by labdanum with its nutty, masculine, dirty, sometimes leathery nuances. I don’t always get the note when I encounter labdanum, but the connection has arisen enough times that I can tell the source of the smell here. The combination of the earthy, slightly medicinal oud with labdanum’s very honeyed, faintly leathered, almost chocolate-y undertones turns the whole thing into something that not only evokes “cherry cola,” but even a little bit of “cherry cough syrup.” The medicinal tinge is so faint that it’s really more root-beer like in effect but, either way, I must admit, it’s not my favorite note in the world.

Clary Sage. Source: TreeFrogFarm.com

At the same time, and in contrast with those rich notes, there are fragrant aromatics and fruity nuances that cut through the spiciness. There are hints of oranges, feeling almost candied, accompanied by something extremely herbaceous in nature. It’s not just the rosemary; there is something that definitely feels like clary sage with its lavender-y but, also, floral quality that is underpinned by a light leather nuance. The lavender note adds to the fleeting fougère element of the opening, but it’s extremely subtle and muted. It feels like there are other herbal notes too, like bay. Possibly even something a bit papyrus-like in nature. As for the vetiver, it is definitely there, too — dry but, also, earthy. It flickers under the thrust of the main notes, the cherry cola and musky woods.

Source: eHow.com

Ten minutes into M7’s development, I start to go a little mad with frustration. There are florals notes in M7 that far surpass that initial pop of something like lavender. I would swear that there is a minuscule drop of jasmine, accompanied by an even stronger, large amount of rose. It feels very much like a dark Damascena rose: fruity, jammy, dark, meaty and backed by some earthy, dark accords. It feels absolutely identical to the rose note in Tom Ford‘s Private Blend Café Rose. Absolutely identical, right down to the wet, black, coffee grinds in that perfume. The only difference is that, here, it is strongly intertwined with M7’s cherry-cola labdanum note.

Source: Tumblr

Twenty minutes in, M7 softens — a lot. It is never a hugely powerful, thick, heavy fragrance to begin with but, even for an eau de toilette, I’m surprised by how quickly it becomes a gauzy, airy thing. But what a smell it is! M7 is quietly radiating: aromatic herbs with clary sage; labdanum cherry cola; spiced orange; a very honeyed oud with a tinge of medicinal earthiness; soft muskiness; heaping doses of a jammy, red, dark, coffee-infused rose backed by a touch of jasmine; and, now, sweet, warm incense. The incense smoke curls like tendrils that wrap around the other notes like a ribbon. It has the sharpness of frankincense, though I wouldn’t be surprised if the nuttier, slightly sweeter myrrh incense were also used. The smoke helps cut through a lot of the heavy syrupy sweetness of that cherry cola note (which I truly don’t like), and blossoms beautifully with the perfume’s development.

Forty minutes in, the perfume starts to shift. The oud becomes significantly more prominent, feeling creamy and smooth, while the cherry-cola labdanum and florals start to recede a little. The agarwood is accompanied by muskiness, an increased amount of incense smoke, and sweet, gauzy, light vanilla. All traces of citruses and rosemary have faded to a ghostly presence in the background, leaving behind primarily an oriental scent that is woody, creamy, slightly spiced, resinous, and earthy. Unfortunately, its sillage becomes absolutely terrible, requiring me to bring my arm right to my nose to detect it. (And it only gets worse.) By the end of the first hour, my skin has already cycled through most of M7’s top and middle notes, and the drydown begins right around the 90 minute mark. I’m shocked by the rapidity with which we’ve come to the end.

