Stéphane Humbert Lucas 777 O Hira: The Incredible Hulk of Ambers

Posted on April 13, 2014 by Kafkaesque

Amber on steroids, if not the Incredible Hulk of ambers. That is O Hira, a stunning, super-powered, monster labdanum that would be worthy of its own character in the Marvel universe. O Hira is a simply spectacular extrait from Stéphane Humbert Lucas, and a scent which made me do an instant double-take the first time I smelt it. I actually said “ooohh!” and closed my eyes to better take in the tidal wave of richness. The molten, dripping, resinous juices were so beautifully honeyed, dark, leathery, and toffee’d, I was amazed. And, at a higher dosage, O Hira showed a naughty side that drove me quite wild. All I can say is, if I came across a man wearing O Hira, I’d want to rip his clothes off pretty quickly. I’m quite serious about that. I think O Hira on the right man or woman could be quite devastating.

Stéphane Humbert Lucas. Source: SHL 777 Facebook page.

O Hira is a 2013 parfum extrait released by the Paris niche house, Stéphane Humbert Lucas 777 (hereinafter just referred to as “SHL 777” or “777“). Monsieur Lucas used to be the in-house perfumer for SoOud and Nez à Nez, but he launched his new house in 2013. All the 777 fragrances are created by Monsieur Lucas himself. Up until now, the line was exclusive to Europe, Russia, and Middle Eastern, but there is excellent news. The complete SHL 777 line will be coming to America in a few weeks, including new releases like Qom Chilom which I covered yesterday, the smoke monster, Oud 777 (which includes tobacco and leather touches), the mandarin-ginger-immortelle-tobacco scent, Une Nuit à Doha, and the stunning Black Gemstone which is one of the best fragrances that I’ve tried this year. They will all be carried at Luckyscent and Osswald NYC. I have samples of the complete line, thanks to the graciousness and kindness of Monsieur Lucas, and I will be going through them, one by one (though perhaps with some breaks and perhaps not all in a row) so that you will be well prepared when 777 hits the stores.

The 777 line. Source: Stephane Humbert Lucas.

O Hira is an ode to amber. SHL 777 has no official notes for the fragrance, and the press release photos or website descriptions only say:

No Pyramid.
Remake of fossilized Amber
Primitive Scent – Pure – Rare – Intense – Dedicated to the amber lovers.

Source: Stéphane Humbert Lucas

I’ve had some correspondence with Monsieur Lucas, and he elaborated a little further. He spent more than two years working just on O Hira, using complicated, classical techniques of “distillerie, effeuillage, glacis” on the most expensive raw materials. The fragrance is an extrait with 24% concentration, and is intended to be the richest soliflore around. No, there is no actual fossilized amber, so if you’re imagining something dug up from the bowels of the earth and dating from prehistoric times, you’d be mistaken. However, it’s clear to me from the scent that Monsieur Lucas has worked very hard with not only labdanum but some other materials, including a few really dark resins, to create a scent that is as dark and as heavy as if it really had been dug up from the earth.

Labdanum compiled into a chunk. Source: Fragrantica

This review won’t be a traditional review in the way that they are usually structured because O Hira is ultimately a soliflore devoted to labdanum and, thus, its core aroma is quite simple in some ways. So, I want to start by taking a few minutes to talk specifically about labdanum. It has a very dark, toffee’d, nutty, resinous, balsamic aroma that can often feel very honeyed. It can also sometimes have a masculine, leathery undertone, which is why some amber lovers I know aren’t particularly enthused by its distinctive, almost “dirty” aroma. For me, the visuals with true labdanum are dark brown, verging almost on black, and far from ambered gold. That brings to me a very important point.

Some of my regular readers may have noted that, in my reviews, I often write “labdanum amber” or “labdanum,” instead of simply saying “amber.” It’s not because I am OCD, but because I think the difference is enormous. A perfumer once told me, “only labdanum is real amber.” Someone else said words to the effect of, “a lot of fragrances listed as ‘amber’ today aren’t actually amber, because they’re not centered on labdanum. The note is either synthetic, or an approximation of amber through other means, like an accord using labdanum highly diluted with vanilla and benzoins to really become something else.”

Lava. Source: HuffingtonPost.com

Labdanum amber has a dark, dirty scent that is quite unique from many of the “ambers” listed even in the niche world, and it’s also completely different from ambergris. If you’re familiar with Dior‘s Mitzah, the opening of Serge Lutens‘ Ambre Sultan (minus the herbal nuances), parts of Tom Ford‘s Amber Absolute or Sahara Noir, and the more goaty, masculine, almost dirty parts of Amouage‘s Opus VI (separate from the Ambranum and Z11), then you’ve encountered labdanum. However, if you’ve tried Dior‘s Ambre Nuit or Profumum Roma‘s Ambra Aurea, then you’ve really experienced ambergris for the most part. And if you’re thinking about softer, gentler, or powdered ambers like Histoires de Parfums‘ Ambre 114, then you’re talking about the quasi-amber made up primarily of benzoins for an approximation of a golden amber. But it’s most definitely not labdanum amber, in my opinion.

Source: Huffington Post.

O Hira opens on my skin with a tsunami of true, undiluted, super concentrated labdanum in all of its manifestations. It is heavily honeyed, almost boozy at times, completely brown and dirty, with a hefty, walloping amount of cinnamon mixed in. Within seconds, it turns smoky with what is clearly styrax, the darkest and most leathered of all resins (and a big base note in such fragrances like Guerlain’s Habit Rouge). I suspect there is also a massive dose of Tolu balsam (as there is in Shalimar and Opium’s base) mixed in as well. What I’m less certain about are the tobacco tonalities that grow increasingly noticeable as the minutes pass. Is there actual tobacco absolute in O Hira, or is it a subset of the very dirty labdanum amber? How much of the leathery undertones come from the styrax, as opposed to something else?

It’s really hard to know the extent to which some of the nuances in O Hira stem from labdanum’s natural characteristics — only amplified and teased out to show their individual character — or whether they are from other supplemental sources as well. Monsieur Lucas told me that there is styrax in O Hira, and he mentioned cinnamon aromas from benzoins as well, so it’s very clear that O Hira is not just labdanum. But where the labdanum ends and the other notes begin is hard to say, because this is one superbly blended fragrance.

Source: .wholesalefabricsstore.com

Within minutes, new layers emerge. I wouldn’t be surprised if there were some castoreum in O Hira because there is an absolute beautiful, velvety, very musky richness which appears. It is leathered, sharp, almost skanky, but also plush like velvet. The tobacco-like dirtiness also grows stronger, while the cinnamon fades. There is almost an incense-like whiff at the edges, though it probably stems from the styrax. Lurking deep, deep in the case, there is a subtle gingerbread note that smells like Siam benzoin as well.

