Arabian Oud Ghroob, Woody & Misty Wood

The Saudi-based perfume house of Arabian Oud is one of the most prolific brands in the region, but few of their fragrances are talked about in the West other than the lovely amber oriental, Kalemat. Today, I thought I’d take a look at three of their other creations: the floriental oud perfume oil, Ghroob (sometimes spelled as “Ghoroob“); the dry, spiced, rose-saffron-oud scent called Woody; and the warm, spiced, heavily ambered oud fragrance, Misty Wood.

GHROOB:

Source: Amazon.

Source: Amazon.

Ghroob caught my attention when I was in Paris last year and had the opportunity to visit the Arabian Oud store. The main reason was that I had never before (or since) encountered such a powerful, potent and highly concentrated blast of orange blossom. I have a weakness for the flower, which assailed me right from the start, but Ghroob’s prettiness really lies in its subsequent stages.

Ghroob is not a perfume that you spray but, rather, is a concentrated perfume oil that you dab. Fragrantica  says that its perfume pyramid is as follows:

Top notes are agarwood (oud), saffron, cinnamon, orange blossom, thyme and marjoram;
middle notes are bulgarian rose, jasmine, gardenia, palmarosa and geranium;
base notes are sandalwood, white amber, musk and vanilla.

Source: Amazon

Source: Amazon

However, according to the very kind gentleman at Arabian Oud London, Ahmed Chowdhury, who sent me my sample, Ghroob’s notes are quite different:

Top notes: Oud, Saffron, Cinnamon, Orange blossom
Heart notes: Jasmine, Gardenia, Bulgarian rose
Base notes: Sandalwood, White amber, Cambodian Oud, Musk.

Ghroob opens on my skin with very sweet, syrupy orange blossom that is infused with a black, indolic dirtiness on top and a touch of leatheriness underneath. It feels a little bit smoky, and, for a few minutes, almost verges on the camphorous in the way that very indolic flowers can sometimes be. At the same time, however, there is also a certain piquant greenness underlying Ghroob that feels almost as if the perfume contained a good dose of neroli as well. Neroli is merely another form of orange blossoms, resulting from a different method of distillation, so the overlap is not surprising.

Photo: onewomanshands.blogspot.com

Photo: onewomanshands.blogspot.com

There are other elements woven in as well. The undercurrent of greenness is supplemented by flecks of creamy gardenia that somehow manages to be clean, fresh, indolic, lush, and narcotic, all at the same time. Initially, the note is just a tiny hint in the background, one that is often lost in the sea of extremely intense, highly sweetened orange blossoms, but, as you will see, it becomes much more significant later. The green gardenia is accompanied by the lightest touch of sweet jasmine. The whole thing is lightly dusted with saffron, along with clean musk.

"Fractal Orange Blossoms" by wolfepaw on Deviantart.com. (Website link embedded within photo.)

“Fractal Orange Blossoms”
by wolfepaw on Deviantart.com. (Website link embedded within photo.)

It’s a very intense bouquet at first, one that may easily seem screeching if you’re not a fan of Middle Eastern attars or concentrated orange blossoms. The latter are flowers in full bloom, almost verging on over-ripe at times, with an intense, heady voluptuousness. Their initial sweetness could have been toned down for my personal tastes, but I really like how brightness and almost smoky blackness are somehow juxtaposed at the same time. The undercurrent of greenness also helps to keep the orange blossoms wavering just before the border of excessive syrup, without actually falling over it.

Ghroob’s concentrated richness initially feels quite heavy, but the perfume is actually airier and lighter in weight than what you’d expect, at least once the first hour passes. As with many attars, Ghroob doesn’t have monumental projection, no matter how much of an orange blossom, floriental bomb it might be. Initially, 2 small smears create a cloud that hovers about 3 inches above my skin, but the number starts to drop with every passing half-hour.

Poster by Asia Jensen at Barewalls.com.

Poster by Asia Jensen at Barewalls.com.

Ghroob slowly shifts. After 30 minutes, the bitter, neroli-like green note increases, cutting even further through the sweetness, and amplifying both the brightness and the freshness of the orange blossoms. Ghroob is not a photo-realistic orange blossom scent because of the other floral notes, the saffron, and the sweetness, but I find it quite lovely.

What is interesting is the slow movement away from an indolic scent towards one that is greener, fresher, cleaner, and more balanced. At the end of the first hour, the oud rises from the base but it, too, feels quite clean. It smells primarily of a slightly singed, general woodiness, and doesn’t have any of the medicinal, earthy, musky tonalities that agarwood can sometimes manifest.

By the 90-minute mark, soft, slightly creamy warmth begins to coat the orange blossoms, as amber rises from the base. The indolic overtones are now gone, replaced by a surprising greenness, almost like the sap from freshly crushed leaf stems, and an increasingly prominent green gardenia note. Ghroob is now a softer, very fresh blend of orange blossom and gardenia, infused with greenness, woodiness, and a subtle cleanness, all lightly wrapped in a sheer cocoon of abstract amber. It hovers just above the skin, and the sillage stays there for almost 8 more hours to come.

The gardenia and greenness eventually fade away, and the start of the 4th hour heralds a Ghroob that is primarily clean orange blossom with ambered oud and a touch of clean musk. There is a certain synthetic sharpness running through the scent, which doesn’t make me happy but it’s subtle enough that I don’t think a lot of people will notice. Slowly, slowly, other elements appear as well. There is a tiny touch of vanilla that stirs in the base, while a subtle spiciness hovers like a ghost at the edges, almost out of sight. It is suggestive of sweetened cinnamon with a tiny pinch of dry saffron.

Photo: My own.

Photo: My own.

Ghroob remains largely unchanged throughout its drydown. It’s a blur of sweet, slightly golden, soft orange blossoms and clean, dry oud, with amber, abstract spices, oud, creaminess and an undercurrent of cleanness. In its final moments, almost 15.5 hours from the start, Ghroob is a faint trace of vaguely clean sweetness.

There aren’t really proper blog reviews out there for Ghroob that I could share with you for comparative purposes. However, there are a number of positive comments left about the scent in my prior review of Arabian Oud’s lovely amber scent, Kalemat. The one person who didn’t like it was a chap who hated gardenia, and that seemed to be the dominant flower on his skin, not the orange blossoms.

On Fragrantica, Ghroob has received 4 reviews, and all 4 are positive raves that call it “beautiful,” “gorgeous,” and “wonderful.” Many note that it is not a heavy fragrance at all, though I do not think you should mistake their comments to mean that the scent is light and mild. It is most certainly not. On Amazon — the main place where Ghroob is available in the U.S. and where it retails for $69 — the perfume has five 5-star reviews, all highly positive. Some of the comments:

  • The most beautiful Oud Oil.. I adore it !  [¶] It’s not heavy or enormous Oud at all, it’s more on the side of (soft spice oriental Oud), the orange blossoms here are so pretty and makes the scent younger & more wearable for all ages, developed with the elegant saffron note.
  • Deep and complex aroma and very beautiful. Definitely, very beautiful … mysterious. Just one drop lasts the whole day.
  • Complex and deep, but not overpowering. Little bit strange at the beginning, you just need to wait for a half hour for the beauty to appear. After that soft silage and cloud of delicious smell for all day long.
  • I purchased this based on one review I read and it exceeded all my expectations. It’s warm, spicy, delicate, breezy and exotic all at the same time. Just a breath of oud and a luscious blend of florals I didn’t even think I’d like. It’s the warmth of it that’s so intoxicating. A little goes a long way. I’ve been wearing this alone and mixed with mukhallats and even western perfume and its always perfection. I work with a pregnant chick who has had terrible bouts of morning sickness and can’t stomach even the scent of soap. She’s been following me around for days telling me how it’s the best stuff she ever smelled and the only thing tht doesn’t make her diZzy. As for longevity, my skin drinks up fragrance but this stuff lingers! My days are 8am til 10pm most days and I still smell it when I come home. People at work commented at how they know I’ve been on the elevator or in a certain hallway. All in a good way bc even though this stuff lasts, it’s not heady or cloying, just regal. I love it and can’t wait for my next bottle! Way to go arabian oud. I have killian oud, Tom ford galore and various others but this is the one I keep turning to. It’s only 25 ml but a little goes a long way and for this price, its a steal. [Emphasis to other names added by me.]

If you love intense orange blossoms and floral orientals, then Ghroob is definitely one for you to try.

WOODY:

Source: Amazon.

Source: Amazon.

Woody is a very traditional Middle Eastern fragrance that is initially centered on the conventional saffron-rose-oud combination before eventually turning into a dry, lightly sweetened, woody fragrance with some ambered warmth.

According to Arabian Oud on its Amazon website, Woody’s notes are simple:

Aged oud, rose, patchouli, dry amber and musk.

Woody opens on my skin with saffron, rose, and oud, infused heavily with very jammy, fruited patchouli. The heavy saffron touch smells fiery, dusty, buttery, and nutty, all at once. By its side is the velvety, rich, blood-red, fruit-chouli rose. Trailing behind, and not quite as dominant, is the oud which smells clean, slightly peppery, and musky. If you want my honest opinion, it smells rather synthetic. On occasion, it also has an odd undertone that smells a little bit sour and stale, thought it is a very minor, mute, and subtle aspect amidst the musky, earthy, and dry tonalities. In fact, the oud often appears in this opening stage as a mere suggestion amidst the velvety syrup, thick roses, and spices.

fresh_red_rose- wallpaper

As a whole, Woody opens as a very spicy, sweet but dry, slightly dusty, somewhat peppered fragrance dominated primarily by a very velvety, syrupy fruitchouli-rose with saffron, then by the oud in second place. I realise that it seems rather like a contradiction to present something as simultaneously very dry but also very syrupy and sweet, but that’s how Woody opens on my skin. The thick saffron-patchouli-rose trio is not only bifurcated by that synthetic oud but, also, by a strong streak of general woody dryness running through the fragrance. Neither one changes Woody’s main focus on the spiced, jammy roses, but the elements are definitely there in the background.

