O’Driù Peety: Honeyed Tobacco & Animalics

Posted on June 23, 2014 by Kafkaesque

Bespoke perfumery, your own urine, bears and honey, and tobacco sweetness. Those are some of the elements at the heart of Peety, a fragrance that I’d argue is actually much less edgy, revolutionary, or weird than you’d think. I think it is a very rich, rather classical fragrance that plays with French animalic traditions in a swirl of honeyed tobacco that can be quite addictive.

Angelo Orazio Pregoni of O’Driu. Source: Basenotes

Peety is a fragrance released in 2013 by O’Driù (henceforth spelled simply as “O’Driu” without the accent). It is a small Italian niche company founded in 2010 as part of a project by the Pleasure Factory, a specialty communications company. All of O’Driu creations are made by Angelo Orazio Pregoni, and several involve a “su misura” approach, or a “sur mesure,” bespoke touch. In the case of Peety (which was originally called “Secration“), the result is extremely clever and creative marketing which has certainly increased the company’s profile.

Peety via Fragrantica

You see, you’re supposed to “personalize” Peety with your own urine. The 50 ml bottle comes with 49 ml of fragrance, and you’re supposed to fill the rest with your own … er… liquid. No, I am not joking, and, no, I myself have not tried it. (Nor am I planning to, by the way. This is one area where my normally limitless curiosity comes to an abrupt, withering halt. So, obviously, this review of Peety is for the unadorned, more universal version.) However, others have “personalized” their Peety, and a few claim that, yes, their urine actually does make a difference in making the fragrance bloom. A small difference, but a difference nonetheless. I’ll take their word for it, because I like Peety a lot just as it is. Continue reading →

Robert Piguet Knightsbridge (Harrods Exclusive)

Posted on May 21, 2014 by Kafkaesque

I generally try to avoid covering fragrances with unbearably limited distribution, and Knightsbridge by Robert Piguet certainly qualifies for that description. It is a scent that is available in only one place on earth, now and forever. Harrods London. In a happier universe, Harrods would ship worldwide, but it doesn’t, which makes reviews like this mostly an exercise in curiosity, masochism, or both.

Source: robertpiguetparfums.blogspot.com

Unfortunately, intellectual curiosity is one of my besetting flaws, and there has been some talk in perfumista circles about of this elusive, supposedly incomparable fragrance. Mark Behnke, a chap I respect, found it to be the best release of 2013 when he was at CaFleureBon. And a dear friend of mine seems to love it. So, when a Paris friend was travelling to London, I asked if he would get me a sample to assuage my curiosity. He sent me a lovely portion, which I’ve been testing and I thought I’d share my conclusions. (I also ended up with samples of Harrods’ exclusive Creed and Bond No. 9 creations, too. I don’t cover Bond No. 9, so that one will never be reviewed, but the Creed might be, perhaps.)

Knightsbridge is an eau de parfum that was created by Aurélien Guichard and released in 2013. According to Mark Behnke’s full review, Robert Piguet’s Creative Director, Joe Garces, asked Mr. Guichard to create a fragrance that replicated the scent of Harrods at 2 a.m. Personally, I’m not sure I want to smell like a department store after hours, since my imagination does not conjure up good things, but rest assured that Knightsbridge does not smell like a cleaning crew swiping down counters with Windex or industrial disinfectant.

Harrods interior. Source: boards.cruisecritic.com

Harrods describes Knightsbridge as follows:

In tribute to Harrods of London, Robert Piguet has created an exclusive new fragrance. Composed of some of the most expensive fine fragrance elements, Knightsbridge de Robert Piguet is sure to dazzle wearers with its opulent presence.

The perfume opens with creamy notes of nutmeg and rose before a sumptuous heart of sandalwood and orris transitions into a rich base of leather and tonka bean.

Fragrantica categorizes Knightsbridge as a “leather” fragrance, and confirms that its list of notes is:

nutmeg, rose, sandalwood, orris, leather and tonka bean.

Source: winemag.com

I’ve stared at that list of notes repeatedly, and like a crazy person, blinking in utter bewilderment because what I detect emanating from my skin for the first 5 hours smells neither like a “leather” fragrance, nor what that list led me to expect. The main and immediate thing that I smell when Knightsbridge opens on my skin is…. booze. Massive amounts of boozy cognac infused with fruit, to be precise. In fact, to be really specific, massive amounts of boozy cognac infused with dark fruits and Concord grapes that smell as though a methyl anthranilate synthetic had been used or fruited, purple, patchouli molasses.