Source: FilterForge.com

For the most part, however, I would say that O Hira is a bouquet centered around MASSIVE amounts of labdanum, along with some styrax, tolu balsam, and a tiny touch of castoreum. I cannot begin to tell you the richness of the scent. When I applied several good, hefty sprays from my decant, I was overcome by memories of my beloved (vintage) Opium‘s base. At high doses, O Hira has the same walloping, sticky, dense, dripping viscosity as 1980s-version Opium (especially in the parfum concentration). It feels like the thickest sludge of darkened, smoky, treacly amber — and I use the word “sludge” as the highest compliment in this case.

A goat whose chest and beard are covered with labdanum. Source: labdanum-creta.blogspot. com

At the same time, though, O Hira takes labdanum’s masculine, sometimes dirty underpinnings and heightens them to an extreme degree. For the first time since I reviewed Amouage’s Opus VI, I was transported back thousands of years to ancient times when shepherds would scrape the resin off the chests and beards of goats who had clambered on or around the rock rose. There is almost a sweaty, goaty quality to the labdanum, and it has a muskiness that feels almost animalic in the first hour. Interestingly, though, I didn’t detect anything similar when I applied only a small amount of O Hira. As I’m going to explain later in more detail, this is a fragrance that I think best shows off its nuances when you apply a lot of it. A few small sprays result in a scent that is much softer, less dense, less leathered, less dirty, and more cinnamon-like in aroma.

Henry VIII by Hans Holbein. Source: luminarium.org

For me, O Hira is unlike the other rich ambers on the market. It’s extremely different from Ambra Aurea which is a primarily an ambergris soliflore, though O Hira does have the same very opaque, dense, concentrated richness. O Hira isn’t like Tom Ford’s Amber Absolute or Sahara Noir, either, because both of those scents are heavily infused with incense. If you took Amber Absolute’s core (without the frankincense), combined it with a stripped down version of Dior’s Mitzah (without that fragrance’s supporting players), injected the two with vintage Opium’s resinous base, boiled the whole thing down to its most reduced, sticky, balsamic form, and then injected it with steroids, you would get O Hira. It is such a fatty, over-the-top, super-saturated, dark, monster amber that it feels indulgent enough for someone like Henry VIII.

And it’s so damn sexy. When I applied a lot of it, the castoreum in the base exuded a muskiness that was not only very leathered, but also rather brazen and verging on the skanky. There was a seductiveness that once again called to mind vintage Opium’s base with its lusty, bold, take-no-prisoners, raw sensuality. I just wanted to slather O Hira on someone’s neck, lick it off, and then rip off their clothes. I mean it, O Hira got me quite hot and bothered at times.

The scent only becomes better as the minutes pass. The tobacco and leather tonalities are joined by something almost verging on dark chocolate, followed by a definite flicker of salty, black licorice after about 20 minutes. The whole thing feels so dark, it verges on the brown-black in hue, and is incredibly far removed from the golden palette of many “ambers” that I’ve tried. It also feels very masculine, though women who love dark, dirty, smoky, heavy, balsamic orientals should adore it as well.

As a soliflore, O Hira doesn’t change in its core bouquet or essence — but then it’s not meant to. O Hira seeks to focus on one central note, shown in all its facets; one very simple thing heightened to its most luxurious depths. However, it’s clear to me that a lot of different parts were melded and fused together to create this seemingly monolithic, dense, heavy, “amber” aria. This is the sort of fragrance that sings at operatic levels, like a Middle Eastern Valkyrie belting out her final passion on a funeral pyre. You know how I’m always going on about wanting my fragrances to be Wagnerian in nature? Well, this is it. O Hira is definitely The Ride of the Valkyries.

Artist: Helen Abbas, Mosaic Collection, Summer 2013, “(Erdowaz) Slate.” Source: IslamicArtMagazine.com. (Website link embedded within photo.)

Even if O Hira’s main note is unwavering labdanum, its nuances and layers most certainly change. After 30 minutes, the sometimes intense smokiness from the styrax pipes down a few notches. Or, perhaps, it merely infused every one of the other notes in such a way that it seems softer. At the same time, the honey and cinnamon tonalities take a step back, while the musky, toffee’d leather and tobacco undertones take a few giant leaps forward. O Hira also turns fractionally softer and airier in feel. On occasion, the perfume feels smoother, as if some of the edges had been buffed out. At other times, however, O Hira continues to feel like an intentionally raw, almost brute-strength amber. It’s merely dialed down from a 10 on the Richter scale to a 9. The drop is slightly bigger for O Hira’s density, however, moving from a solid 10 in the opening minutes to about a 7 after 40 minutes.

O Hira is massively potent at the start with very big sillage. I will try to give you a sense of things, but it will be hard to use my usual numbers for application or quantity. The decant I was sent had a slightly wonky spraying mechanism which wasn’t very smooth when pressed down and only gave out half-squirts, rather than a more usual, fluid spritz. Using 5 half-spritzes or roughly the equivalent of 2 big sprays from an actual bottle, O Hira projected out a good 5 inches at first, before it softened at the end of an hour to about 2 inches above the skin.

When I used a lesser amount — similar to one and a half very large sprays from a proper bottle or 3 wonky spritzes from my atomizer — things were slightly different. The projection dropped a little, and O Hira wafted out only about 2-3 inches at the start, though that is still quite good. The more noticeable difference, however, pertained to the notes. At the lower dose, O Hira became a much softer, less sticky scent with a slightly different set of nuances. It was slightly cleaner, less dirty in feel, with little of the castoreum muskiness, and none of the more brute, goaty undertones to the labdanum. The cinnamon was stronger; the styrax’s smokiness was much softer; there was much less tobacco in the undertones; no licorice nuance; and the more viscous, sticky, dense resemblances to Opium’s base largely vanished. To try to explain it in terms of visuals, O Hira felt less solidly brown-black, and more bronze-gold.

part of “The Blooming Tree,” Painting by Osnat Tzadok, via osnatfineart.com
http://www.osnatfineart.com/art/landscape-paintings/6088-The-Blooming-Tree.jsp

O Hira shifts over time in terms of its nuances and the prominence of its individual layers. However, it’s hard to give a clear description of what happens because each time I’ve worn the perfume, the layers are different at different times. The notes also feel a bit circular, in that they come back around just when you think they had died or retreated to the sidelines. For example, in one test, the tobacco seemed to fade away about 2.5 hours into O Hira’s development, though the leather remained, and the cinnamon from one of the benzoins grew much stronger. O Hira was softer, smoother, and had almost a creamy feel to it which was unexpected. O Hira lost a lot of its stickiness and opaque density, became airier, felt sheerer, and hugged the skin much more. However, it was still extremely potent when smelled up close.

That was one occasion, but, on another, the tobacco and leathered smokiness were still subtly blasting away well into the start of the 7th hour. In fact, much of O Hira’s progression of notes was different, starting with labdanum that felt practically boozy at the start, and which then transitioned into heavy cinnamon-labdanum, before ending up as darkly leathered, tobacco’d, toffee labdanum. In short, the order of the perfume pyramid was up-ended.

“Black Widow v1”
by *smokin-nucleus. Source: DeviantArt. (Website link embedded within photo.)