Saffron threads. Photo: Tim Whittaker. Source: gourmet-delights.com

Saffron threads. Photo: Tim Whittaker. Source: gourmet-delights.com

There are other notes lurking about as well. It feels as though a strong heaping of cardamom has also been sprinkled on top of everything. In the base, there is a softly ambered warmth. The latter is never profound enough to turn Woody into a truly ambered scent, though it does try its best a little later on in the perfume’s development. As a whole, Woody is strong in scent but light in weight, and has soft sillage. Three small smears amounting to one good spray yielded a soft, airy cloud that hovered only 2 inches above my skin. That figure dropped even further by the end of the first hour, leaving quite a discreet fragrance.

Slowly, the woody elements grow much stronger and eventually take over the scent. At the end of the 3rd hour, the oud becomes very prominent, while the saffron is now more muted, and the spiciness turns rather amorphous. The jammy, patchouli rose retreats to the sidelines. Woody is primarily a spicy, woody, oud fragrance with abstract spiciness and only a suggestion of rose. It has a subtle streak of smokiness running through the wood on top, and a balsamic, leathery feel to the base below.

Woody continues to turn more abstract. At the start of the 6th hour, it is a dry, slightly smoky, slightly sweet oud fragrance upon a warm, vaguely ambered base. The spices feel generalized and abstract, though hints of the saffron appear on occasion. There is now only a lingering trace of the rose. In contrast, though, Woody’s aromachemical sharpness remains, most noticeably evident in the dryness of the oud.

Photo: my own.

Photo: my own.

Woody stays largely unchanged for the next few hours. In its final moments, the perfume is a nebulous blur of dry woodiness with a vague suggestion of something sweet and golden mixed in. All in all, Woody lasted just over 10.75 hours on my perfume-consuming skin with 3 small smears.

I’m afraid Woody did nothing for me, but that is primarily for reasons of personal taste. As regular readers know, I’m really not one for rose scents, let alone jammy roses supplemented by fruit-chouli. I’m also really quite tired of the patchouli-rose-saffron-oud combination. So, for those reasons, plus the synthetics, Woody isn’t my personal cup of tea.

However, I know it is one of Arabian Oud’s most popular creations, and the combination it celebrates is a very traditional one — both in the Middle East and in modern Western niche perfumery. Woody is not a bad scent at all, though it obviously cannot replicate the quality level or smoothness of something like Roja Dove‘s Amber Aoud. Then again, it is hundreds of dollars cheaper at roughly $109 for a 100 ml bottle.

Just to be clear, please don’t think I’m saying that the two perfumes are identical. They aren’t, neither in quality nor in terms of their overall progression and their essence. Despite the jammy roses and saffron in its opening, Woody’s main core is centered on dry, sweet woodiness with oud. But I have to say, I did think of the Roja Dove scent on occasion — both when I tested Woody now, and back when I tested both fragrances in Paris last year. Even then, I thought of Amber Oud when sniffing Woody, though the main reason is that they both celebrate a very common theme (saffron-rose-patchouli-oud) with heavy richness.

Source: wallpaper-source.com

Source: wallpaper-source.com

Woody has received generally positive comments on Fragrantica. People don’t consider it to be a masterpiece, but, then, it’s much too traditional and simple to be that. Instead, the majority of the reviews consider it to be a solid, lovely rose-oud-woody fragrance that is approachable, easy, and unisex. Some comment on the clean nature of the oud; others note that the sillage is soft while the longevity is good. It’s the same story on Woody’s Amazon page where the perfume has four 5-star reviews, and two 4-star ones.

A few of the Fragrantica assessments:

  • I’m in love with this oriental luxurious perfume.
  • An evocation of exuberance.The seductive interplay of two powerful ingredients,one from opulence,the precious oud,and one from beauty,the may rose note releases its majestic seduction.it scent envelop the skin in distinctive notes.WOODY manages to evoke the orient without having too many notes.simply wonderful, beautiful notes,perfectly charismatic,very oriental and classy.
  • I am a little disappointed. Woody is a nice woody scent (what a surprise 😀 ) but not FB worthy. It is quite expensive, but the sillage and longevity are maximum average, if not below average.
  • This is powerful fragrance worthy of Tom ford line.
    Oud and amber are heavy
    Musk in the middle
    Excellent sill age
    Longevity is better on clothes, but still great on skin
    Would give other oud based fragrance makers a run for their money. [Emphasis to brand name added by me.]

Woody costs roughly $109 for a large 100 ml bottle, so its price is quite moderate, in my opinion, and definitely low by the skewed standards of niche perfumery. So, if you’re interested in a Middle Eastern woody fragrance with clean oud and rich roses, then this may be one for you to consider.

MISTY WOOD:

Source: Amazon.

Source: Amazon.

Misty Wood is a much more ambered, warm, golden take on the woody oud genre. According to Arabian Oud London, its perfume pyramid is a very simple one:

Top: oud, amber;
Heart: Musk;
Base: Saffron.

Misty Wood opens on my skin with rich, intense, deep, smooth, red-gold saffron, trailed by oud and amber. There is a definite rose note, even if it is not included in Arabian Oud’s list. In fact, I smell such a distinct rose note that I have to wonder if that list is really complete. On my skin, the flower is initially more like a pale, pink rose than the more traditional, jammy, red version. Eventually, 20 minutes later, it slowly segues into the latter with its velvety richness, but, even then, the rose is never as profound a presence in Misty Wood as it is in Woody. As for the oud, it smells clean, and a little bit synthetic, though again much less so than in Woody.

Painting by EbiEmporium on Redbubble.

Painting by EbiEmporium on Redbubble.

Another difference is that Misty Woody is substantially less dry than Woody. There is only a subtle, small streak of lightly peppered dryness here, but it feels almost as if cedar has been used. The real key here is the saffron and amber. One of those notes conveys an earthy muskiness that has almost a meatiness underlying it at times. Lest that comment alarm you, don’t worry, it’s subtle, and feels more like a great depth and chewiness, if that makes any sense. I can’t figure out if the earthy muskiness stems from the amber, or if the saffron is the cause. I suspect the amber is actually ambergris (whether real or otherwise), but, whatever the source, it adds a profound richness and warmth to the overall scent.

What I’m less enthused about is the streak of clean, white musk that underlies Misty Wood. It’s not something that I like in any fragrance, and I can be quite sensitive to the note in high doses. Here, Misty Wood just hovers on the border of headache territory for me, but thankfully never quite tips over. That said, I still am not very keen on the soapy nuance underlying the musk’s cleanness. (Yes, white musk is one of the banes of my perfume existence. I wish the bloody thing would be banned or DIE!)

Source: footage.shutterstock.com

Source: footage.shutterstock.com

As a whole, Misty Wood’s opening bouquet is a mix of very rich saffron, wood dryness, earthy muskiness, sweetened roses, and clean musk, all wrapped up in a very ambered, warm base.

Slowly, the perfume changes. Roughly 75 minutes into Misty Wood’s evolution, the mysterious rose note weakens, while the amber and earthy muskiness grow in strength. By the end of the 2nd hour, Misty Wood is a spiced amber oud fragrance with sweet, earthy, musky undertones and a whisper of clean musk. The spiciness begins to turn much more abstract now, though lingering traces of actual saffron remain. At the same time, the rose note vanishes completely.

The middle of the 4th hour brings more changes. Suddenly, there is a beautiful wood note that is incredibly creamy and rich. Thanks to the other, accompanying elements, it is spiced, sweet, musky, and a little bit smoky — almost as if it were red-gold Mysore sandalwood. The spiciness no longer smells like saffron, but something that is fully amorphous and generalized. The best part, though is the delicious warmth and ambered goldenness that now dominates the scent. It conjures up images of salty caramel drizzled over creamy, spiced, musky oud wood.

Source: footage.shutterstock.com

Source: footage.shutterstock.com

Misty Wood remains that way for a few more hours, changing only in its small nuances. On occasion, the oud smells harsher, drier, and more synthetic to my nose, but it is quite subtle. Plus, I’m much more sensitive to synthetics than other people. For the most part, Misty Wood continues to be a spicy, ambered, musky, woody fragrance with an occasional touch of cleanness. In its final moments, the perfume is a mere trace of ambered sweetness with a slightly clean vibe.

All in all, Misty Wood lasted just over 13.75 hours with 3 decent smears, amounting to one big perfume spray. The sillage was initially good, and the perfume wafted about 3 inches above the skin in an airy, but rich, cloud. It took a while for the numbers to drop. About 3.5 hours into its development, Misty Wood hovered half an inch above the skin and remained there until the end of the 7th hour. The perfume felt very sheer and gauzy at that point, but it was still easy to detect if you brought your arm to your nose. As a whole, the perfume has excellent longevity but generally soft sillage. You could definitely wear Misty Wood to most workplaces if you applied only a small quantity.

I couldn’t find any reviews for Misty Wood. There is one comment on the perfume’s Fragrantica listing, but it is a mere question which asks what the perfume smells like. There are no reviews on Misty Wood’s Amazon page, either.