Methyl anthranilate. Source: Wikipedia

I don’t understand any of it. I’ve tested Knightsbridge 3 times now, and every single time there is a powerful boozy note that runs through a good portion of the perfume’s development on my skin. None of the reviews or comments that I’ve read for the fragrance mention it. And nothing in the notes should warrant either cognac nor fruitiness, let alone Concord grapes, fruit-chouli, or the spiced apples that later appear. The list doesn’t include any amber synthetic to trigger a cognac-like warmth, and I don’t believe roses naturally carry methyl anthranilate. I checked with my friend who obtained my sample, and there is absolutely no doubt that he got Knightsbridge, not some other fragrance by accident.

As I’ve mentioned, I suffer from intellectual curiosity (and an even bigger case of OCD), so I did some research, and eventually found Robert Piguet’s company blog. There, tucked away in the archives, was description of a luncheon held at Harrods to celebrate Knightsbridge’s release. Specifically, talk of a dessert that included a Calvados crème anglaise sauce to symbolise or parallel the perfume:

The luncheon menu was created to link the ingredients in each course with the notes in Knightsbridge de Robert Piguet. The first course of Cornish crab and mango salad with raspberry and chervil dressing, followed by the entrée of roast brill with courgette piperade, spinach and nutmeg sauce and ending on a sweet finale of spiced apple bread and butter pudding with Calvados anglaise was designed to highlight Knightsbridge de Robert Piguet’s top note of nutmeg and rose, middle note of sandalwood and orris and base note of leather and tonka bean. [Emphasis added by me.]

Calvados apple brandy. Source: NYTimes.

Calvados is a golden liqueur like cognac that is made from apples, while crème anglaise is a vanilla sauce. I definitely smelled the latter from the middle to end phase of Knightsbridge, along with the spiced apples that took over the cognac’s undertones. So, whatever is actually in Knightsbridge, at least Robert Piguet itself seems to recognize red fruits, spiced fruits, and cognac as elements similar to those in the perfume. In short, perhaps the company has followed the path of several other houses (Profumum and Stephane Humbert Lucas 777, I’m looking directly at you!) in having a very truncated, abbreviated list of notes. It’s either that, or I truly am crazy.

“Bleeding Rose” by April Koehler. Source: redbubble.com

Getting back to Knightsbridge, there are other elements interwoven in the unexpected blast of cognac and dark, syrupy fruits. Iris is threaded lightly throughout, smelling buttery and, on occasion, slightly powdery. Much more significant, however, is the rose which feels very fruity and dark, thanks to that grape-y molasses or patchouli. Small hints of tonka vanilla dart in and out, adding a softness to the strongly boozy bouquet. The nutmeg is equally muted, smelling more like an occasional whiff of abstract spiciness than anything else.

Source: JAR Facebook

The most interesting thing for me initially is the iris, and how it plays off the other notes. It’s a very cool element, almost like the “cold stone” description that a friend of mine sometimes uses to describe iris scents. Yes, there is a buttery element, but that fades quite a bit after the first few minutes pass, leaving a stony coldness that contrasts greatly with the heated warmth of the fruited cognac, as well as the undercurrent of spicy richness.

From afar, Knightsbridge’s opening bouquet on my skin is a very saturated, deep bouquet of boozy, fruited cognac with jammy, blood-red roses, lightly flecked with cold, stony irises, abstract spices, and a touch of tonka vanilla. There is no leather on my skin — either actual or the abstract suggestion thereof. Instead, there is a very sticky, thick and dark undercurrent that runs through the fragrance. The extreme fruitiness of the scent makes it feel like a very molasses-like, purple patchouli, but there are also occasional, tiny flashes of something darker, possibly resinous, as well.

Source: stockhdwallpapers.com

For all its richness and strength, Knightsbridge doesn’t feel opaque, but airy and lightweight. I applied the equivalent of 2 small sprays from an actual bottle, and Knightsbridge initially wafted a good 4 inches above my skin in the opening moments. Using the equivalent of 1 spray (or 2 spritzes from my little atomizer), the opening sillage was only a bit less. In all cases, however, the strength of the perfume’s boozy cognac blast comes across very strong, heady, and rich. And, in all cases as well, the sillage soon drops, resulting in a fragrance that has only moderate projection when taken as an overall whole.