There are only two consistent aspects to O Hira. First, its primary bouquet from start to finish is some manifestation of dark labdanum — in all its various, complex nuances — with resins. Second, O Hira consistently lasts over 11 hours. With a lesser quantity, O Hira’s longevity clocks in at about 11.5 hours. With a higher dosage (the equivalent of 2 sprays from an actual bottle, or much more), O Hira has lasted up to 14.5 hours on my perfume consuming skin. The sillage is always monstrous at first, but it generally drops to about 1-2 inches above the skin which is where it stays for hours and hours. On average, O Hira turned into a complete, true skin scent on me about 7 hours in with a large quantity, and 5.75 hours into its development with a small amount.

In a way, the best way to sum up O Hira is in terms of the images or moods that it evokes. Depending on which one of the notes dominates on your skin, O Hira can either be lavishly rich and indulgent, in an opulent manner worthy of Henry VIII, or positively sensual, brazenly seductive, darkly raw, brutal, and oozing pure, animal sex appeal. It’s a surfeit of riches, either way, and honestly feels like amber on steroids. I think it’s the Incredible Hulk of ambers, but I’ve been mulling over the possibility that it may be Iron Man instead.

Antoni Gaudi chairs at Casa Mila, La Pedrera, Barcelona. Source: gaudi-barselona.ru

The reason is that there is a definite refined intelligence to how O Hira’s notes have been put together, an attempt to have some sense of luxurious refinement that goes beyond mere brute strength or primal rawness. Speaking purely for myself, I think Tom Ford’s ambers verge more into the brute force category, and have some synthetics that prevent the scents from feeling quite as pure. To me, his ambers are potent and rich, but they don’t evoke luxurious opulence and refinement in quite the same way. They also don’t smell as if the most expensive raw ingredients have been used in almost undiluted form, which is the sense I get with O Hira. In short, O Hira feels much more sophisticated, expensive and nuanced. To me, it has class. It feels like a European’s baroque, almost Gaudi-esque interpretation of “death by amber.”

O Hira may have been released in 2013, but I couldn’t find any reviews of the scent to provide you with a comparative assessment. O Hira doesn’t even have an entry on Fragrantica at this time. In fact, at the time of this post, it’s not widely available outside of Harrods and Paris’ Printemps. That will change in 2-3 days time when, I’ve been told, Germany’s First in Fragrance should receive O Hira, along with several of the new 2014 fragrances. As noted at the start of this post, the complete SHL 777 line will be released in the U.S. in roughly 2 weeks time.

The bad news in all this is that O Hira is very expensive. I mean, seriously expensive. I don’t have the official American pricing information but, in Europe, O Hira’s retail price is a hefty €580 for a 50 ml bottle of pure parfum. I have heard rumours and talk that O Hira will cost $795 in the U.S., but none of that has been confirmed. The bottom line is that O Hira is going to cost you a lot, regardless of the currency that you use. It is certainly too rich for my blood. As a general rule, and regardless of the brand, I have difficulty with nosebleed prices like these — but I find it even harder when it comes to something that is a soliflore.

O Hira’s quality and luxuriousness, though, make the math much more difficult and complicated. There is absolutely no question in my mind that the most expensive ingredients have been used in O Hira, that great care was taken with complicated techniques, and that none of it came cheaply. I can fully understand why it took more than 2 years to finesse raw materials used in such intense quantities, so that the end result would be something nuanced and so spectacularly rich. I can see it, I can smell it, and I have no doubts at all. But it’s still too expensive, in my opinion.

At the end of the day, however, it all comes down to what I’ve now decided to call the “Roja Dove Rule“: it’s going to be a personal calculation that comes down to each individual’s subjective valuation and tastes — and the extent to which the fragrance in question brings them to their knees such that the price becomes worth it to them.

All I can say is that O Hira is absolutely worth sampling and, if possible, getting in a decant. It’s the bloody Incredible Hulk of Ambers. I think that it’s in a class all of its own.

Disclosure: Perfume sample courtesy of Stéphane Humbert Lucas. That did not influence this review. I do not do paid reviews, and my opinions are my own.

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: O Hira is an Extrait or pure parfum that is only available in a 50 ml bottle and costs €580. The 777 line should be at Luckyscent and Osswald NYC by the end of April 2014. [Update 5/2/14 — Osswald has now received the 777 line. At this time, O Hira will be available by request only.] Outside the U.S.: Currently, the Stéphane Humbert Lucas’ website is under construction, and doesn’t have an e-store. The best online resource is First in Fragrance which currently has about half of the SHL 777 line, and will soon be receiving the newer releases as well. O Hira is not yet in stock at the time of this review, but should be in a few days. In London, you can find the entire collection at Harrod’s Black Room, while in Paris, they are exclusive to Printemps under the name 777. Zurich’s Osswald also carries the line, but I don’t think they have an e-store any more. The Swiss perfumery, Theodora, also has SHL 777, but no e-store. In the Middle East, Souq.com has about 6 of the earlier fragrances which it sells for AED 1,500. In the UAE, the SHL 777 line is available at Harvey Nichols and at Bloomingdales in the Dubai Mall. In Russia, SHL 777 is sold at Lenoma. Ukraine’s Sana Hunt Luxury store also carries the line, but they don’t have an e-store. Samples: None of the U.S. sample sites currently carry this fragrance, but Luckyscent and Osswald NYC will be your best option once the SHL 777 perfumes are released in America. Osswald used to have a great sample program where you could try any 10 fragrances in relatively large vials for a mere $20, with free shipping. However, that program is only available to U.S. customers, and, more importantly, it may have recently changed. Looking at the Sample section on the website now, there is no set deal, and pricing depends on the cost of the particular perfume in question. They range from $3 a vial up to $9 a vial for fragrances that cost over $300. You can call Osswald at (212) 625-3111 to enquire further as to the situation.

Stéphane Humbert Lucas 777 Qom Chilom: Red Ash

Posted on April 12, 2014 by Kafkaesque

Source: pinterest

An ancient Persian mosque in Qom, replete with the smell of cedar. A man dressed in the colours of the dry desert sits next to a woman veiled in crimson. They sip cherry wine served in cups made of cedar and latex. The desert wind blows a fine mist of clean oud into swirls of black rubbered smoke and white, sweetened, heliotrope powder. The sour tartness of rubied cherries lies against the white of fresh almonds and the silky creamy of vanilla. Then, the desert wind blows its dry breath again, and the images change, turning into a vista of cream, powder, dry woods, and softness. It’s the story of contrasts — light and dark, masculine and feminine, harsh blackness and soft sweetness, all tinged with cherried ash. Is it a tale from Le Rouge et Le Noir by Stendhal? No, it is the Persian fabric of Qom Chilom by Stéphane Humbert Lucas.

Stéphane Humbert Lucas. Source: SHL 777 Facebook page.