ALL IN ALL:

Orange Blossom. Photo: GardenPictures via Zuoda.net

Orange Blossom. Photo: GardenPictures via Zuoda.net

As a whole, I like Ghroob and Misty Wood. I’m very underwhelmed by Woody, but that is undoubtedly the result of my general issues with roses and jammy, purple patchouli. Misty Wood was quite a surprise to me, as I didn’t expect to enjoy it quite as much as I did. The amber note is truly the best part of the fragrance. I’ve always liked Ghroob, but I definitely think it gets better after the opening 30-minutes or first hour with its very saturated, rather sweet bouquet. Again, I cannot stress enough how intense and concentrated those orange blossoms are initially. One friend of mine who really loves Ghroob called the flowers “screechy” in the first 10 minutes, before they turned “beautiful” and “soft,” so I would advise you to give the scent time to develop.

All three scents are available in America via Arabian Oud’s Amazon site, as you will see in the Details section below. Ghroob is the only one which is an actual perfume oil that you dab on, while the rest are all atomized eau de parfum sprays. Ghroob costs roughly $69 for a 25 ml bottle, but a little goes a long way given its very concentrated nature. The other two scents are 100 ml and retail for $109 and $119, respectively. Shipping is extra, but a lesser combined rate is available if you purchase two products from Arabian Oud.

Arabian Oud, Paris. Photo: my own.

One small section of Arabian Oud’s Paris boutique. Photo: my own.

For those of you outside the U.S., it’s not quite as easy to obtain the fragrances. If you live in London, Paris, or parts of the Middle East (especially Dubai and Saudi Arabia), there is the option of one of the Arabian Oud boutiques. The company has a U.K. website, though I doubt they ship outside the country. I’m afraid I have no idea about the shipping policies of Arabian Oud’s main, Saudi website. The reputable Kuwaiti retailer, Universal Fragrances, carries a number of Arabian Oud fragrances and ships worldwide for a low price. Unfortunately, they only carry Woody out of the three scents in this review. I’m afraid your best bet will be eBay, as there are quite a few sellers who offer both Arabian Oud products and international shipping, though I haven’t found any who sell Misty Wood at the time of this review.

All in all, if you’re looking to explore Middle Eastern perfumery, you may want to consider some offerings from Arabian Oud. They are solid, traditional fragrances with very clean oud notes, generally good longevity, and great richness for a moderate price.

Disclosure: My samples of Ghroob and Misty Wood were kindly provided by Arabian Oud in London. That did not influence this review. I do not do paid reviews, and my opinions are my own. My sample of Woody was provided as a gift by a reader and friend.

DETAILS:
Cost & Availability:  Ghroob is a concentrated perfume oil or attar that is available in a 25 ml dab bottle on Amazon (U.S.) for $69.99. Woody is a sprayable eau de parfum that comes in a 100 ml size and is sold on Amazon for $109.99. Misty Wood is sold on Amazon for $119.99 for a 100 ml spray bottle of eau de parfum. Shipping costs for each one is $16.48, but I know from personal experience that Arabian Oud combines shipment if two items are purchased, with a lesser price for shipping the second item. Another option is to buy Arabian Oud fragrances from Zahras. They have an extensive catalog of the brand’s fragrances, and I believe they also sell samples if you contact them. However, if you’re looking through Zahras’ catalog, please be warned that a good number of their perfume notes and descriptions seem to be incorrect. They frequently don’t match what Arabian Oud lists themselves for the notes. Outside of Zahras, you can turn to some international eBay sellers, especially for smaller sizes of Ghroob. Outside the U.S.: In the U.K., the UK Arabian Oud site has both Ghroob, and Woody currently on sale for £35 each, down from £70. There is no individual page for each, so you’ll have to do a word search by name. (If you go to the website, you may want to immediately mute the volume as the site plays annoyingly repetitive music incredibly loudly.) If you’re located outside of the United States and the U.K., you can also find Arabian Oud on eBay. All the Ghroob entries on eBay are shown here, and run roughly around $99, which is higher than that on Amazon. Under the name Ghoroob, I found a few entries in small decant sizes, including 3 ml for around $30. WOODY: For Woody, I found the perfume sold for $85 from a UAE vendor who ships internationally. One vendor in Saudi Arabia listed as Zahras is currently selling Woody for $99, and also ships worldwide. Another vendor in Kuwait has an eBay store is called Jawimall and carries a few Arabian Oud fragrances, so you are reading this review months from now, you can check to see if he has either Ghroob or Woody in stock. In the Middle East, there is also the original, non-UK Arabian Oud website which sells Ghroob for (Saudi Riyal) 320 SAR which seems to come to a little over $85 at the current currency conversion rates. Woody costs 250 SAR. I believe they ship internationally. Elsewhere, Kuwait’s Universal Perfumes sells a large number of Arabian Oud products, and they ship globally for a very low rate, but they only carry Woody out of the three fragrances in this review. It costs $89.99. MISTY WOOD: Outside the U.S., the perfume is available on the Arabian Oud London website where it is on sale for £60, down from £120. There is no direct link to the perfume’s specific page, so you’ll have to do a manual search as usual. The perfume is also available on the company’s original Saudi website, and an affiliated Saudi site. In the UAE, the perfume is sold at a number of Arabian Oud stores, but also at Souq.com. I couldn’t find any other vendors, I’m afraid, and none on eBay at this time. Samples: The Perfumed Court has a listing for Mukhalat Ghoroob perfume oil, but the notes given are extremely different. Either way, the price starts at $8 for a 1/2 ml vial. Woody is also available, starting at $7.99 for a 1 ml vial. The site does not carry Misty Wood.

By Kilian Imperial Tea

A celebration of tea lies at the heart of Kilian Hennessy’s latest fragrance, Imperial Tea. To be specific, jasmine tea, right down to its delicate greenness and its “moment of purity.”

Source: Fragrantica

Source: Fragrantica

Imperial Tea is an eau de parfum created by Calice Becker, which the Kilian website describes quite simply:

A Moment of Purity

IMPERIAL TEA is the most accurate possible reproduction of the note that you can inhale from a freshly brewed cup of tea. The unique scent of Jasmin tea is so well-known that it is difficult to distinguish between the green tea notes and the delicate Jasmin bud notes. Kilian wanted to fully translate the exquisite and delicate sensation of refreshment that one experiences with this timeless beverage.

As with Sacred Wood, its new sibling in the Asian Tales collection, there is a story behind the scent. Luckyscent offers the details:

Calice Becker, who authored most of the By Kilian line-up, is a self-confessed tea fanatic. Unconvinced by tea notes in fine fragrance, she set out to compose her own. The result is an Oh-my-God-this-is-it!, jaw-droppingly realistic rendition of the steam rising from a fresh cup of the finest jasmine tea. Kilian Hennessy found it so perfect for his Asian Tales collection that he included the blend as is, an unusual step since he is usually the one who provides perfumers with a storyline.

[Notes:] Jasmine sambac, bergamot, guaiac, maté, violet note.

Source: forwallpaper.com

Source: forwallpaper.com

Imperial Tea opens on my skin as a potent jasmine bomb infused with green tea, Lapsang Souchong black tea, and a strong dash of very crisp, fresh bergamot. It smells as though a ton of jasmine sambac was poured into two kinds of tea and then brewed. The black tea is the nicest part, but it’s far from being a dominant element on my skin. Not even a secondary one, in fact. A few seconds later, a very clean, white musk appears which is quite strong and sharp. It adds a certain crispness to the jasmine, along with a very definite cleanness. Unfortunately, it’s also strong enough to give me a headache whenever I smell Imperial Tea up close for too long. A tiny note of violet temporarily lurks in the background, fully bulldozed over by the jasmine.

Jasmine tea balls in bloom. Source: aliexpress.com

Jasmine tea balls in bloom. Source: aliexpress.com

Imperial Tea is very intense in its opening moments but also extremely airy, thin in feel, and gauzy. 2 small spritzes from my decant gave me 3 inches in projection, though the numbers began to drop after 30 minutes and the perfume lay just an inch above my skin by the end of the first hour.

It takes roughly the same amount of time (90 minutes) for Imperial Tea to devolve. The bergamot retreats to the edges, the jasmine loses its distinct shape and form, and Imperial Tea turns into a nebulous blur of clean, sweet jasmine with tea tonalities and sharp white musk. It’s totally characterless, bland, and indeterminate, except for the white musk which has the most oomph out of the whole thing. The whole thing is very well-blended, but also so hazy on my skin that it’s hard to pick out even the most dominant elements. Sometimes, the jasmine seems in command, occasionally it is the tea. The latter now smells primarily of green leaves, thanks to the maté, and has lost a good portion of its Lapsang Souchong black tonalities.

Source: bioloskiblog.wordpress.com

Source: bioloskiblog.wordpress.com

At end of the second hour, Imperial Tea is nothing more than simple jasmine tea on my skin with clean musk. The jasmine’s potency and sweetness have vanished, and that, in turn, makes Imperial Tea feel positively translucent in its lightness. The white musk continues to be a nuisance, but the bergamot has completely vanished. The black tea sits weakly on the sidelines, largely gagged and muted in the face of the general jasmine greenness. And that’s really about it in terms of substantial development for the next few hours. The perfume turns into a skin scent 2.25 hours into its evolution. An hour later, Imperial Tea becomes increasingly hard to detect.