At times, especially when smelt from afar, it seems as though Knightsbridge’s opening bouquet doesn’t change for quite a while, but, if you pay close attention, you will notice small changes. 30 minutes into the perfume’s development, the vanilla grows stronger and, by the end of the first hour, it rises up fully from the base. At the same time, the Concord grapes become substantially weaker, and even the boozy cognac takes a small step back. That allows some of the other elements to shine forth in a more individually distinct way, like, for example, the roses which leap forward in strength. The nutmeg also becomes a little more prominent, but the stony iris seems to have largely disappeared.

Source: RGPeixoto on Flickr. (Website link embedded within photo.)

At the end of the first hour and the start of the second, the overall impression from afar has changed. Instead of cognac leading the way, Knightsbridge’s main focus now seems to be a very rich, heavy rose fragrance infused with syrupy, sweet, dark fruits and fruited booze. I can see why the scent is so popular in some quarters, but little of it is my personal cup of tea at this point other than the cognac. In the absence of any leather, and only a momentary, minute, tertiary flash of iris, the first hour is merely another boozy fragrance with patchouli-like jammy roses and dark fruits — and lord knows, there are plenty of those about.

One of the reasons for my early unenthusiasm is that I detected a distinct whiff of synthetics on two of my three tests of the perfume. I’ve struggled greatly with some of Robert Piguet’s new or newly reformulated scents because they seem to use a lot of synthetics, including cheap musk. I’ll spare you a recount of my trauma at the hands of Mademoiselle Piguet with its juxtaposition of bug spray, painfully bitter greenness, and excessive sweetness, but that was not the only fragrance with which I have struggled. (Baghari was extremely unpleasant and synthetic as well, and I was not keen on Calypso, either.)

Concord Grape Jam. Source: Tasty Yummies blog. (Link to website embedded within photo.)

Knightsbridge is a much higher quality, more luxurious smelling fragrance than several of its siblings (especially the utterly heinous Mademoiselle Piguet), but it was occasionally a problem when sniffed up close for too long. In fact, in my first test, I was quite literally cross-eyed at one point from a migraine. At first, I couldn’t figure out if the issue was a white musk (always one of my bête noires in high doses) because there is a very subtle whiff of cleanness underlying Knightsbridge’s opening hour. I think that may actually be the iris note, and that the real problem is perhaps the methyl anthranilate or whatever causes that grape-y nuance.

Interestingly, though, the synthetic aspect was not a problem when I applied much more of the fragrance. At a higher dosage, the aromachemical that caused me grief was not at all apparent. This is something that I’ve noticed with a good number of other fragrances that contain synthetics: they smell significantly better with larger doses, because that amplifies the other accords and lets them shine forth, thereby hiding the problematic elements in the base. The same trend applies to Knightsbridge as well. However, as I always try to make clear, I’m much more sensitive than the average person to synthetics, and many people don’t even notice them, so you probably won’t have any issues at all.

Source: Normann Copenhagen. (Link to blog site with recipe for mousse embedded within photo.)

While Knightsbridge’s opening stage left me utterly unimpressed with anything but the cognac, let me say clearly and bluntly that the rest of it is lovely, especially the drydown. At the start of the 3rd hour, the tonka vanilla becomes almost as prominent a note on my skin as the generic, jammy, dark rose. In fact, it is largely thanks to the vanilla that the rest of the perfume is so wonderfully appealing. Long before I read the Robert Piguet luncheon description, particularly the dessert that they chose to parallel Knightsbridge, I wrote in my notes that the tonka was positively silky, and like a coating of smooth, rich vanilla sauce made from real Madagascar pods mixed with fluffy, airy cream. When I read about the Piguet dessert having a crème anglaise sauce, I had to smile because that is exactly the aroma (and taste) that I detected as well.

Photo: my own.