In its final stage, M7 turns from a labdanum-oud scent backed by incense, earthy notes, musk and vanilla into something considerably more abstract and ambered. The base smells beautifully nutty, spiced, creamy, supple, smooth and warm. There are flickers of that lovely incense sitting atop soft vanilla and a muted woodiness. Unfortunately, the whole thing so sheer and thin on my skin, so incredibly elusive, that I’m continuously preparing myself for it to end completely. It doesn’t, though. M7 lasts for another 2 hours in a state of miniscule, ghostly lightness; every time I think it’s finally gone, a iny, flickering note of amorphous, vague, spiced, woody, musky vanilla pops up. There are small patches of it on my skin that hang on tenaciously, making M7’s full duration on my skin clock in at almost exactly 3 hours. But, if we’re to be really candid, M7 really ended at 2.25 hours. I suppose that’s a lot better than what I got from the reformulated 2008 version which lasted a whole solitary hour on me — but I still feel a little cheated.

I really loved the 2008 version of M7, but I far prefer the original. Though the cherry-cola aspect to the labdanum is not my favorite, the very honeyed, spiced, earthily sweet oud is truly lovely. As I’ve said a few times recently, I’ve got oud fatigue but this is one of the most beautiful, refined, sophisticated and, yes, admittedly tamed, versions of agarwood that I’ve come across. There are obvious similarities between the two formulations, but the original vintage version seems like a much more amplified, concentrated version. (Well, relatively speaking, given just how sheer and light both eau de toilettes were on my skin in terms of weight and sillage.) With the 2008 version, I admired the lovely honeyed feel to the perfume, along with the spices which — in that instance — felt to me like cinnamon. However, I much prefer the richer, nuttier, duskier cardamom feel of the original M7, along with the significantly richer effect of the labdanum. (I no longer have the remnants of that sample to compare and see if there was labdanum in any serious quantity in the 2008 version.) I suspect there was a significantly lower quantity for two reasons: 1) I never once smelled “cherry cola” with the 2008 version and actually said so in my review back then; and 2) the oud had a far greater medicinal nuance there. It wasn’t huge and never felt antiseptic, but there was a clear tinge of pink rubber bandages that the original 2002 version lacks. My theory is that the lower levels of labdanum meant a lot less honey to soften, warm and tame the agarwood.

The whole scent is refined, sophisticated, elegant, and sensuous. This is not an Emir’s oud; it doesn’t evoke the Middle East and anything exotic. It’s not unctuously thick, screamingly aggressive, swaggeringly masculine or abrasive. There is some power underneath the notes, some very rugged, masculine qualities that linger, but it’s been refined, like a powerful Zinedine Zidane in an YSL suit. It’s smooth and flows like silk. The only part where Zidane doesn’t apply to this analogy is in who can wear this perfume: I think this is an incredibly unisex fragrance. Women who love rich, spicy Orientals with agarwood would absolutely adore this. The oud is so tamed, many may actually find it not to be enough. It is certainly nothing like a Montale oud — not even remotely! It’s also much smoother, richer, softer, spicier and deeper than many of the By Kilian Arabian Night oud fragrances. (There aren’t really any similarities between them, in my honest opinion.)

What we have with the original M7 is — without a doubt — the template for many of the fragrances that Tom Ford would go on to put out under his personal label. The closest and most obvious progeny is his Private Blend Oud Wood, but there are also traces of M7’s impact in Tobacco Vanille, Café Rose, and even to a minor extent, the new Sahara Noir fragrances. I have no doubt that M7 was a work of love for Tom Ford, even if he didn’t actually blend all the notes together himself. For this, his very first fragrance, he must have directed Jacques Cavalier and Alberto Morillas to include all his favorite notes or combinations: oud with cardamom; oud with labdanum; oud with frankincense; labdanum and frankincense; a jammy rose with bitter, earthy elements; woody notes with vanilla and vetiver; and more. M7 is a roadmap that branches out to all sorts of Private Blend fragrances, but, honestly, it is better than almost all of them with two exceptions: sillage and longevity. On my skin (which admittedly is wonky) M7 had maybe 0.01% of most Private Blends’ potency and duration. I’ve often said that Tom Ford’s Oud Wood was an attempt to remedy the mistakes he went through with M7 but, clearly, he also decided to make up for M7’s sheer body and lifespan as well. Is Oud Wood a better fragrance? That’s a personal, subjective matter. I think it’s a very different fragrance; and I much prefer M7.