Source: polychemcoatings.com

Source: polychemcoatings.com

By the middle of the 5th hour, the jasmine starts to fade away, as does the white musk, and I’m left with green tea. The maté doesn’t even have its usual herbal aromas or strong character. All that’s left is green tea infused with some vague, amorphous floralacy and an occasional touch of dryness. I suppose the latter stems indirectly from the guaiac wood, but no real woodiness ever shows up on my skin. We’ve gone from a clean jasmine bomb with varied tea notes, sharp musk, and bergamot; to hazy jasmine with green tea and musk, to simple green tea blandness. That is the sum total of Imperial Tea’s excitement on my skin. To my relief, the perfume packs up its bags entirely after 7 hours, and vanishes.

Imperial Tea is a simple, relatively pleasant, wearable fragrance. And I would certainly reach for it gratefully if I were ever on a deserted island with only salt water as an alternative. That’s about all I have to say about the perfume which inspires no emotion in me at all. Not even disdain. Imperial Tea has so little personality after the jasmine bomb of its opening moments that, to all effects and purposes, it felt invisible to me. I can’t even summon up the energy or interest to dislike it. It was simply… there.

Source: made-in-china.com

Source: made-in-china.com

At best, I’ll say that the jasmine intensity of the opening hour was pleasant, and the muted black tea was very nice. That’s about as complimentary as I can be, especially as the white musk feels wholly unnecessary. I had quite a bit of tea in China — including some lovely jasmine ones where flower balls bloomed in hot water — but not a single one was ever accompanied with sharp, white, clean musk. So, I can’t agree with Mr. Hennessy’s claim that Imperial Tea is “the most accurate possible reproduction of the note that you can inhale from a freshly brewed cup of tea.” Not unless the Chinese have suddenly started injecting their brews with clean synthetics.

Jasmine Tea. Source: tea-terra.ru

Jasmine Tea. Source: tea-terra.ru

I’m not a tea drinker, so perhaps my complete boredom stems from that fact. Maybe one has to adore both tea and jasmine tea, in specific, to get the appeal. Robin at Now Smell This certainly loves it, seems to be a bit of an expert on the subject, and drinks the beverage every day. She generally liked Kilian’s Imperial Tea, though she found it too clean when taken as a whole. For her, the perfume’s opening was “close to perfection,” ruined only by the eventual dominance of the white musk which almost verged on dryer fabric sheets. Her review reads, in part, as follows:

The Imperial Tea fragrance …[is] darned close to perfection. Bright and intensely fresh at first, it settles into a beautiful blend of green tea and jasmine. The jasmine is close to that in Kilian’s Love and Tears, rendered here just a tad cleaner, so that it has a satisfying depth but is neither rich nor indolic, and again as in Love and Tears, it’s clearly blended with other floral notes. The tea note verges on photorealistic — it’s not quite as tangy or aromatic2 as real jasmine tea leaves, but it’s reasonably close to what was promised, especially in the early stages: “the note that you inhale from a freshly brewed cup of tea”.3 The base is a clean, clean, clean blend of pale white musk + light wood notes. Imperial Tea feels summery, and slightly less feminine than Love and Tears.

Verdict: Imperial Tea is tantalizingly close, but in the end, no cigar. To my (admittedly finicky) nose, it is too synthetically fresh in the top notes (the opening blast is uncomfortably close to an air freshening product) and too clean in the dry down (not quite dryer sheet, but close). It’s pretty and I enjoyed wearing it, but the more I wore it, the more the clean ‘n fresh aura at both ends of the scent’s development bothered me, especially in the far dry down, when the jasmine and tea begin to fade. If they’d toned down the clean a notch, though, it would be a must buy, and it’s a shame Kilian never does flankers — I’d buy the unclean version of Imperial Tea in a heartbeat.

For another tea drinker, Neil of The Black Narcissus, Imperial Tea was a stunning, spectacular, and very sensual creation. In fact, his review is entitled “Sex Bomb in China.” He found the boldness of the opening to be positively “carnal” and the jasmine to be “hypnotically sexual.” He thought it was “paired beautifully with an equally no-nonsense fresh tea leaf accord, well tempered, the tea calming down those fierce jasmine blooms, the jasmine bolstering the tea[.]”

Jasmine Sambac. Source: flowallp.com

Jasmine Sambac. Source: flowallp.com

For similar reasons, The Smelly Vagabond took one sniff of Imperial Tea and practically “swooned,” right there and then on the floor of Harvey Nichols. He did so despite disliking prior scents from the Asian Tales Collection, and having some issues as an Asian when faced with “reductionistic views” of the region by Westerners making “Asian-inspired perfumes.” Yet, for all that, Imperial Tea blew him away:

Source: womanfaq.ru

Source: womanfaq.ru

The moment I sprayed it on, I was greeted with a bitter, smoky oolong tea infused with sweet, fragrant jasmine flowers and rounded off with a smooth and creamy milk. YES! I dare say I swooned and went into convulsions of pleasure there on the marbled floors of Harvey Nichols. Paying homage to historical and cultural heritage? Check. Creating the perfect blend of tea and flower? Check. Not Lipton tea? Check. Originality? Check check check check check. It’s been such a long time since any fragrance has tickled my cerebral fancy whilst moving me emotionally AND satisfying my ‘wearability-on-a-long-term-basis’ criterion. Imperial Tea does all that and then more, and thankfully never veers in the direction of the sticky, syrupy, sickly sweet jasmine marshmallow concoction that is also known as Love by the very same brand.

There isn’t much development in Imperial Tea, aside from a fading of the initial bitterness of the tea and sweetness of the jasmine, a dialing down of the volume. You’ve inhaled the glorious aroma of your tea and you’ve reveled in the complex sensations as you tasted it and drank it. And now you’re left with the aftertaste of those beautiful moments, and you are still, quiet and meditative. Perfect.

It must be a tea drinker’s thing. I suppose that big bang opening in the first hour justifies all the rest, even the sharp white musk and the speedy descent into blandness. More likely, I’m simply missing something from start to finish.

So, I suppose if you really love tea, and if you love jasmine tea in specific, you should go give Imperial Tea a sniff. I’ll be sitting in a café having a double expresso, and wearing a jasmine fragrance with a very different personality.

DETAILS:
Cost & Availability: Imperial Tea is an eau de parfum that costs $245, £177, or €185 for a 1.7oz/50 ml bottle that comes in a black, wooden box. A cheaper “refill” option is available for $145, along with a travel set of 4 x 0.25 minis for $155. In the U.S.: you can purchase Imperial Tea in any of the 3 options from Luckyscent, the Kilian website, and department stores like Bergdorf Goodman or Saks. Outside the U.S.: you can purchase Sacred Wood from the International Kilian website for €185 for the proper bottle, €80 for the refill, €105 for the 4 travel sprays, or €65 for a single travel decant in a silver container. In the U.K., you can find it at Harvey Nichols in the regular bottle and the refill option for £177 or £70, respectively. In Paris, the Kilian line is carried at Printemps. In the UAE, you can find Sacred Wood at the Paris Gallery. Elsewhere, you can find the Kilian line at Harvey Nichols stores around the world, from Dubai to Hong Kong. As for other locations, By Kilian’s Facebook page lists the following retailers and/or locations: “HARVEY NICHOLS (UK, Honk Kong, UAE, Saudi Arabia, Koweit, Turkey), Le BON MARCHE (France), TSUM (Russia), ARTICOLI (Russia) and HOLT RENFREW (Canada).” Samples: Surrender to Chance sells Imperial Tea starting at $3.99 for a 1/2 ml vial.

By Kilian Sacred Wood

The joys of Mysore sandalwood are ostensibly and supposedly replicated in Sacred Wood, the latest fragrance from By Kilian. Not in my opinion. Not even remotely.

Source: lamasatonline.net

Source: lamasatonline.net

Sacred Wood was created by Calice Becker, and I think the story behind its creation is essential to understanding the limitations of the scent. As Luckyscent explains, Calice Becker originally intended the scent to be nothing more than a base for other fragrances. Kilian Hennessy loved it so much that he decided it should be a solo scent, all by itself, and with nothing else added. Sacred Wood is therefore meant to be a simple soliflore designed to recreate the smell of Mysore sandalwood via other means. To quote from Luckyscent:

No longer available to perfumers since it was over-harvested, Mysore sandalwood (Santalum album) is one of the ingredients they miss the most. Calice Becker had long been working on a blend that would reproduce its complexity: the warm, rosy, smoky, creamy, spicy facets that make the legendary wood such an irreplaceable material.

Though originally intended as a base, the composition worked so beautifully on its own, and within the theme of the collection, that Kilian Hennessy snapped it up for the last episode of his Asian Tales. Sacred Wood conjures the mystical scent with amazing accuracy: like its model, it is so rich and facetted it is a fragrance in and of itself. Its silky, sensuous scent is amazingly long-lasting, though never overwhelming. It is the answer to the prayers of all sandalwood lovers.

Personally, I think Luckyscent is completely delusional if they think Sacred Wood conjures up the mystical beauty of Mysore sandalwood with any accuracy. Regardless, they provide the following list of notes for the scent:

Steaming milk accord, sandalwood, carrot, cumin, elemi, cedar wood.

Source: graphicsbeam.com

Source: graphicsbeam.com

Sacred Wood opens on my skin with green Australian sandalwood and sandalwood synthetics. The wood is green — very green — with grassiness and a miniscule touch of medicinal, herbal sourness underneath. It’s infused with the steamed milk accord which smells very authentic. Raw carrots and a touch of dry cedar lurk at the edges.