At the start of the 3rd hour, the vanilla hovers just on the edge of overshadowing the rose, but it isn’t quite there yet. Instead, it blankets and coats the jammy, fruity, red petals, and slides into the booze. The latter has started to change as well, losing almost all of its grape-y undertones and taking on a distinct whiff of spiced apples. It is as though the liqueur has turned into Calvados, instead of mere cognac. The end result is a bouquet of vanilla-rose jam, lightly spritzed with Calvados, and holding the promise of more vanilla to come. None of it feels gourmand to me, by the way; Knightsbridge may be too fruity for my personal tastes, but it’s not sweet enough to fall anywhere close to the dessert category. Instead, it is simply a very rich, luxurious smelling fragrance with a truly stunning tonka note atop a dark, boozy base.

Source: dailymail.co.uk

The real changes and beauty of the scent arise after the start of the 4th hour. Knightsbridge turns gauzy and thin, with reduced sillage that lies just above the skin, though the perfume is still strong enough for avoid the “skin scent” label for a little while longer. To my surprise, the rose has faded quite dramatically, and now trails behind the vanilla and Calvados as the main note. There is still no leather of any kind on my skin, and the spiciness has retreated to the sidelines. The booziness, however, has made a major comeback on my skin, and it’s really lovely with the vanilla.

Lurking deep in the base is something new. There is a note akin to brown patchouli which appears about 4.5 hours into Knightsbridge’s development, the sort of patchouli that I love. It’s red-gold-brown in visual colour, while being spicy, warm, and lightly woody in smell. There is the tiniest suggestion of a tobacco nuance underlying it as well, just as in old-school, conventional, brown patchouli.

Photo: Randy Mayor. Source: myrecipes.com

Knightsbridge continues to grow softer and more abstract. All lingering traces of the rose vanishes at the end of the 5th hour, while the rest of the notes blur into each other, and the subtle nuances fade. By the middle of the 7th hour, Knightsbridge is a boozy, warm, vanilla crème anglaise with whiffs of spiced apples emanating from the cognac. To quote that description of the dessert meant to parallel Knightsbridge at Robert Piguet’s celebratory luncheon, it is “a sweet finale of spiced apple bread and butter pudding with Calvados anglaise[.]” And it truly is a lovely sweet finale, one filled with coziness, softness, and comforting warmth. It’s not a particular strong scent at this point, merely a sheer, light one, but Knightsbridge isn’t too hard to detect if you bring your nose to your arm.

Knightsbridge remains a Calvados vanilla scent for the rest of the drydown. In its final moments, it is nothing more than a blurry smear of boozy sweetness. All in all, Knightsbridge lasted roughly 10.75 hours with a larger dosage, and 9.5 with a smaller one. The overall sillage varied between moderate and soft, depending on how much fragrance I used. While the opening bouquet always had excellent projection for the first hour or so, and while scent felt very robust at that point, I wouldn’t use my “Wagnerian” classification to describe Knightsbridge as a whole.

Source: wallpaperscraft.com

As noted earlier, I haven’t seen anyone describe Knightsbridge as a boozy fragrance in the few reviews or comments that are out there. In a Basenotes discussion thread that was created upon news of the Knightsbridge’s release, there is only one commentator who describes how the perfume actually smells. “Kagey” writes:

Knightsbridge has a definite Visa-like feel to it – that smooth leather with a creamy backdrop of vanilla, with iris and something else – it smells almost like fruit or spiced flowers. It’s nice but I don’t think I need it.

Over at CaFleureBon, Michelyn Camen describes Knightsbridge in much the same way, but she joins Mark Behnke in putting the perfume in first place in their annual, year-end post on the best fragrances of 2013. There, she writes:

I was enthralled by the rich leather at the base, (the best buttery leather accord I have smelled in years and don’t get me started on the creamy sandalwood). Knightsbridge’s opulent orris heart stole mine. This is the best fragrance from Perfumer Aurelien Guichard for Piguet since Visa and in my opinion his best work to date.

Iris. Photo via free-desktop-backgrounds.net, then edited by me.

I haven’t tried Visa in order to compare, but I do have a general memory of another fragrance to which Knightsbridge has sometimes been compared: Dior‘s Homme. According to that Basenotes’ discussion thread that I quoted earlier, “word on the street” has it that the two fragrances are similar. Now, my memory of Dior Homme is admittedly a little faded, but I don’t think Knightsbridge is similar based upon what happened on my skin. For one thing, Dior Homme is not a scent that I would describe as heavily boozy. For another, on me, Knightsbridge is not an iris-centric fragrance, there is no cocoa or patchouli, and it’s not leathered in any way at all.