Qom Chilom is a 2014 parfum extrait released by the fledgling Paris niche house, Stéphane Humbert Lucas 777 (hereinafter just referred to as “SHL 777“). It bears the name of its founder, a man who has been working in the perfume industry for a while, most recently as the in-house perfumer for SoOud and Nez à Nez. Mr. Lucas launched his new SHL 777 brand in 2013 with 7 fragrances, all of which are inspired by the Orient and their style of perfumery. This year, just a few weeks ago in fact, he released several new scents, one of which is Qom Chilom.

The 777 line. Source: Stéphane Humbert Lucas.

Up to now, the perfumes were exclusive to Europe and Middle Eastern, but there is excellent news. The complete SHL 777 line will be coming to America in a few weeks, including the new releases like Qom Chilom. They will be carried at Luckyscent and Osswald NYC. Monsieur Lucas kindly and graciously sent me samples of his entire collection, and I will be going through them, one by one, over the next 10 days so that you will be well prepared when the fragrances hits the stores. Today, we travel to Persia, but soon after that will be the fantastic amber, O Hira (which blew my socks off), the smoky new Oud 777, the gourmand Une Nuit à Doha, and the superb Black Gemstone which was love at first sniff for me.

Qom Chilom. Source: Sagma Corporation.

Qom Chilom was inspired by the ancient mosque city of Qom in Persia and the narguile smoke pipes of the Orient. Like the rest of the SHL 777 line, Qom Chilom is a pure parfum or extrait in concentration with more than 20% perfume oils. (I believe the precise number may be 24%.) The perfume is about to be released, so there isn’t a lot of information out there about it and Stéphane Humbert Lucas’s website is currently under construction.

Source: Stéphane Humbert Lucas.

However, he wrote to me about the perfume and its notes. For example, the plume on the red-lacquered bottle is meant to symbolise the Imperial Peacock Throne of the shahs, while the perfume’s aromatic woodiness (and subtle smokiness) seeks to evoke the ancient rites of the past. At the heart of Qom Chilom is the concept and colour palette of “red ash” or “rouge cendré”: woodiness infused with cherries and turned quietly to ash.

According to Monsieur Lucas, Qom Chilom’s notes include:

Morello cherry – Bigarreau cherry – Raspberry

Heliotrope – Imperial Almond – Iris – Blue Cedar

Patchouly – Oud – Teak – Barks – Latex – Vanilla absolute – Musk

Source: andhereweare.net

Qom Chilom opens on my skin with a burst of Morello sour cherries whose bright, unsweetened tartness is thoroughly infused with black rubber latex, then misted with a clean oud. There is a definite medicinal note that swirls all around, and, for the life of me, I cannot pinpoint its source. It is probably the cedar which feels very green, since the oud seems too clean to my nose. On the other hand, it might be the patchouli which took me two tests to detect behind all the woody notes. It is hidden almost out of sight, fully overshadowed of the strong cedar and latex, but its brief, muted presence also translates as green and camphorous.

Source: walmart.com

Whatever the precise cause of the medicinal aroma, there is absolutely no doubt what the overall effect smells like on my skin: cherry cough drops. It’s a distinctive smell that was instantly recognizable, wafting a camphorousness that almost verged on cherry eucalyptus at times. Definite flecks of greenness are interspersed throughout the ruby and black colour palette, which seems to exclude the oud as being the cause. It might be the patchouli but, honestly, that note is virtually nonexistent on my skin.

What is interesting is the black part of the perfume. Initially, for a fleeting moment, the latex conveyed the smell of tires burning on hot asphalt, before transitioning into smokiness. At times, there is almost textural rubberiness to the note, but it primarily smells like a harsh, rough sort of black smoke.

Source: Wikicommons.

Qom Chilom’s blackness is masculine but it is soon tamed by softer, sweeter notes. There is an absolutely lovely touch of raw almonds that really took me back to my childhood. Every summer, I would get bags and bags of raw almonds, crack open the green, fuzzy pods, and suck on the white treasures within. It’s been years since I’ve smelled anything similar or been so transported, but Qom Chilom has that same delicate greenness and liquidy nuttiness. Alas for me, the note is subtle, quite muted, and hardly lasts.

The first time I tested Qom Chilom, there was also a whisper of heliotrope at the start. It combined with the raw almonds and an unexpected sudden pop of butteriness to create the distinct impression of an almond pastry. To be precise, almonds croissants covered with bright, fresh, very tart cherries, a dose of cherry cough drops, a rubbery smoke, and a lot of cedar. It was a really unusual combination, one that I’ve never encountered before, but it lasted only a few minutes at most.

Much more noticeable, however, is the vanilla which appeared consistently in both my tests less than 5 minutes into Qom Chilom’s development. At first, it is only a soft flicker of creaminess in the base, but it rise to the surface less than 20 minutes in and coats the rubberized, dry, cherried woods with smooth sweetness.

Source: zazzle.com

There is an oddly teasing aspect to Qom Chilom that I’ve noticed, the notes not only dance about coyly, going back and forth, but several of them also seem to morph and alter character every few minutes. At first, I thought I was merely imagining it, but, no, it happens repeatedly during the first 20 minutes and it also occurred during both my tests. One minute, the almonds smell fresh and raw, cool and liquidy. Almost the very next moment, the note is replaced by buttered croissants aux amandes. Then it vanishes entirely.

Same story with the latex. First, it smells like burnt tires; two minutes later, it is harsh black smoke; and five minutes after that, it is harsh smoke infused with creamy vanilla. Then, it seems to melt into the background, replaced by the medicinal, cherry cough drops. But, just when I think it’s gone, the actual rubber roars back, waves a black-clad arm hello, before swirling back into the background mists. Everything is constantly popping in and out, changing and twisting. Even the vanilla darts about like a teasing ghost on occasion. It is all very fascinating, maddening, enigmatic, intriguing, and a clear sign of Monsieur Lucas’ technical skill.

The only things which remain constant in the song and dance of the opening hour are the sour cherries and the woods. The oud never changes its party dress because it is consistently a tertiary note in the background on my skin. At most, it lends a subtle smokiness to the proceedings, but it also feels oddly clean at times. The cedar, however, is hardly a shy wallflower and seems increasingly hellbent on world domination. It suffuses Qom Chilom with a dryness that feels both aromatically green and a little bit dusty at times.

Source: wallpaperswa.com

For all my fascination at the notes, one thing initially frustrated me quite a bit about Qom Chilom. The perfume is incredibly airy and sheer in feel. In fact, the first time I tried the scent, I applied 2 small sprays from my decant, began writing my notes, and then, 10 minutes later, frowned and hurriedly rushed to apply more. I had the oddest sensation that Qom Chilom was evaporating off my skin, even though that was a clearly illogical thought since the scent itself was pulsating out cherries and was quite potent up close. But there is a translucency to Qom Chilom’s opening phase that made the perfume feel just as elusive as its notes can be.