There is a distinct whiff of synthetics underlying the scent. Elena Vosnaki of The Perfume Shrine recently had a wonderful article on Fragrantica called “Synthetic Pathways to Sandalwood Notes,” regarding the various sandalwood substitutes on the market. I encourage you to read the piece in full if you’re interested, but I’ll quote some relevant sections here:

Several synthetics rose to the task of replicating [Mysore], often at a quite elevated cost despite their man-made aspect, and many times entering into venerable “modern classics.”

Nowadays many of those synthetics are used in combination with or attendance of the harvests of Mysore-identical sandalwood trees being farmed on Australian soil. These are trees of the India native species and not of the different, native Australian sandalwood (Santalum spicatum, such as the one used in Le Labo’s Santal 33 which is a different species with a different, sharper and lightly smoky scent profile, nor of the New Caledonia sandalwood variety (steadily gaining in popularity). […][¶]

Among synthetic sandalwood notes, Polysantol, a former Firmenich trademark, is quite popular thanks to its intense diffusion and realistic replication. Otherwise known as santol pentenol due to its structure, it enters many a fragrance composition thanks to its part herbal, part lived-in warmth. Beta santalol or technically (-)-(1’S,2’R,4’R)-(Z)-beta-santalol is also a nature identical typical sandalwood note. […][¶]

Ebanol [(1S,2’S,3’R)-Ebanol], a Givaudan trademark, is noted for its potency. Symrise proposes its Fleursandol which has a very strong, animalic-laced sandalwood note with floral elements surfacing. […][¶]

Ebanol via Givaudan

Ebanol via Givaudan

Javanol via Givaudan.

Javanol via Givaudan.

JavanolEbanolSandelaSantaliff (IFF santal mysore core), and Santalore are extremely powerful and true to sandalwood synthetics. In fact this might explain the curious effect one experiences when handling them: it was enough to smell a 10% dilution to anesthetize my nose for several hours later, a state I was taken out of by squeezing fresh lemon juice. A perfumer must be cautious and restrained when using them in order not to end up making the wearer of the finished fragrance tired and anosmic to them. Extreme dilution (even lower than 0.5%) is recommended, as alongside Iso-E Super (woody cedar) and methyl ionone (violets) those notes cause rapid nose fatigue.

At least one of those synthetics is present in Sacred Wood, and noticeable in varying degrees from the perfume’s very start to its dying moments on my skin. And no, it does not authentically recreate the smell of Mysore sandalwood. There is a comment to the Fragrantica article where “Eeyore III” quotes Luca Turin on why chemical synthetics fail to properly reproduce the scent of actual Mysore wood:

The reason synthetics don’t smell (that much) like sandalwood has been explained, chemically, by Luca Turin: “(Z)-(-)-beta-santalol, the molecule present to about 25 per cent in natural sandalwood oil and largely responsible for its gorgeous smell, is, synthetically speaking, a real back-breaker. The best total synthesis to date is an eleven-step affair, and any research chemist who tried to talk his production colleagues into making this would be quickly shouted down.“– L. Turin,The Secret of Scent p.77.

What I smell in Sacred Wood is green — all the way through. And greenness is not what I associate with Mysore sandalwood. It is redness. Dark, rich, red spiciness, with slightly smoky creaminess. I grew up in a time when Mysore was in almost every Oriental perfume, while shops sold Mysore beads, Mysore boxes, Mysore sculptures, and everything else in sight. I know what Mysore smells and looks like. And not one iota of that smell is evident in Sacred Wood.

Mysore sandalwood. Source: Fragrantica

Mysore sandalwood. Source: Fragrantica

Before you mention the new Australian plantation with its Indian Mysore trees, let me say that I’ve smelled that, too. I was sent a small bottle of the oil by the company as part of what was meant to be a coordinated multi-blog review or Basenotes article to praise its merits. I could not do so, and wrote bluntly that it did not smell at all like Mysore to me, so my comment was not used.

My bottle of the Australian plantation oil. Photo: my own.

My bottle of the Australian plantation oil. Photo: my own.

To me, that Australian plantation wood was green. Green, green, green with sour buttermilk and grassy undertones, along with an occasional medicinal touch. The trees may ostensibly be Mysore, but they’re incredibly young. I think it’s going to take another 60 years, at a minimum, for them to age enough to take on a true Mysore aroma. They are not there yet, not even remotely. I wouldn’t be surprised if Sacred Wood contains some oil from that lone Australian plantation, because I have mentioned the word “green,” yet?

I will admit with all honesty that I’m the wrong person to be writing a review of Sacred Wood. I am a die-hard Mysore sandalwood snob, and I cannot stand the Australian varieties — whether the Santalum album from that plantation, or the Australian Santalum spicatum cousin. I dislike both green sandalwood, and the generic beigeness of the Australian variety. I don’t think the latter even deserves the name “sandalwood” at all.

Source: blinds-wallpaper.net

Source: blinds-wallpaper.net

In fact, I sometimes think that all perfumers should stop using the word entirely and substitute “beige woods” unless they are spending a king’s ransom on the actual stuff. Neela Vermeire has done so for her perfumes, with the spectacular Trayee having the greatest amount, and so has Laurent Mazzone for LM ParfumsHard Leather. Chanel‘s beautiful Bois des Iles supposedly has no sandalwood in it at all, but Jacques Polges has successfully recreated the smell through some miracle, so he gets a total pass from me and much worship for his wizardry. All the rest of the perfume houses should bloody well call the wood something else entirely. Yes, it is that much of a sore point for me.

Sacred Wood did not put me in a good mood, as you may have noticed. I tried to like it, I really did. I simply couldn’t get past the greenness, or the synthetic twang in the base. At one point, I told myself to approach it like a non-sandalwood fragrance, and to see the good in Sacred Wood. So, the rest of this review will be me trying my best, lying to myself, and pretending to be someone else.

Source: seriouseats.com

Source: seriouseats.com

Sacred Wood’s opening is interesting, I suppose. The steamed milk accord is truly authentic in feel, though it occasionally flashes as “sour milk” on my skin, in a way that replicates badly boiled milk a little too closely for my liking. The cold carrots remind me a little of how iris can be; I’m not crazy about that aspect, either. The cumin doesn’t appear in a distinct way at all, and the elemi initially doesn’t translate either as something lemony or as the wood’s more common smoky, dry, peppered features.

For the most part, Sacred Wood’s opening on my skin is merely a blend of boiled milk, green Australian wood, and cold carrots with a synthetic twinge. It’s a very strong bouquet initially, but thin in body, light in weight, and sheer. It lacks oomph or much character, if you ask me, and I’m saying that in my pretend role as someone who supposedly doesn’t know or care about Mysore sandalwood.

Sacred Wood changes at the end of the first hour. The elemi’s smoky, peppered sides rise to the surface, the perfume turns smokier, the milky accord starts to fade away, and the carrots vanish. The sour undertone to the fragrance remains, though it waxes and wanes in its visibility over the next few hours. Oddly, the sweetness and spiciness of the “sandalwood” also vary. Sometimes, the wood seems to have turned sweet and spicy, to go with that new touch of smokiness. The majority of the time, however, it’s either sour, the grassiness reappears, or the perfume just continues on its simple trajectory of green “sandalwood” with elemi smoke.

Source: Micks Images. http://www.micksimages.com/Smoke-II(2399572).htm

Source: Micks Images. http://www.micksimages.com/Smoke-II(2399572).htm

One thing to be said for Sacred Wood is that its greenness turns creamy. Roughly 2.5 hours into the perfume’s development, it lies just an inch above the skin as a very creamy, smooth, slightly smoky sandalwood and elemi fragrance. The synthetics retreat fully to the sidelines, and… well, that’s about it. For hours. And hours. Creamy green woods with elemi. At the end of the 7th hour, the elemi starts to fade away, and the first touch of the sandalwood synthetics returns. By the start of the 9th hour, Sacred Wood is green santal with synthetics. And it remains that way until it finally dies away 12.75 hours from the start.

Source: polychemcoatings.com

Source: polychemcoatings.com

I was bored out of my mind, and spent a good deal of that time fantasizing about anything else I could put on my skin. Even as someone pretending not to have issues with Australian “sandalwood,” Sacred Wood doesn’t come across as anything particularly interesting. It is a bloody one-note trajectory that starts as boiled milk green sandalwood, turns into lightly smoked green sandalwood, and then ends as green-beige sandalwood. I always say that there is nothing wrong with linearity if you like the scent in question, but I obviously don’t. And, come on, this is a simple base accord that Kilian Hennessey would like to charge you $245 for the supposed privilege of wearing. I realise there are cheaper refill or travel options, but no thanks. To any of it.

Yes, I’m being peevish, and yes, perhaps that’s unfair. But, dammit, I’ve been a die-hard Mysore sandalwood lover for over 30 years, and it’s really hard to wrap my head around a scent like this one. It’s not even trying to fix the problem or to compensate for the limitations by adding more elements to create an end result that is closer to the real thing. That’s the real kicker for me. Plenty of perfumers do that, like Serge Lutens in some of his santal creations where additional spices or accords are brought in to bridge the gap between the Australian wood and the synthetics. Not here. It’s a simple, occasionally creamy, green wood base that somehow Kilian Hennessy thinks is sufficient all by itself. It’s not. And I feel the same way about it as I do when L’Oreal tries to pass off the disgusting modern “Opium” as the real thing. It’s adding insult to injury.