Getting back to other people’s experiences with Knightsbridge, Mark Behnke’s earlier, full review describes the scent in terms of an imaginary stroll through Harrod’s:

[A]s I walk towards the Haute Parfumerie the last lingering persistent note of a day of perfumistas sampling the wares is that of a rose. The rose has a bit of nutmeg to accentuate the spicy facets within the rose. As … I pass through the beauty section I smell the iris in the powder. M. Guichard has something richer in mind and he captures the iris with a completely decadent orris butter that is so rooty and opulent you just don’t want it to end. Paired with a creamy sandalwood this is what luxury means as this feels like the finest silk sliding through my hand with a frisson on my fingertips. Before I get to the front of the store I stop and breathe deep at the Louis Vuitton display and the smell of the finest leather meets me. I try on a pair of gloves and bring it to my face inhaling deep. The choice of tonka to support the leather accord makes a perfect ending to my night alone in Harrod’s.

“Red Orange Rose Yellow Abstract” by LTPhotographs, Etsy Store. (Link to website embedded within photo.)

On Fragrantica, there are only two reviews for Knightsbridge, and both are positive.

Absolutely stunning. Has a really classic yet modern feel to it. The rose is prominent at the start with a warm spicy background. It develops into a warm, balmy concoction that pleases my nose. Surprisingly it’s mildly reminiscent of ‘Calypso’ but much more rich and slightly more masculine. I’m a man who is more than happy to wear a ‘woman’s’ perfume(I hate the labels, if it smells nice I say wear it), but with this I feel there is finally a woody, balmy floral that most men could wear.

this fragrance has the soul of other Piguet’s fragrances such as the creamy accord of Baghari, rose accord from Rose Perfection, Woody accord of Futur, and Animalic accord of Bandit. [¶][…] one note that is particularly noticeable is Iris and it is the closest to the iris accord in dior homme of any fragrance i have smelled so far..but there is a twist..the iris in Dior Homme is sparkling whereas it is resinous in Knightsbridge.

Well, all I can say is that I obviously had a very different experience from everyone else. There was nothing animalic or Bandit-like at all about Knightsbridge on me, almost nothing woody, very little iris, and definitely no leather. I also had a different longevity issue than some of the people on Fragrantica, where Knightsbridge has one vote for “poor” longevity, and another one for “weak.” On the other hand, I can see why the majority votes for sillage are tied between “soft” (2 votes) and “moderate” (also 2 votes).

As a whole, I think Knightsbridge is a good, solid scent with a lovely drydown, but I don’t share the wild love for it that I’ve seen amongst some people I respect. I can’t think of a way to put things diplomatically, so I’ll just say that we all have different skin and experiences — and my experience would not qualify Knightsbridge for my Top 10 of the year. What I smelled was very enjoyable at times, but I don’t find anything particularly interesting, original, clever, or unique about either jammy, fruit-chouli roses with cognac, even if they are lightly flecked with a light touch of iris for about 40 minutes. And lord knows, there are plenty of nicely done, boozy vanillas on the market.

In all honesty, I think some of my feelings are — consciously or subconsciously — influenced by Knightsbridge’s extremely limited accessibility. The thing is, I simply did not experience anything distinctive or superlative enough to go to great lengths to obtain a bottle from Harrods. The perfume costs £150 which comes to roughly $253 at today’s rate of exchange, so to harness the efforts of a perfume mule who will buy it blindly for you and lug it back in their suitcase seems like the sort of effort warranted only for a truly exceptional, unique fragrance. Knightsbridge does not rise to that level, in my opinion.

It would be different if Knightsbridge were widely available. In that case, I’d definitely encourage everyone who loves roses, tonka, and booziness to give it a passing test sniff, especially in light of its lovely drydown. I wouldn’t wear Knightsbridge myself, but I think a good number of you would enjoy it very much, even if you didn’t think it was the most spectacular perfume you’d tried all year. Unfortunately, given Knightsbridge’s exclusivity and Harrod’s refusal to ship outside the U.K., I don’t think the fragrance is really worth substantial effort.

All of that is a subjective, personal valuation, however. Those who love the notes in question — whether the ones that I encountered, the Dior Homme concoction, or Mark Behnke’s rose-iris-leather-vanilla combination — may feel very differently. In which case, I hope you know someone who is travelling to London and willing to be your perfume mule.