The sillage doesn’t help prevent any potential misimpressions of strength, either. Using 3 large sprays from an atomizer (or about 2 good sprays from an actual bottle), Qom Chilom projected just 2 inches at best above the skin. The fragrance dropped further at the end of the hour to hover just above the skin, and there it remained until the 3.5 hour mark when it turned into a skin scent. For my personal tastes, Qom Chilom is far too gauzy in weight and soft in sillage. Then again, as regular readers know, I like my perfume to be Wagnerian in potency, density, and forcefulness. By those standards, then, yes, Qom Chilom falls short as a very airy, generally soft, rather intimate scent.

Despite the sheerness, I soon noticed just how much of Qom Chilom’s opening phase is about contrasts, contrasts which almost verge on gender-bending. On the one hand, masculinity is represented by the oud, the black rubberized latex and the initially harsh smokiness, accompanied by Qom Chilom’s early medicinal, camphourous undertones and woody dryness.

Source: wallpho.com

Those aspects are juxtaposed next to the more feminine symbols: the soft vanilla; the delicate, comforting, almost maternal aspects of heliotrope’s sweetness; a growing, powerful creaminess; and the raspberry’s subtle jamminess that finally pops up after 45 minutes. Bridging the two sides is a ruby river of sour cherries. It all feels very modern, especially with the almost fetishistic rubber nuance, but there is also a subtle undercurrent of something ancient. To me, Qom Chilom feels like the olfactory expression of yin and yang; masculine and feminine; hard and soft; sweet and sour; dry and creamy. Honestly, I find it all quite brilliant on an intellectual level.

However, all of these layers and contrasts require some focus and concentration up close to detect. Thanks to the perfume’s sillage and sheerness issues, it wasn’t always easy for me to detect the subtle transitions and shifts. Being blunt, from a distance, Qom Chilom in the first hour initially smells like: a cherry cough drop; then cherry woods with some latex and vanilla cream, and, finally, at the end of the first hour, like a mix of red wine and a non-syrupy version of cherry cordial infused with cedar and a subtle trace of rubbery smokiness. I had to bring my nose quite close to my arm at times to notice the nuances, especially given how quickly some of the smaller notes melt into the background.

Painting by EbiEmporium on Redbubble.

Everything starts to change at the start of the second hour. The early streaks of creaminess that ran through Qom Chilom’s base now rise up fully from the base and take over the whole scent, adding some necessary richness to counteract the early sheerness. Actually, the latter aspect feels fractionally better now, as if the perfume has deepened to go along with its new, and truly lovely, smoothness. At the same time, the cherry cough drop undertones pop up much less frequently, and are very muted when they do. Now, the fruit feels primarily like a deepened wine or tart cherry cordial. The oud feels even cleaner and smoother than before, while the vanilla has turned into a silky mousse. The patchouli is absolutely nonexistent on my skin, while the almonds are long gone and the jammy raspberry has largely melted into the base.

“Tree Bark II” art at Houzz.com

As a whole, the two main notes driving Qom Chilom at this point are the sour cherries and dry cedar. It all feels incredibly creamy and smooth, but simultaneously drier than some of these descriptions might lead you to believe. The subtle smokiness and rubber of the latex help to keep the vanilla and sweet raspberry in check. As for the cherries, they may be more like a dark, woody wine, but they still maintain a vestige of tartness which is very nice.

By the end of the 2nd hour, powder arrives on the scene, though it’s not the almond-vanilla heliotrope variety, nor the powdered makeup aspect of iris, either. It’s merely something lightly sweetened in nature. Tiny flickers of heliotrope dance in the background, while smokiness from the latex hovers about like a black mist. In the base, there is a subtle warmth and an ambered glow. As a whole, Qom Chilom is a bouquet of dry cedar and tart cherry wine, lightly dusted with a fine layer of delicious heliotrope, then flecked with touches of latex, vanilla, and oud, all resting upon a base with an undercurrent of sweetness and golden warmth.

Source: wallsave.com

About 3.5 hours into Qom Chilom’s development, the perfume subtly shifts yet again, and transitions into its third and final stage. Qom Chilom is now a skin scent on me, centered largely on powdered woodiness with cherries. The most noticeable and lovely aspect of the fragrance is the creamy texture which is almost like a note in its own right. I have read that teak is a very soft blond wood, so maybe that is the contributing factor, but the wood accord now feels as if it has been smoothed out into a fine, airy mousse. It no longer smells primarily of cedar. Instead, it now feels like a soft beigeness in a cocoon of abstract woodiness infused with dry vanilla and sweetened powder. Tiny bits of raspberry and cherry waft delicately at the corner, like garnish on a plate of woody cream. The oud is barely noticeable, but when it is, it feels very clean, almost sweet.

Source: 123rf.com

Qom Chilom turns softer and more abstract with every passing hour. By the end of the 5th hour, it is primarily woody creaminess with dryness and a dusting of barely sweetened powder. The other notes remain on the sidelines, popping up occasionally but Qom Chilom’s core essence is quite simple at this point. Near the middle of the 9th hour, the perfume feels like a mix of powdered woody dryness with baby softness, sweetness, and refined, clean warmth. In its final moments, Qom Chilom fades away as a slip of powdered, dry, sweet, woodiness.

For all my grumbling about Qom Chilom’s light weight and intimate projection, I give it full marks for longevity. In both tests, the perfume consistently lasted well over 12 hours on my perfume-consuming skin. Granted, it was a skin scent at the 3.5 hour mark, but Qom Chilom was always easy to detect up close if I brought my nose near my arm, up to the start of 9th hour.

Qom Chilom is too new for me to provide comparative reviews, and has no entry on Fragrantica at this time. In fact, at the time of this post, it’s not widely available outside of Harrods and Paris’ Printemps. That will change in a few days time when, I’ve been told, Germany’s First in Fragrance should receive several of the new SHL 777 fragrances, including the older 2013 perfume, O Hira. As noted at the start of this post, the complete SHL 777 line will be released in the U.S. in roughly 2 weeks time.

Qom Chilom. Source: Stéphane Humbert Lucas.

I don’t have American pricing information but, in Europe, Qom Chilom’s retail price is €235 for a 50 ml bottle of pure parfum. (And the bottle is stunning, in my opinion!) At today’s rate of exchange, €235 comes to about $326, but I know from prior experiences with European exclusives that the eventual U.S. price is always much less than the currency conversion amount. So, I estimate the perfume will probably be in the $290 range, though that is purely a personal guess.

Is that a little high for 50 ml? Yes, it is. Then again, Qom Chilom is pure parfum extrait at roughly 24% concentration, and the bottle is stunning with its red lacquer, a domed cap that I believe has been hand-done, and a semi-precious stone in the front. So, I’ll tell you what I’ve said repeatedly in the case of Roja Dove’s much more expensive (but similarly sized) 50 ml bottles of parfum extrait: it’s going to come down to a personal, subjective valuation as to whether you think the price is worth it.

All I can tell you is that Qom Chilom shows the high quality of its materials, has refinement, and demonstrates a very skillful touch. At the end of the day, the perfume doesn’t feel very much like me, but that is a matter of personal taste resulting from the notes. It has nothing to do with how good or interesting the perfume is — and Qom Chilom is both those things. It is also exceedingly original, in my opinion.