At least one blogger out there seems to understand. Robin at Now Smell This says in her review of Sacred Wood, “if you’re an old-school sandalwood fiend looking for a fix, it might not hit the same spot.” No, it bloody well doesn’t. Parsing her review carefully, and noticing her statements in the comment section, I suspect she feels the same way as I do about Sacred Wood, but she’s simply tactful and diplomatic in a way that I can’t be. She writes:

Sacred Wood opens on citrus-y, spicy wood; it’s not a dead ringer for my long-time love, Diptyque Tam Dao, but it reminded me of Tam Dao right away: the opening has that same sheer but wood-focused feeling, at the other end of the spectrum from the more ornately decorated sandalwood trio from Serge Lutens (Santal Blanc, Santal de Mysore and Santal Majuscule). As the citrus burns off, Sacred Wood moves to the middle: it gets spicier and more milky-creamy, but at the same time, the woods get softer and more indistinct.

It’s closest to the ‘olfactory impression of an authentic Sandalwood from Mysore’ in the middle stages. Eventually, it’s a mild woodsy blend, reasonably sandalwood-y but without the richness of old-school sandalwood fragrances. If you’ve never smelled an old-school sandalwood fragrance, that won’t matter to you, but if you have one on hand, you’ll notice how comparatively thin the base of Sacred Wood is. I wore Sacred Wood next to a drop of Santal Blanc and a drop of Chanel Bois des Iles extrait,2 and the Sacred Wood, smells, well, modern. Obviously, you may or may not prefer it that way. […][¶]

Verdict: I was expecting a sandalwood-bomb, and Sacred Wood isn’t exactly that. It’s a lovely quiet woods scent, though, very wearable, and not at all dull[.]

We shall have to agree to disagree on everything, but how Sacred Wood doesn’t measure up to actual “old-school sandalwood fragrances,” and how “thin” its base is in comparison. I suppose her feelings can be understood, given how much better her experience and version of Sacred Wood was to mine. Green-beige woods and synthetic sandalwood in a dead flat-line are most certainly dull, in my opinion.

The best thing that can be said for Sacred Wood is that it’s smooth and I suppose it’s wearable, especially if you have never experienced Mysore sandalwood. That may be why it has some very enthusiastic reviews on Fragrantica. You can read them if you’re interested. I’m having great difficulty in not writing, “Meh” to everything, or banging my head against a wall. So, it’s probably best that I end this here and now. I shall seek comfort in the arms of Crabtree & Evelyn‘s vintage, discontinued Extrait de Mysore Sandalwood, and mourn.

DETAILS:
Cost & Availability: Sacred Wood is an eau de parfum that costs $245, £177, or €185 for a 1.7oz/50 ml bottle that comes in a black, wooden box. A cheaper “refill” option is available for $145, along with a travel set of 4 x 0.25 minis for $155. In the U.S.: you can purchase Sacred Wood in any of the 3 options from Luckyscent, the Kilian website, and department stores like Bergdorf Goodman or Saks. Outside the U.S.: you can purchase Sacred Wood from the International Kilian website for €185 for the proper bottle, €80 for the refill, €105 for the 4 travel sprays, or €65 for a single travel decant in a silver container. In the U.K., you can find it at Harvey Nichols in the regular bottle and the refill option for £177 or £70, respectively. In Paris, the Kilian line is carried at Printemps. In the UAE, you can find Sacred Wood at the Paris Gallery. Elsewhere, you can find the Kilian line at Harvey Nichols stores around the world, from Dubai to Hong Kong. As for other locations, By Kilian’s Facebook page lists the following retailers and/or locations: “HARVEY NICHOLS (UK, Honk Kong, UAE, Saudi Arabia, Koweit, Turkey), Le BON MARCHE (France), TSUM (Russia), ARTICOLI (Russia) and HOLT RENFREW (Canada).” Samples: Surrender to Chance sells Sacred Wood starting at $3.99 for a 1/2 ml vial.

DSH Perfumes Euphorisme d’Opium (The YSL Retrospective Collection)

Natalie Portman by Mert & Marcus for W magazine, 2006. Source: photochronograph.ru

Natalie Portman by Mert & Marcus for W magazine, 2006. Source: photochronograph.ru

The Goddess now has a daughter. The ferocious, untamed, raw sexuality of vintage Opium has been handed down to a more restrained, less overtly voluptuous, quieter girl called Euphorisme d’Opium. She may be less bold, less likely to take your head off with fiery roar, but my response is: “Come to mama.” Actually, that was one of the ways that I wanted to open this review, since it was only slightly less inelegant than simply telling the legion of Opium fans to just get out their credit card. But get out your credit card. If you’re one of the many in the Opium cult, one of those who has mourned the passing of the “Bitch Goddess” (to use a friend of mine’s loving description for the YSL classic), then this is the time to rejoice. Euphorisme d’Opium from DSH Perfumes is as close as we’re going to get to reinvention of the Queen. She finally has a daughter.

Photo: Mert & Marcus for Interview Magazine.

Photo: Mert & Marcus for Interview Magazine.

There is nothing in the world like vintage Opium. Nothing. And there never will be. That needs to be stated right at the start. Absolutely nothing can or will ever replicate the precise beauty of that monster powerhouse down to a T. The reasons are simple, starting primarily with the scarcity of Mysore sandalwood which might as well be extinct for anyone not possessing massive financial resources. Modern IFRA regulations on eugenol, ceiling limitations on the quantities of various other ingredients, and the issue of animal musk are other supporting factors as well. Yet, to the extent that an olfactory daughter may be possible, Dawn Spencer Hurwitz of DSH Perfumes has done it.

Photo series for Interview Magazine by Mert & Marcus.

Opium Den photo series for Interview Magazine by Mert & Marcus.

It’s not something I say lightly. Regular readers know that vintage Opium is my absolute favorite fragrance, and that I despise the modern monstrosity that purports to bear its name. Modern “Opium” is a castrati, a disemboweled, emasculated eunuch, and a utter travesty. (L’Oreal, you should be ashamed of yourselves, you despicable, parasitic vultures.) If anything, I’m likely to be much tougher on attempts to seize The Goddess’ mantle. If they fall short, you can be sure that I would rip it apart. No-one messes with my beloved Opium, and lives to tell the tale.

Dawn Spencer Hurwitz. Source: The Perfume Magazine.

Dawn Spencer Hurwitz. Source: The Perfume Magazine.

To take on a reinvention of Opium is a very tall order. Apart from technical difficulties involving the ingredient restrictions, it probably cannot be done unless you have a deep love and understanding of who Yves St. Laurent was himself. The Indie, artisanal perfumer, Dawn Spencer Hurwitz, has that in spades, and it clearly shows. Euphorisme d’Opium is part of her YSL Retrospective Collection for the Denver Art Museum that I talked about in my review for Le Smoking. The latter is a gloriously beautiful fragrance that captures the very essence of what The Maestro was trying to do with his revolutionary, gender-bending jackets. And she’s done the same thing in capturing the essence, heart, and character of his Opium as well.

Euphorisme d'Opium in pure parfum and in an antique bottle. Source: DSH Parfums website.

Euphorisme d’Opium in pure parfum and in an antique bottle. Source: DSH Parfums website.

The DSH website describes Euphorisme d’Opium as follows:

The original “YSL Opium” perfume, when launched was a scandal. Not only for the open drug reference but for it’s open sexuality and sensuality. Just as YSL was inspired by his beloved Morocco and the Orient, I have infused the original design of Opium perfume (which as of 2010, is no longer on the market) with some extra doses of the euphoric aromas that bring this enchanting Spicy-Oriental perfume to life.

According to Ms. Hurwitz’s comments to me in email correspondence, the notes in Euphorisme d’Opium include:

bergamot, bitter orange, bay laurel, pimento berry, mandarin, eugenol-based carnation, bulgarian rose absolute, cinnamon bark, aldehyde c-14 (aka: gamma-undecalactone – peach), clove bud, egyptian jasmine absolute, olibanum, east indian patchouli, eastern lily – mixed media accord, australian sandalwood, tolu balsam, benzoin, beeswax absolute, myrrh gum, pink pepper, ylang ylang, amber essence, atlas cedar, galaxolide, cedramber, indolene, and vanilla absolute.

Photo: Alamy. Source: The Daily Mail.

Photo: Alamy. Source: The Daily Mail.

Euphorisme d’Opium opens on my skin with a strong burst of spices. Instantly, you are hit by cloves, black pepper, pink pepper, and the bite of fiery chilis. They are followed by orange and bergamot, both of which have been infused with patchouli and incense, and the whole thing lies on a base of golden amber. Moments later, other notes arrive. There are delicate pink roses, trailed by hints of jasmine and ylang-ylang. The most prominent thing, however, is a dark, blood-red carnation. It practical swaggers into an arena dominated by spices and incense. The latter is interesting, smelling of both the black frankincense variety and the dustier myrrh sort.

Source: 1stdibs.com

Source: 1stdibs.com

In fact, there is initially almost a dusty quality to Euphorisme d’Opium, subtle though it may be. It is evocative of an old spice drawer whose contents have been unsettled, blowing fiery, pungent, and peppered particles into the air like a cloud of red, brown, and black dust. They swirl into the fruits which are such a key part of vintage Opium’s beginning.

There is a particular opening accord in that famous fragrance that everyone knows, where the bergamot feels transformed almost as if by pungent oakmoss into something brown-green, bitter, but sweet. In the same way, the orange is never just a warm glow of sun-sweetened, heavy juices, but something more pungent, spiced, and rich. It’s a peculiar transformation due to the spices and accompanying elements in Opium, where simple fruits are turned into something completely new with a darkness and a bite.