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: As noted, Knightsbridge is exclusive to Harrods, now and forever. The perfume is an eau de parfum that comes in a 100 ml bottle and costs £150. Harrods does not ship (“export” in their words) outside of the U.K., and the perfume will never be offered at any other site, not even Robert Piguet’s own website. I have not seen Knightsbridge offered on any of the American decanting sites. My own sample was a gift from a friend.

Reviews En Bref: Cuir Garamante & Cuir Venenum

Posted on May 18, 2014 by Kafkaesque

I thought I’d take a brief look at MDCI Parfums‘ Cuir Garamante and Parfumerie Generale‘s Cuir Venenum in today’s mini reviews. As always, my Reviews En Bref are for fragrances that — for whatever reason — didn’t seem to warrant one of my more detailed assessments. In the case of both of these perfumes, neither one was actually a “leather” fragrance on my skin, and both were extremely simple scents at their core.

MDCI PARFUMS CUIR GARAMANTE:

Source: Luckyscent.

Cuir Garamante is an eau de parfum that was released in 2013. According to Fragrantica, its notes includes:

pink pepper, nutmeg, saffron; rose, cyperus esculentus [cypriol], leather, vanilla, labdanum, incense and sandalwood.

Cuir Garamante is virtually identical to LM Parfums‘ Black Oud on my skin. To be precise, it mimics the first 6 hours of Black Oud in an unswerving line, with only minuscule differences in the amount of saffron and Norlimbanol that show up. In fact, Laurent Mazzone’s fragrance — released a year before — was the first thing that came to my mind when I tested Cuir Garamante, followed by Puredistance‘s 2013 BLACK which is also very similar to the opening phase of Black Oud. All three fragrances begin with an extremely spicy, dark, woody bouquet dominated by saffron, pink peppercorns, rose, syrupy purple fruit-chouli, woody notes, and smokiness. None of them are genuine leather fragrances on my skin, but center instead on an oud-like note, whether from cypriol, Norlimbanol, or some other woody-ambered aromachemical

Photo: My own.

The primary differences between the three fragrances involve the changing role of the rose note, the Norlimbanol, and the drydown. On my skin, Cuir Garamante is a largely linear scent that spends hours wafting a blend of spices, purple patchouli, fruitchouli-rose, oud, and dry, woody-amber, flecked with darkness and the subtle suggestion of some vaguely “leathery” undertone. At times, the latter feels drizzled with honey in a way that’s very appealing, and strongly reminiscent of both Black Oud and LM Parfums’ Hard Leather.

In its middle phase, starting roughly in the middle of the third hour, the Norlimbanol grows stronger, slowly overtaking the very jammy rose. At the same time, the other notes turn more abstract, particularly the saffron and spices. With every passing hour, the scent turns drier and the notes melt into each other. Cuir Garamante slowly turns into a simple woody-amber scent and, in its final moments, is nothing more thana blur of slightly sweet woodiness.

Source: hqwallbase.com

I did side-by-side tests of Cuir Garamante, Black Oud, and Puredistance’s Black, and all three fragrances are incredibly close in their opening stage. Cuir Garamante simply keeps that stage for several hours more than the other two fragrances. I think it has more Norlimbanol or cypriol than Black Oud, but significantly less rose and patchouli than Puredistance’s Black. The latter diverges the most in terms of the drydown, has the longest focus on the fruitchouli-rose note, and is the most aromachemical of the three on my skin. It is also the weakest in terms of projection and longevity. Of the three, Black Oud is the least synthetic, the smoothest, the most “black” in visual nature, and the most refined.

Photo: my own.

Yet, if you ignore the small differences in terms of the secondary notes or tiny fluctuations in the nuances, Cuir Garamante is essentially, by and large, identical to LM Parfums’ Black Oud on my skin. They have the same great longevity (well over 14 hours) and similar sillage, but they differ in terms of price. Black Oud costs $225 or €195 for a 100 ml bottle of what is essentially a pure parfum extrait. Cuir Garamante costs $250 for 75 ml of eau de parfum. (Puredistance Black costs almost $600 for a 100 ml extrait, and is definitely not worth the price, in my opinion.) As noted, I think Black Oud is a smoother, less synthetic, higher quality fragrance. I also think it is much less linear, if you consider the nuances. While all that comes down to a question of personal taste, the bottom line, though, is that there is such a substantial overlap between the fragrances that you only need one of them.