So, if you’re intrigued or tempted, keep an eye out for Qom Chilom in the upcoming days and weeks. Hopefully, it will transport you back to ancient Persia in a cloud of cherried ashes and wooded creaminess.

Disclosure: Perfume sample courtesy of Stéphane Humbert Lucas. That did not influence this review. I do not do paid reviews, and my opinions are my own.

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: Qom Chilom is an Extrait or pure parfum that is only available in a 50 ml bottle and costs €235. The 777 line should be at Luckyscent and Osswald NYC by the end of April 2014. [Update 5/2/14 — Osswald has now received the 777 line. It sells Qom Chilom for $309.] Outside the U.S.: Currently, the Stéphane Humbert Lucas’ website is under construction, and doesn’t have an e-store. The best online resource is First in Fragrance which currently has about half of the SHL 777 line, and will soon be receiving the newer releases as well. Some of the fragrances like O Hira are not yet in stock, but should be in a few days. In London, you can find the entire collection at Harrod’s Black Room, while in Paris, they are exclusive to Printemps under the name 777. Zurich’s Osswald also carries the line, but I don’t think they have an e-store any more. The Swiss perfumery, Theodora, also has SHL 777, but no e-store. In the Middle East, Souq.com has about 6 of the earlier fragrances which it sells for AED 1,500. In the UAE, the SHL 777 line is available at Harvey Nichols and at Bloomingdales in the Dubai Mall. In Russia, SHL 777 is sold at Lenoma. Ukraine’s Sana Hunt Luxury store also carries the line, but they don’t have an e-store. Samples: None of the U.S. sample sites currently carry this fragrance, but Luckyscent and Osswald NYC will be your best option once the SHL 777 perfumes are released in America. Osswald used to have a great sample program where you could try any 10 fragrances in relatively large vials for a mere $20, with free shipping. However, that program is only available to U.S. customers, and, more importantly, it may have recently changed. Looking at the Sample section on the website now, there is no set deal, and pricing depends on the cost of the particular perfume in question. They range from $3 a vial up to $9 a vial for fragrances that cost over $300. You can call Osswald at (212) 625-3111 to enquire further as to the situation.

Xerjoff Al Khatt (Oud Stars Collection): Jasmine Excess

Posted on April 4, 2014 by Kafkaesque

“Debauched jasmine” rendered musky from Laotian oud, sweet from vanilla, and fresh from bergamot lies at the heart of Al Khatt, an eau de parfum from Xerjoff that seems more like an attar in its concentrated richness. It’s a creamy, sometimes animalic jasmine whose petals often feel as though they had been drenched in sharp honey, and which wafts a quiet animalic sensuality that is subtly amplified by the earthiness of a very muted, truffle-like oud.

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Parfums de Nicolaï Amber Oud: Soothing Comfort

Posted on April 3, 2014 by Kafkaesque

Source: diaryofamadhausfrau.com

Close your eyes, and imagine diving into a pool of lavender ice-cream. As the bracing herbal bouquet swirls in the air, tonka and vanilla coat your body like silk, enveloping you, soothing you. Yet, with every lap you take, the water starts to change its colours. The purple and cream turn to gold, then to bronze, and finally to brown-gold as the lavender gives way first to patchouli, and then to labdanum. Dusted with tonka, your body is coated with a sweet, spicy warmth that always feels expensive. It is the world of Amber Oud from Parfums de Nicolaï, a world that has absolutely nothing to do with oud and everything to do with soothing richness.

I’ve often said that my second favorite category of perfumes are “cozy, comfort” scents, and Amber Oud certainly qualifies. The last 6 weeks have been frustrating and stressful with the website changes, and I’ve repeatedly sought the creamy embrace of Amber Oud. It riveted me from the very first time I tried it, and I say this as someone who absolutely loathes lavender. To the point of a phobia, in fact. But, lavender or not, I think Amber Oud is truly marvelous. For me, it feels like a safety blanket, one that comes close to wiping away my worries, lowering my blood pressure, and comforting me — all with a luxuriousness that feels like the very best of Guerlain. Given that Madame de Nicolaï is a member of that family and is highly influenced by the Guerlain tradition, the similarities in feel are not surprising.

“The Lavender Princess.” Photo: Kirsty Mitchell. Source: http://www.kirstymitchellphotography.com/collection.php?album=5

Nonetheless, let me be clear at the outset about one thing: if Amber Oud is an “oud” fragrance, then I’m Vladimir Putin. If you test the perfume expecting to detect a profound amount of agarwood, you’re going to be sorely disappointed. I have worn Amber Oud a number of times, and not once did I detect even an iota of agarwood. Not once. Cedar and some amorphous, indistinct woodiness, definitely. Actual oud, no.

Amber Oud in its two sizes, 30 ml and 100 ml. Source: Luckyscent.

On her website, Patricia de Nicolaï describes Amber Oud and its notes as follows:

Amber Oud is created thanks to the famous perfumers amber combination, based on vanilla and labdanum. A perfume sublimated by the powerful agarwood note.

Top notes are lavender, thyme, sage and artemisia; middle notes are cinnamon, saffron, agarwood [oud], cedar, patchouli and sandalwood; base notes are vanilla, tonka bean, styrax, musk, castoreum and amber.

As noted above, I couldn’t detect any agarwood in Amber Oud, let alone a “powerful” one. So, a more apt description of the perfume might be that of Luckyscent:

Source: 123rf.com

Amber Oud embodies a golden effervescence, a freshness you wouldn’t expect from its name. Debuting with clean spice notes and a bubbly profile, the scent presents a generous herbal bouquet. Wafts of lavender, thyme, sage, and artemisia provide a stunning balance to the warm and rich notes lying deep within the scent. The warmth of amber, vanilla, and patchouli anchors the scent but doesn’t disrupt its clean and elegant persona. Laced with saffron and a dash of cinnamon, Amber Oud is sure to surprise you with its intriguing blend of grace and mystery.

As you can see, Luckyscent doesn’t mention oud once in their summation of the scent. On the other hand, I disagree with them on a few things: this is not a scent with “mystery,” I don’t think Amber Oud is really “clean” (thank God), and I’m a bit dubious about the “bubbly profile” bit. Yet, Luckyscent comes close in nailing the perfume’s essence. They are especially correct in noting the perfume’s golden touch infused with a generous herbal bouquet, and how patchouli is an anchor.

Source: 550px.com

Amber Oud opens on my skin with a bouquet that is, at once, herbal and sweet. Immediately, you are hit with the lavender which is simultaneously pungent, brisk, dried, sharp, but sweet and creamy. It is thoroughly infused with tonka, then dashes of golden warmth from the amber, and slivers of vanilla mousse.

From afar, it’s nothing but a tableau of lavender and creamy sweetness, but there are other elements woven in as well. There is a tiny touch of greenness from the other herbs, most noticeably sage. A quiet spiciness and very muted, abstract woodiness also linger at the edges. The latter has a dried, peppery, aromatic and sweet quality that clearly stems from the cedar. Lurking far, far in the background, if you really focus, you can pull out the red-gold threads of saffron, mostly from a faintly buttery, spicy undertone. In the same way, you can just barely make out the contours of cinnamon dusted on the vanilla mousse. However, it takes a great deal of concentration to tease out these nuances, for Amber Oud’s opening on my skin is primarily just lavender tonka vanilla.