Source: Flowerpics.net

Source: Flowerpics.net

That happens here, too, with Euphorisme d’Opium. The spices are not the sole cause. The carnation is critical, though a rich, brown patchouli helps to a small extent. In fact, the carnation note is extremely prominent in the opening phase, smelling both floral and a little like cloves as well. Speaking of the cloves, I really don’t find the note to be as bold or as strong in Euphorisme d’Opium as it was in the original. It’s a shame, as that is one of my favorite elements of vintage Opium, but it probably makes Euphorisme much more approachable for a modern audience.

Adele by Mert & Marcus for US Vogue, 2013. Source: meltyfashion.fr

Adele by Mert & Marcus for US Vogue, 2013. Source: meltyfashion.fr

That is one of the many early differences that I detect. The cloves are not as robust, the incense is much lighter, the perfume is much less smoky, there is no Mysore sandalwood adding to the spiciness of the bouquet, and the perfume feels substantially sheerer in the opening moments.

With Euphorisme d’Opium, there isn’t an instant impression of fiery red and brown, nor a sense of viscosity that blankets you with heavy, thick, almost resinous, almost mossy, primordial ooze. Though the perfume changes later on to gain more body and richness, the opening verges on the gauzy at times. Euphorisme d’Opium is strong and potent in actual smell, but the visuals convey sheerness, and the cloves don’t punch you in the gut in quite the same way. (It’s undoubtedly due to the rules and limitations on eugenol, though Ms. Hurwitz has tried to use an “eugenol-based carnation” instead.) To compensate for that fact, the levels of both the black pepper and the rose in Euphorisme d’Opium seem higher than in the original.

These are small things that only someone who has worshiped, studied, dissected, and worn Opium for almost 30 years would ever realise. Well, probably not the initial sheerness, as I think that is extremely obvious, but definitely the rest. For the most part, Euphorisme d’Opium has an extremely similar feel of spicy, pungent, smoky richness infused with orange and crisp bergamot fruits that are simultaneously bitter and juicily sweet. There is the same visual of a golden bed of amber, and the same sense of florals lightly swirled into the mix, but waiting to show off the full extent of their voluptuous character.

Ylang-Ylang. Source: Soapgoods.com

Ylang-Ylang. Source: Soapgoods.com

The first hints of that character occur less than 15 minutes into Euphorisme d’Opium’s development. First, the vanilla peeks out its head. Then, minutes later, the ylang-ylang starts to emerge, adding its slightly custardy, banana-y, richly yellowed, velvety opulence to the mix. Both notes grow stronger with every passing moment. The ylang-ylang takes over the lead from the carnation, while the rose recedes to the sidelines.

In the horse race that is Euphorisme d’Opium, a hint of cedar appears at the starting gate, while the jasmine suddenly bolts out of the blue to the front of the pack. Its syrupy sweetness vies neck and neck with the ylang-ylang’s velvet to create a floral brew that is rich, heady, and narcotic. The two leaders are trailed by the spice pack, then by the bitter-sweet bergamot and orange, incense, carnation, and patchouli. Amber and vanilla are a few lengths back, while the poor cedar is still struggling to get out of the gate. The rose now watches in the Kentucky Derby’s guest box, sipping on a cocktail, and admiring the ylang-ylang leader’s yellow silks.

The overall effect is to suddenly wipe out that initial impression of thinness and gauziness, adding body and depth to Euphorisme d’Opium. There is almost a voluptuousness about the scent, the same feeling of languid, purring sensuality that lay at the heart of vintage Opium. Yet, the differences from the original continue to manifest themselves. I don’t think Euphorisme d’Opium is anywhere near as heavily smoky or incense driven as vintage Opium. The focus seems more floral in nature, with the buttery ylang-ylang in particular being stronger.

"Tattooed Salome," c.1876 by Gustave Moreau.

“Tattooed Salome,” c.1876 by Gustave Moreau.

As a whole, Euphorisme d’Opium feels much softer in attitude, as well as in its notes. Vintage Opium was a “Spice King” for Luca Turin, biblical Salome in my eyes, and the ultimate “Bitch Goddess” for one of my readers. Euphorisme d’Opium is a tempting courtesan bedecked with smoke, spices, and heady florals, but she’s not going to rip your head off and stick a dagger into your heart if you cross her. She won’t shiv you with cloves after blinding your eyes with smoke. She won’t undulate in a slithering lap dance of dark, treacly, balsamic resins, and she won’t take away your willpower with a thick haze of heavy amber.

Opium’s daughter is much less slutty, less brazenly bold, less intense. She is a more well-behaved courtesan with a light heart who prefers to flaunt her floral robes instead, though those robes are still covered with spices and slit quite low in a suggestive wink.

Natalie Portman by Mert & Marcus for W magazine, 2006. Source: forums.thefashionspot.com

Natalie Portman by Mert & Marcus for W magazine, 2006. Source: forums.thefashionspot.com

At the start of the 2nd hour, Euphorisme d’Opium shifts a little. The perfume loses some of the heft that it had gained, and becomes thinner again. The spices weaken as well, leaving a bouquet that is primarily centered on ylang-ylang, jasmine, bergamot, orange, and spices (in that order) with incense, patchouli and vanilla. The ylang-ylang and the jasmine are still in their horse race for first place, alternating places in the lead as Euphorisme d’Opium progresses. There is little carnation, the rose is still sitting in the visitor’s box, and the cedar is still trailing the pack. The smoke is well-blended throughout, but it really isn’t a powerful, solitary presence in its own right. In other words, it is not the hefty wall that exists in Opium, but a thinner veil.

1977 Opium advert featuring Jerry Hall. Photo: Helmut Newton. Source: Vogue.com

1977 Opium advert featuring Jerry Hall. Photo: Helmut Newton. Source: Vogue.com

Perhaps the best way that I can convey the comparative feel of Euphorisme d’Opium is with numbers. If the original, vintage version of Opium (especially that from the late 70s) set everything at a 10 on the scale (or blew it out at an 11), then Euphorisme d’Opium starts out initially at an 7.5 across most categories, but creates the general sense of an 8. After 2 hours, the numbers then drop down to a 6 for the ylang-ylang, 5s for the remainder, and a 4 for the spices. (Opium would still be at a 10 at this point.) But these are good numbers for the DSH creation, given that the 2000 to 2005 versions of Opium are barely worth classification, in my opinion, and certainly nothing after that period. (I won’t even smell the current scent. To whichever L’Oreal executives approved the castrated eunuchs, I hope you’re plagued with nightmares for the rest of your miserable existence. Euphorisme d’Opium proves that it is possible to have a modern, reformulated Opium, you money-hungry idiots.)

Going back to Euphorisme d’Opium, the whole thing is cocooned in a golden embrace, but amber isn’t a strong component of the scent in any clearly delineated, individually distinct way. I don’t smell Euphorisme d’Opium and think, “aha, labdanum!” The amber works with the tolu balsam resin indirectly to create a warmth and richness that tie all the notes together, but they’re not a driving force.

2.75 hours into Euphorisme d’Opium’s development, the perfume is a soft intimate scent of spiced ylang-ylang and jasmine with bergamot, slightly dusty myrrh, an increasingly syrupy patchouli and dry cedar, atop a resinous, ambered base flecked with vanilla. The Australian sandalwood emerges in the base, though it doesn’t really smell of sandalwood in any particular way. Its primary characteristic is creaminess, which is helped by the lovely vanilla. Between the sweet jasmine, the velvety ylang-ylang, and that base, Euphorisme d’Opium feels incredibly smooth, feeling an elegant, sleek sheath that coats the skin like silk. It’s a rich scent up close, but far from opaque or heavy. From afar, the overall impression is of cloved, spicy florals with tendrils of incense.

Photo: bykoket.com

Photo: bykoket.com

Euphorisme d’Opium continues to soften. As the 3rd hour draws to a close, the perfume is smear of spiced florals with incense, amber, and vanilla. Euphorisme d’Opium grows more floral, more vanillic, and less spicy with every passing hour. By the middle of the 5th, it’s an absolutely beautiful jasmine and ylang-ylang scent that is only lightly spiced, but fully infused with a creamy, slightly dry vanilla, and a touch of smoke. About 7.5 hours in, Euphorisme d’Opium is a sexy, delicate, intimate scent of creamy flowers with vanilla and a touch of smoke. It remains that way for hours and hours, feeling compulsively sniffable whenever I bring my arm to my nose. In its final moments, Euphorisme d’Opium is a mere blur of floral sweetness, fading away a huge 13.5 hours from the start. The longevity is fantastic.

I’m less enthused by the sillage. Vintage Opium was a powerhouse. Euphorisme d’Opium is not. Ms. Hurwitz has told me that she doesn’t like big sillage or scents that leave a taste in one’s mouth. She prefers for fragrances to be intimate. Euphorisme d’Opium is stronger than many of the fragrances in her line, but only if you apply a lot. I was given a small atomizer to test and, the very first time I applied Euphorisme d’Opium, I merely dabbed it on. I didn’t spray, but applied a decent smear. Euphorisme d’Opium turned into a skin scent on me within 20 minutes. It was strong in bouquet, but only if I put my nose right on the skin. Interestingly, however, my shirt that I also sprayed it on wafted a huge amount of fragrance, about 5 inches in radius at first. But my skin? Nope. So I tried 2 smears of Euphorisme d’Opium — that didn’t do much for me, either. The perfume turned into a skin scent on me after an hour.