PARFUMERIE GENERALE CUIR VENENUM:

Source: Fragrantica

Cuir Venenum (or “PG03 Cuir Venenum“) is an eau de parfum that was released in 2004. Despite the “leather” part of its title, this is a fragrance that is largely centered around orange blossoms. In fact, Fragrantica categorizes Cuir Venenum as a “floral, woody musk,” which is quite accurate, in my opinion. The site says Cuir Venenum’s notes include:

lemon, orange blossom, coconut, leather, myrrh and musk.

Parfumerie Generale, however, lists only:

Orange Blossom, Leather , Cedar, Musk and Honey

Orange Blossom Syrup.

Cuir Venenum opens on my skin with extremely syrupy, extremely sweet orange blossoms, infused with a plastic vanilla note and such an intensely fruited element that it strongly resembles like fruit-chouli. Clean white musk and a tinge of coconut complete the picture. The whole thing is cloyingly sweet, but also smells like something that you’d find at Bath & Body Works, thanks to the perfume’s soapy, clean streak. None of that is a compliment. At niche prices, one expects a little more than a generic, sweet fruity-floral concoction with screeching orange blossoms, plastic-y undertones, soapy cleanness, and cheap white musk.

On my skin, there is not an iota of actual leather at any point in Cuir Venenum’s lifespan. Not one shred of it. Parfumerie Generale’s website says this about the leather note in the perfume:

Sombre, heady and opulent leather is generally an inevitable component of men’s perfumery. Reinterpreted, modernised – even feminised – it shows a new oriental and erotic facet that gives it depth and mystery.

Concord Grape Jam. Source: Tasty Yummies blog. (Link to website embedded within photo.)

Not on my skin. There is no leather — neither opulent, heady, modernised, feminised, refined, nor any other kind for that matter. Instead, there is what feels like a hell of a lot of purple, grape-y, fruit-chouli molasses that further amplifies the syrupy nature of the orange blossoms. The cause probably stems from the grape aspect of the orange blossoms’ naturally occurring methyl anthranilate, but I wish it had been toned down by several decibels.

Source: fantom-xp.com

The best thing that can be said for Cuir Venenum is that it eventually gets better — though it’s rather a relative matter, if you ask me. At the start of the 4th hour, a soft, golden warmth diffuses its way through the flowers, and softens the orange blossoms. It helps to muffle and tone down the reign of sickly fruitiness, even if it’s just by a hair. It also alleviates some of that revoltingly cheap white musk. I suspect it stems from the myrrh, though I don’t detect either its usual anise-like facets nor its incense, dusty ones. There is a muffled whisper of some vague nuttiness in the background, but it is very muted. What is more noticeable is a growing touch of waxy coconut that slowly starts to rise from the base.

Photo: my own.

In its drydown, Cuir Venenum finally turns creamy, soft, and less sweet. Roughly 6.5 hours into its development, a milky quality appears, thanks to the coconut. There is also a softness that almost feels like some vaguely clean, new suede — but not quite. It lacks the untouched, pristine cleanness or powderiness of some suede scents, many of which are recreated through iris. Here, the note is more akin to a soft, smooth suppleness with a certain creaminess underlying it. The fruited orange blossoms still lie over everything, but they are heavily muffled now and no longer drip with a cloying, almost gourmand sweetness. In its final hours, Cuir Venenum emits a vaguely clean milky softness that is almost suede-like and sprinkled with the mere suggestion of orange blossom.

All in all, Cuir Venenum lasted just a hair over 8.25 hours. The sillage was generally soft, projecting initially about 2 inches above the skin. It felt very gauzy, wispy, and lightweight, despite the gooeyiness of its dripping syrup. Cuir Venenum turned into a skin scent on me by the end of the 3rd hour, which I found to be rather a relief. I didn’t find any of it to be a sophisticated scent of luxurious quality, nor a hugely complex, morphing, twisting one, either.

Source: post-gazette.com

Cuir Venenum has received mixed reviews on Fragrantica, though the majority are negative. Usually, I don’t get into comparative assessments in my Reviews on Bref, but the horror and snark on Cuir Venenum are simply too good to pass up:

Smells bizarrely of rotting garbage, specifically of when people collect soda cans in garbage bags for recycling and you can smell the sugary soda fermenting and rotting. Do smell leather, too. Tried it again. My final verdict: a weathered drunkard sits down on a badly tanned leather sofa that’s been discarded on the sidewalk. He opens his quart of Mad Dog 20/20 and starts guzzling, spilling quite a bit down his front. He then passes out and pisses himself. This stuff smells like his crotch. Truly awful.