As a general matter, M7 is not only a much adored fragrance but it is also one that seems to have a startling, seductive effect on those who smell it. Review after review on Fragrantica seems to imply that this is an absolute lady-killer. One of my closest friends had told me her boyfriend wears M7 and that it made her… well, I’ll spare you the blushes. But I thought her reaction was simply because he’s a bit of a hunk. Well, apparently, M7 turns everyone into a bit of a hunk! A small sampling of the comments:

I received the best compliment ever from a sexy girl after she buried her face in my neck, ‘f**k me now, and again tomorrow, just so I can smell that again.’ nuff said.

A woman at work commented the other day “You smell amazing you’re affecting my pheromones”

This is Hardcore Sex in a bottle!!! Its Sweaty, Its Dirty, Its Intoxicating…. Its so damn nasty…..I wouldn’t be surprised to know that this one has pheromones on it.

It smells like sex, just in a bottle. That’s all. Yes, there is so much more, but that’s all that you, dear reader, need to understand here. There’s nothing else quite like vintage M7, and it lasts for DAYS.

1. Put a man in a blender. 2. squeeze. 3. add alcohol. M7 formula.

i like to wear even though i’m a girl. smells very dark, erotic, strong,wild …… it makes me think: “Take me!”

YOWZA! YOWZA! YOWZA! [..] “M7” is unashamed of its sexy, primal, and animalistic bed-scent persona. Any man entering a room with a bunch of ladies better proceed with caution while donning this fragrance…..They won’t be able to keep their hands to themselves. I know I wouldn’t.

I don’t agree with all parts of the comments. For one thing, I honestly don’t think M7 smells dirty in the slightest. As for animalistic, I suppose it depends on your definition of the word. M7 is not “animalic” in the real perfume sense of raunchy, skanky, intimate, sweaty, or fetid. With regard to the claim of M7 lasting for “DAYS,” I know I’m not the only person who had terrible longevity with it (though there are very few of us out there). Other than that, however, yes, this is an incredibly sensuous smell and yes, I can see how it may lead to thoughts of sex.

As for other comments on Fragrantica, you may be interested to know that a large number of people write about the “cherry cola” opening to M7; a small amount mention that they smell lavender, florals or incense (which supports my argument that M7 has perhaps double the officially listed notes); and a handful talk about how it is fleeting in nature. Women love to wear it on themselves as much as they love to smell it on men. In fact, in a He Said/She Said assessment of vintage M7 on Now Smell This, the male reviewer thought it was simply too, too much, while the female one adored it:

He says: I first tested M7 on a warm spring day in Kyoto and immediately thought, “Well this isn’t the best time of year to launch this.” The scent was heavy and rich, masculine and earthy. The most prominent feature was the centerpiece of vetiver — and I’m not a huge fan of vetiver. Having had countless chances to re-visit it, and even more chances to purchase it (I haven’t), I still come to the same conclusion: this is simply too much of a good thing. As a candle, yes. As incense, yes. But as an Eau de Toilette, it’s just too much. If there was some way the fragrance could have been lightened, sweetened, smoked, anything, it could have helped… […]

She says: […] on the right day, it is one of my very favorite fragrances for men. [¶] As with most fragrances containing agarwood, it starts with a bit of a medicinal edge, but that fades along with the short-lived citrus top notes. After that, it is dark, warm, and dry, with a mild spiciness and deep earthy woods. To my nose, it isn’t heavy in the least, but it does make a statement, and the intensity of the vetiver and agarwood are not likely to suit you unless you like both notes. [¶] It is rare that I find a scent too masculine to wear, but M7 probably qualifies on that score. I do wear it, but I rarely wear it out of the house. On a man, it is one of the sexiest fragrances I can think of.