Photo: Wanna Be A Country Cleaver, Megan Cleaver, via Tastykitchen.com

I normally despise lavender, shivering at its pungent harshness, its cologne-like briskness, its medicinal and soapy facets, but what a lavender it is here. Simply beautiful, and it just gets lovelier with time. The herbaceous quality of the flower loses much of its sharpness after 5 minutes, and turns more into lavender ice cream cocooned in a soft, golden glow. To the extent that there is “amber” in the fragrance, it really translates at this stage as a warm, deep richness upon which is anchored the dominant duo of lavender and tonka.

I find the whole thing utterly addictive, but I’d be the first to say that none of it is complicated, edgy, original, or even particularly oriental in feel. In fact, Amber Oud seems to straddle two categories — the herbal aromatic and the gourmand — without really falling into either one. And, for all that the perfume has sweetness, it never feels really gourmand to me. The tonka is just enough to cut through the lavender’s herbaceousness and stop it from being barber-shop pungent, sharp, or abrasive.

Artist unknown. Source: pinterest via eBay.

There is an incredible smoothness to the blend, and its seamless richness feels very luxurious. Amber Oud really evokes the best of Guerlain, because there is no doubt in my mind that the most expensive, high-quality ingredients have been used. (Minus the nonexistent oud note.) Initially, Amber Oud feels very concentrated and dense in its opening moments, like rich damask silk on the skin. Yet, the richness of the notes belies the perfume’s overall airiness and generally soft sillage. At first, Amber Oud’s projection is quite good. 3 tiny squirts from my wonky decant created a dense cloud of lavender cream that wafted 3 inches above the skin, but the sillage starts to soften and drop after only 20 minutes. By the end of the first hour, the perfume hovers just an inch above the skin.

Amber Oud shifts slowly and incrementally. After 30 minutes, the perfume is noticeably creamier, as the vanilla becomes more prominent. It combines with the tonka to create the silkiest, smoothest crème anglaise sauce into which the fragrant, aromatic lavender has been melted. It’s a sweetly spicy mix, shot through with subtle veins of cedar woodiness.

Source: abm-enterprises.net

At the end of the 1st hour, the perfume begins its shift into the second stage as a patchouli note seeps up from the base, adding an additional element of spicy warmth. Those of you who are phobic about patchouli, don’t worry. This is a really refined, smooth take on the note, thanks to the tonka. The overall effect reminds me of Serge Lutens‘ beautiful bell jar exclusive, Fourreau Noir, the only other lavender fragrance I have ever fallen for. There are differences, however. Amber Oud lacks Fourreau Noir’s dominant tendrils of black smoke; the lavender here is much smoother and softer; and the scent as a whole feels creamier, sweeter, and slightly denser.

By the end of the second hour, the patchouli and amber share center stage with the lavender cream. Amber Oud has lost its purple and vanilla hues, and turned thoroughly golden. The perfume is drier, and less vanillic, but the amber feels quite generalized at this stage, instead of actual labdanum amber with its particular, distinctive character. As a whole, Amber Oud is a warm, spicy sweet, herbal amber with vanilla and patchouli, and the tiniest flecks of cedar. It feels as though it’s about to turn into a skin scent at any moment, but that only occurs just before end of the 3rd hour.

Source: popularscreensavers.com

Amber Oud changes by such tiny degrees that you’re almost surprised when you suddenly realise that you’re wearing a patchouli-amber scent, infused with vanilla, and with only tiny streaks of the most abstract herbal bouquet. The dominant, main lavender ice-cream note of the beginning has largely faded away by the 2.75 hour mark, though you can still smell it in the background. Like fluid, liquid silk, the perfume flows into a new stage where the patchouli is increasingly the driving force behind the amber cloud, followed thereafter by tonka and vanilla. Small slivers of cedar dart about, lending far more dryness to the scent than initially existed, but the oud remains completely nonexistent.

Photo: Werner Kunz at photopoly.net

3.5 hours into its development, Amber Oud is a blur of spicy, sweet patchouli infused with a darker amber that is finally starting to resemble labdanum. The vanilla melts into the base, losing its distinctive edge, while the first whispers of the latter’s honeyed, toffee’d, dark aroma takes its place. The effect is to turn Amber Oud’s visuals from gold flecked with cream, to bronze and brown. From a distance, Amber Oud is not as easy to detect, but, up close you are struck by its cozy warmth, its silky spiciness, and its woody sweetness. Eventually, the labdanum shows its true nature with a darker warmth that turns Amber Oud all brown in hue. The perfume clings to the skin like the thinnest glaze of labdanum and patchouli, dusted over by a fine mist of tonka that feels a little bit powdered at times. In its final moments, Amber Oud is an abstract touch of warm, soft, slightly spicy, slightly woody sweetness.

Source: swirlydoos.com

All in all, Amber Oud lasted just short of 8 hours on my skin, with generally soft sillage after the 2 hour. I loved every bit of it, but particularly the opening 90 minutes with the lavender ice-cream. It felt incredibly soothing, a bouquet that would lull you to sleep in a wave of serenity. I thoroughly appreciated how neither the tonka and vanilla felt like a cloying ball of goo, along with the fact that there was almost no powder throughout Amber Oud’s lifetime. The golden haze of the later stages — with patchouli that is first flecked with vanilla, then with amber, and finally with true labdanum — was wonderful. Everything felt perfectly balanced, seamless, and rich.

Amber Oud is not perfect, however. I wish it had taken longer for the scent to turn sheer in weight and soft in projection, but that is a minor thing. The real issue with Amber Oud may be its price. The Parfums de Nicolaï line has always been very reasonably priced — intentionally so, in fact — but Amber Oud and its sibling, Rose Oud, cost quite a bit more. A tiny 30 ml bottle is priced at $78 or €58, while the large 100 ml/3.3 oz bottle costs $235 or €174. Presumably, the reasoning for putting the new Ouds at a much higher level than the rest of the line is the fact that they contain a “powerful” oud note. However, no-one I know who has tried Amber Oud has found it to be an “oud” fragrance. As you will see in a minute, many Fragrantica commentators can’t detect any oud at all. In short, I feel as though I’m being treated like an idiot when a perfume’s price is yanked up for a note that is basically nonexistent.

Is Amber Oud over-priced at $235 given its safe and largely simplistic nature? I think it’s going to come down to personal tastes. I would have said it was ridiculously priced the first time I smelled it when I detected nothing but lavender-vanilla for the first two hours. Yet, the perfume as a whole is beautiful, feels extremely luxurious, and is something that I feel like reaching for continuously when stressed. So, for me, the price is worth it, but I realise that it is a very subjective, personal calculation which will be different for each person. I would not be remotely surprised if a number of you found Amber Oud to be lovely, but far too simple or basic for $235. (As a side note, I realise that there is a much cheaper option at $78 for 30 ml, but that feels a little high for such a tiny size. Plus, this is a scent that I personally would want to use frequently and to spray with abandon; 30 ml wouldn’t cut it for that purpose.)