Stale malt liquor with addition of one marinated cigarette butt.

Grape snowball syrup squirted into a bowl with huge feet soaking in stanky wine and vinegar, and then placed into leather boots with no socks. Basically, it smells like a clown working in a leather tannery.

All I could smell was… cigarette smoke! No, it wasn’t tobacco; it was pure nicotine! Wearing Cuir Venenum feels like entering cold, empty smoking-room. It feels like standing next to someone who’s been smoking a pack of cigarettes a day for twenty years now and tries to kill their smoky smell with some kind of cheap perfume.

All in all, to me it is a smell of a dark, freshly draught beer with a slight cigarette undertone.

I actually thought that I was testing a mislabeled sample, so different was my perception from the official notes. Top notes of vinyl and acrid grape cough syrup, followed by a whiff of cow dung (possibly the “leather”?), all leading into a persistent candy-sweet-powder drydown of maligned orange blossom. Very synthetic in character. I dislike this on me and would find it abhorrent on a man.

Parmegiano Reggiano cheese. Source: maltatoday.com.mt

For Dr. Ellen Covey of Olympic Orchids perfumery, there was no rotting garbage, cow dung, beer, a man’s crotch, or stale cigarettes, but, instead, “parmesan cheese” mixed with grape candy, leading her to end her review with a question: “what were they thinking?”

One of the most bizarre openings I’ve smelled in a long time. The predominant – no, overpowering – note is artificial grape candy, accompanied by what I will tactfully refer to as parmesan cheese. There’s also a little civet skulking in the background. It’s an odd combination if ever there was one. Since orange blossom is listed in the notes, it’s possible that the accord was hugely overdosed with methyl anthranilate or some similar “grape” aromachemical.

I kept waiting for the grape and “parmesan” notes to make a graceful exit, but they refused. Instead, they just turned the intensity down a notch, or I slowly adapted to them. I could have scrubbed, but my morbid curiosity had kicked in, so I waited to see what else, if anything, this perfume had to deliver. Apparently there was nothing. After a few hours, all that was left was a light, sugary grape scent on my skin along with something vaguely musky.

“Venenum” is a Latin word meaning venom or poison. […] Cuir Venenum goes into the curio cabinet to serve as an example of a perfume that raises the unanswerable question, “What were they thinking?”

As you can see, a lot of people experienced a fragrance that was much worse than the banal, screeching, cheap Bath & Body Works fruity-floral that I encountered. In all fairness, however, there are people on Fragrantica who actually like Cuir Venenum and its orange blossom blast. They are not many, but they do exist. And some people even experience a leather scent, though few of the ones who do actually seem to like it. So, if you’re a huge fan of orange blossoms (and a glutton for punishment), I suppose you should check out Cuir Venenum. Who knows, maybe you’ll get lucky….

DETAILS:

CUIR GARAMANTE Cost & Availability: Cuir Garamante is an eau de parfum that comes in a 75 ml bottle called a “tasselled” bottle which costs $250 or €215, and a fancier bottle with a bust statue on it in the same 75 ml size for $375. There is also a Discovery Set. You can buy Cuir Garamante from the Parfums MDCI website, which also has an exclusive deal involving their discovery sets. Apparently, if you order either of 2 discovery set (set of 5 or set of 8), that amount is credited towards the purchase of a full bottle. In the U.S.: Cuir Garamante is available at Luckyscent, along with a Discovery Set of 8 different MDCI fragrances in a 12 ml size for $210. Regular sized samples are also available. Osswald also has both versions, but sells the basic bottle for $263, not $250. Outside the U.S.: you can purchase Cuir Garamante from Parfums MDCI, First in Fragrance and other retailers.

CUIR VENENUM Cost & Availability: Cuir Venenum is an eau de parfum that comes in a variety of sizes. Luckyscent sells the 50 ml bottle for $125. You can find the smaller 30 ml size for €62 on PG’s European website, as well as at Osswald NY in the U.S., and many other vendors. Samples of both fragrances are available from a wide variety of sources, including Surrender to Chance.

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.