While dabbing and small quantities are a lost cause, Euphorisme d’Opium is a whole different story with spraying. Aerosolisation always increases the power and potency of a fragrance, but that seems especially true for this scent. 3 decent sprays from my small atomizer created a soft cloud that wafted 2-3 inches above the skin. For the sake of comparison, a similar amount of vintage Opium projects well over a foot on me, while 3 sprays from an actual bottle will give me about 3 feet in projection. (God, I love vintage Opium!) But Opium’s daughter is a child of the modern age, of modern tastes, and, most of all, of Ms. Hurwitz’s preference for softer, intimate fragrances that aren’t force fields. Euphorisme d’Opium’s sillage drops an inch after 30 minutes, then another at the end of the first hour.

Source: abm-enterprises.net

Source: abm-enterprises.net

It hovers a mere inch, at best, above the skin from the end of the first hour until approximately the 2.5 hour mark when it turns into a skin scent. However, it is still extremely rich, deep, and potent when smelled up close. And no voracious sniffing is required, either. Euphorisme d’Opium remains that way until the start of the 8th hour, which is when more effort is required, and when the perfume turns truly wispy and thin. It’s really lovely though, and the overall longevity on my perfume-consuming skin is fantastic.

There are no reviews for Euphorisme d’Opium on Fragrantica‘s entry page, but there are very positive assessments for the fragrance on blogs. On Bois de Jasmin, a guest post from Suzanna reads:

Euphorisme is based upon the original Opium formula, which DSH has enhanced.  It sounds as if it might be dangerous territory, but DSH handles it smoothly, creating not a dupe but a chypre/Oriental for the 21st century with delicious orange/pimento notes shining through a veil of carnation and spice. DSH added honey and pink pepper notes that were to the best of her knowledge not in the original.  Euphorisme is seduction by spice.

The sultry Victoria at EauMG writes, in part:

Euphorisme d’Opium opens as a spicy bitter citrus and aldehydes over fresh florals – carnation and rose, and lilies. There’s a creamy peach that adds a freshness to this spicy floral. It has a cloud of spices – pink pepper, clove, cinnamon. The heart is a spicy floral sweetened by a raw, sensual honey. The dry-down is warm and smoky incense and resins. The civet adds a depth that you just don’t smell in modern perfumes. It’s an intoxicating fragrance.

Ava Gardner photo from EauMG's review.

Ava Gardner photo from EauMG’s review.

Opium fans are aware that in 2010 the perfume was reformulated. Euphorisme d’Opium is closer to the original but isn’t a 100% dupe. In relation to Estee Lauder Cinnabar (you can’t talk about Opium without speaking of Cinnabar), Euphorisme d’Opium is smoother and doesn’t have such an aggressive, growling top/opening. In comparison to the pre-reformulated Opium and Cinnabar, Euphorisme is sheerer and more approachable to a “right now” audience. For example, original Opium wore like an Afghan coat, Euphorisme d’Opium is more like a satin kimono sleeve robe with an exotic print.

For The Alembicated Genie, Euphorisme d’Opium is just as spectacular as the original, though she too notes differences:

As Oriental perfumes go, Opium was another gold standard of feisty, fierce spice-and-fire, and in Dawn’s version, it is nothing more nor one whit less spectacular than its inspiration. The carnation-clove-orange and cinnamon beginnings – a large part of what made the original so distinctive – are here dampened a bit compared to the Opium I remember, and since I recall Opium sillage trails so thick you could taste them (those were the days, people!), this is no bad thing. Instead, it’s Opium without quite so much of a perfume hangover the next day, brighter and lighter and altogether a glorious twist on a perfume so iconic, I don’t even have to locate my mini of the original. I close my eyes, and in a twinkling of that spice and that fire, in the benzoin, myrrh-laden, vanilla embers that spark and flame long, long hours later, I’m all there and still happily caught in that moment, singing “Hot Stuff” along with Donna Summer.

Photo: Joel Ryan/Invision/AP for Vivienne Westwood, London Fashion week, 2013. Source: Salon.com

Photo: Joel Ryan/Invision/AP for Vivienne Westwood, London Fashion week, 2013. Source: Salon.com

For Undina of Undina’s Looking Glass, the fragrance was almost too strong from mere dabbing, and all about the red, spicy carnation:

Don’t let [the] plethora of notes confuse you: this is a carnation-centered perfume. Too bad that “pissed-off carnation” name had been already taken: in my opinion, it would have suited this fragrance much better than Serge Lutens’ one. I sample it from a dab vial sent to me by the perfumer and thought it was a very powerful perfume. I’m not sure I could stand it sprayed – this is how intense it is. I’m still testing Euphorisme d’Opium trying to figure out if I should go for a bottle of it – while it’s still available.

Clearly, the issue of strength is going to come down to a person’s perfume style, tastes, and what they’re used to. If you worship and wear (or wore) vintage Opium, her modern daughter will seem very well-mannered, though decently strong, and you should definitely spray Euphorisme d’Opium. Preferably, at least two good spritzes, or you may be disappointed. However, if you hated vintage Opium’s potency or don’t like perfumes that open strongly, then dabbing will be your best bet.

Photo: Matt Anderson via elements-magazine.com

Photo: Matt Anderson via elements-magazine.com

If you’re someone who is ambivalent about vintage Opium or who only remembers the scent from your mother, let me emphasize that this is not your mother’s perfume. It is a very modern reinvention of the scent for the current era. Whether or not you like that version is really going to depend on your feelings about spicy florientals. Do you enjoy cloves? Do you like opulent, strong scents? Does the mere mention of carnation, jasmine, or ylang-ylang send you screaming for the hills? If so, then you should stay away.

Otherwise, please give Euphorisme d’Opium a try. It is my absolute favorite from the DSH line, followed by the beautiful Le Smoking with its green chypre opening and tobacco-cannabis ambered heart. My issues with the latter’s weak sillage and longevity shouldn’t dissuade you, especially if you get an aerosol spray sample, because the scent really is that lovely. It is absolutely worth a try. (You may want to just plaster it on.)

Since this is the very last review in my DSH Perfumes series, I would also recommend sniffing my third favorite from the brand which is Parfum de Luxe. Granted, I had an atypical expresso-licorice experience with that one, but I’m hardly alone in finding it wonderful and sultry. Other people also love the chypre-oriental with its tobacco head and labdanum amber heart, infused with neroli, tuberose, ylang-ylang, herbal notes, and darkness. And if you like gourmands centered on cinnamon that soon turn darker with resinous amber, then you may want to keep Cafe Noir in mind, while hardcore patchouli and amber-vanilla lovers will want to consider Bodhi Sativa and Vanille Botanique, respectively. (I would also recommend DSH Perfume’s Poivre, for a peppered-clove fragrance. I haven’t officially covered that one yet, and won’t for a long time, but I liked it quite a bit.)

I would like to add that all of these fragrances could be worn by men, especially Le Smoking and some of the darker scents listed above. That said, I do think that men who are unused to wearing ylang-ylang might find Euphorisme d’Opium’s drydown to skew slightly into the feminine territory. They need to try vintage Opium, because, honestly, they don’t know what they are missing out on. It is a fragrance which is a hundred times better, richer, spicier, and more “masculine” than its male counterpart (Opium for Men). As for the men who have already discovered the dragon’s roar of vintage Opium and love it, I think they would enjoy the daughter as well. Even if they own Opium, I would hope they would both be open to trying a modern take on the spicy classic. There is no way that a man couldn’t comfortably pull off Euphorisme d’Opium’s bold opening.

The 10 ml bottle of EDP.  Source: Fragrantica.

The 10 ml bottle of EDP. Source: Fragrantica.

For me, not all the DSH fragrances suit my personal tastes, especially given their intimate sillage. (Hey, I was weaned on vintage Opium at the age of 7. It became the standard baseline of what I thought was “normal.”) But I definitely want Euphorisme d’Opium. It’s wonderful, and I can’t get that silky smooth, delicious drydown out of my head. Plus, the perfume is affordable enough to enable spraying with wild abandon (and in quantities that would probably terrify Ms. Hurwitz) to get it more up to vintage Opium territory. Euphorisme d’Opium costs $55 for a 10 ml Eau de Parfum spray, and $125 for a 1 oz/30 ml bottle. (Other sizes, minis, and a pure parfum extrait option are available as well, with the latter being something I want to try before I make up my mind.) Even better, I can stop worrying about using up my stock of vintage Opium that I hoard like Smaug and his gold.

Euphorisme d’Opium is not the dangerous, fiery dragon that is her mother, she’s too well-mannered to be a brazen, biblical temptress, and she’s most definitely a modern girl who believes in intimate relationships, but she’s beautiful. Really beautiful.

Disclosure: Perfume sample courtesy of DSH Perfumes. That did not impact this review, I do not do paid reviews, and my opinions are my own.

DETAILS:
Cost & Availability: Euphorisme d’Opium is an eau de parfum that comes in a variety of sizes, as well as in a pure parfum extrait concentration. It is available exclusively on the DSH Perfumes website. The perfume is offered in: a 1 dram or 3.7 ml miniature-sized flask of what I think is pure parfum extrait for $45; a 10 ml EDP concentration spray for $55; and a 1 oz/30 ml bottle of EDP for $125. The elegant antique bottle of Pure Parfum Extrait is 0.5 oz and costs $198. Samples of the EDP are available at $5 for a 1/2 ml vial. In general, all orders over $10 will receive free samples of fragrances, with the number depending on the amount of your order. If you are outside the U.S., international shipping is available if you contact DSH Fragrances.