Kilian Amber Oud in the refill bottle. Source: Harvey Nichols.

Amber Oud is frequently compared to Kilian‘s Amber Oud, perhaps because the latter also contains virtually no oud. Personally, I don’t think the two perfumes are comparable except in terms of their overall feel. The Kilian fragrance doesn’t have any lavender or patchouli, and I didn’t detect any labdanum, merely a generalized “amber.” The price structure is different as well. Kilian’s Amber costs $185 for a 50 ml refill bottle, so it is much more expensive on a price-per-ml basis. (I’m not even getting into the full $385 cost for the proper, black, 50 ml bottle.)

On Fragrantica, a number of people find the Nicolaï Amber Oud to be much better than the Kilian fragrance, while a few strongly disagree. Personally, I’m not a fan of the very wispy Kilian version, so I’m with the first group. Below are a range of opinions on the Nicolaï scent:

Its a very nice Amber+Oud combination. In comparison with Amber Oud by KILIAN, I have to say that Ms. Nicolai perfume is much better (as smell, longevity, projection & price). I think I made a mistake by buying the small bottle. 2 thumbs up

Similar to Amber Oud by KILIAN, But to me Nicolai is much better. Great scent, happy to have in my collection

I’m a little bit disappointed. You can’t detect the oud, and the amber note is not prominent in the opening nor in the dry down. Also the longevity is a bit poor on my skin. [¶] To me, you can’t even compare this with the Amber Oud of By Kilian! The Kilian version is supreme!! But then, everyone has his own taste. Beside all that, the fragrance has a pleasent smell!

Nice surprise!!! I was expecting the ordinary but… Wow! Yes yes, it is Much more AMBER LAVENDER than AMBER OUD! But still so lovely! [¶] Smells soft and wonderful on skin… On me lasts 6-8 hours! Good projection too! [¶] Just one advice: if you’re looking for “the most prominent and strongest” Oud (that I particularly dislike)… Go look another place!

This smells incredible. [¶] Very good quality scent and very well blended. [¶] If you like sweet-oriental frags. or amber fragances, you must try this.
Longevity and sillage are both moderate-low.
scent: 9/10
longevity: 6/10
sillage: 5/10
P.D.: The bad thing is the price…..

photo: 123rf.com

On Luckyscent, there are only two reviews, one of which is from a woman who thought the perfume’s herbaceousness rendered Amber Oud more masculine than unisex in nature:

This is not a unisex scent. I bought a sample of this to compare to By Kilian’s Amber Oud, which I really like. As soon as I first put it on, it immediately smelled like a strong men’s cologne. It brings to mind an upscale version of Old Spice, but also with some green notes to it, probably from the sage and thyme. I wouldn’t mind smelling this on a man, though. I passed the sample on to my husband.

The Perfume Shrine talks about both the issue of masculinity and the oud, though they categorize the last situation differently than I do:

Amber Oud by de Nicolai however is oud prowling in kitten’s paws, so delicate and purring you might be mistaken for thinking there is some problem with the labeling. Because Amber Oud is mostly a glorious aromatic amber fragrance with copious helpings of premium grade lavender fanned on resinous, plush notes of velvet. […][¶]

In Patricia de Nicolai’s Amber Oud the blast of lavender at the beginning is the dominant force which takes you by surprise and which might make women think this is more men’s gear than girly girl stuff. But they need not fear. Gents and ladies alike will appreciate the seamless procession into a balsamic smelling nucleus. […] Seekers of oud (lured by the name) might feel cheated and there is no eye-catching innovativeness in the formula itself, but de Nicolai is continuing on a path of wearable, presentable, smooth perfumes that have earned her brand a steady following.

Source: wallpaperweb.org

The Non-Blonde has a similar assessment:

The first thing to notice about Nicolai’s Amber Oud and Rose Oud is that they don’t smell very oudy. […][¶]

Amber Oud doesn’t smell particularly ambery, especially compared to the Oriental fantasy of Kilian’s perfume with the same name. It’s actually a very herbal-aromatic concoction, like a darkened and deepened fougere that still maintains the bones of a great and classic men’s cologne. It took me a couple of testings to really find the oud in this perfume, but it’s there, hiding right behind the spicy front put by saffron and cinnamon. It’s instantly likable, decidedly fresh, and very refined. Amber Oud probably suits and appeals to me more than it does for women. I just wish it wasn’t so safe.

I agree, Amber Oud is very safe, but I didn’t find it to be half as herbal-aromatic as she did. On my skin, that phase was only a small portion of the scent, and always festooned by copious vanilla and tonka to create lavender ice-cream more than a fresh aromatic scent. Plus, the main heart of the Amber Oud was patchouli, followed by a resinous labdanum finish at the end. As for the hiding wood note, I found that it was always cedar, not oud.

Clearly, skin chemistry is going to make a difference in terms of what you experience, and how unisex it may be. Similarly, personal valuation will determine if the end result is too simplistic for the price, or cozy comfort that is well worth it. All I can say is that lovers of lavender, amber, and patchouli, as well as Kilian’s Amber Oud, should really try the Nicolaï version. I absolutely love its serene, soothing warmth and luxurious comfort.

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: Amber Oud is an eau de parfum that comes in two sizes. There is a tiny 30 ml/1 oz bottle that costs $78 or €58, and there is a large 100 ml/3.3 oz bottle that costs $235 or €174. In the U.S.: Luckyscent sells both sizes of the perfume, and also offers samples. Beautyhabit only carries the small 30 ml size. Same story with Parfum1, but they sell samples for $4. OsswaldNY has some of the Parfums de Nicolai line, but not the two new Oud fragrances. Outside the U.S.: For Canadian readers, the US-based Perfume Shoppe carries the Parfums de Nicolaï line, but I don’t see Amber Oud on their website. In the U.K., Parfums de Nicolaï has a shop in London on Fulham Road. You can check the Store Link below for the exact address. For all European readers, you can order directly from Parfums de Nicolaï which sells Amber Oud for €58 and €178, depending on size. In France, the company has numerous boutiques, especially in Paris. First in Fragrance sells the large 100 ml bottle for €159.66. In the Netherlands, ParfuMaria carries both sizes of Amber Oud, as does Annindriya’s Perfume Lounge. In Spain, the PdN line is sold at Ruiz de Ocenda, but I don’t see the new Ouds listed. In Hungary, I found both sizes of Amber Oud at Neroli. For other locations in France and the address of the London store, you can turn to the Nicolai Store Listing. It doesn’t show any vendors outside France or the UK. I found no stores carrying the line in Asia, the Middle East, or Australia. Samples: Samples of Amber Oud are available from Luckyscent or Parfum1. Surrender to Chance does not carry it at this time.