I must really have wonky skin, because, damn, it was so sheer and light on me! If only it had been heavy, rich, and “too much of a good thing” — I would buy it immediately! And, obviously, I found it quite wonderfully, perfectly sweet in an ideal balance of smoke and woods. I’m also surprised that the male reviewer thought M7 was too much. Judging by the comments on Fragrantica, men are writing in screaming all-caps of euphoria about M7, with many stating that it is the King of Ouds, bar none. That last comment is repeated to such an extent, it too leaves me a bit baffled since, on my skin, there truly was not a huge quantity of agarwood during any of my repeated tests. It was far too refined in amount and feel. (Hence, the analogy to Monte Carlo.) I’m also confused by the repeated comparisons to Nasomatto‘s Black Afgano, though the commentators think M7 blows it out of the water and is infinitely superior. I haven’t tried that oud fragrance, but since it is famed for smelling just like marijuana, I truly can’t see the similarities.

M7 Original in the solidly dark bottle.

Regardless, I genuinely believe that M7 lives up to the hype, so if you are want to take the next step and try to find a bottle on eBay, I’ll tell you need to look for. I’ve previously written about how to find true, original M7, in the context of the 2008 reformulated version, so I hope you’ll forgive me for repeating a chunk of that information because, you see, the bottles and boxes are key.

Reformulated bottle. Note the clearness which is on both sides and, also, on the bottom.

The original M7 as shown above is packaged in a deep brown bottle that is solidly brown all around and has a silver band at the top. Its box lists four ingredients. In contrast, the reformulated version of M7 comes in a box that is really essentially clear with just a big solid sticker of brown on the front and back; you can tell it’s the reformulated version because the sides and bottom of the bottle are completely clear.

M7 boxes compared with the vintage original on the left and the reformulated version with its increased ingredient list on the right. Source: Basenotes.

Its box is also different; it now lists 14 ingredients instead of 4. Despite the increase in ingredients, however, the reformulated version is substantially weaker than the original, emphasizes amber over faint oud, and lasts even less time (both on my skin and on others). That said, both versions have the same dry down.

In terms of pricing, almost anything goes. Like much to do with vintage fragrances on eBay, it’s a matter of luck, timing, and who else is bidding. I’ve seen almost full 1.7 oz/50 ml bottles go for $80; I’ve seen full 3.4 oz/100 ml bottles go for around $300 (especially on Amazon); and I’ve seen everything in-between. There is always someone selling samples of the vintage on eBay which is lucky because nowhere else carries it. Surrender to Chance’s listing for M7 is for the 2008 reformulated version; I know because I ordered it. But on eBay, right now and for a short while, there are listings like the one here where a seller has 10 mls of vintage M7 for $21.99 (only 1 decant left), or this British eBay listing for a tiny 1 ml vial for GBP 3.75. Or, you could get a large 3.4 oz slightly used tester of vintage M7 for about $110 here. (As a side note about M7 on eBay, “M7 Fresh” and “M7 Oud Absolu” are totally different things. The Oud Absolu is the very final, current formulation of M7 and nothing like the original! Also, I have no clue at all about the M7 after-shave that is often sold there too. Be careful and make sure your M7 Vintage is not M7 Vintage After Shave because the bottles do look alike.)

Obviously, these listings will soon end and the links will be of no use, but my point is to that you can absolutely find bottles of M7 out there without paying an arm, a leg and a house. Is it worth getting a slightly used bottle? That’s up to you. For vintage perfumes of any great renown, it’s not easy getting a sealed, full bottle at a truly low price, but I suppose it is possible if you’re very patient and very lucky. For me, personally, I think $110 for a 3.4 oz bottle of some famous perfume that is almost full is a great price, especially compared to the cost of some niche perfumes out there today.

Man or woman, I think M7 is worth tracking down, even if it’s only a sample to begin with. It’s seductive, sensuous, creamy, sometimes utterly mesmerizing, and always incredibly refined. It is truly the Monte Carlo interpretation of oud fragrances. It’s also a little piece of perfume history, and a whole lot of glory.

Source: palaces.monaco-hotel.com