Serge Lutens La Vierge de Fer

Posted on December 5, 2013 by Kafkaesque

Joan of Arc. Source: cosmovisions.com

It’s hard to live up to a powerful name. Even harder when that name is something that seems to reference both Joan of Arc, and perhaps the most notorious of all medieval torture devices, the Iron Maiden. So, I put all titular and symbolic considerations aside when I tested the latest fragrance from Serge Lutens, La Vierge de Fer, and looked at it in a vacuum. With deep regret and sadness, I have to say that I think it is the worst perfume that I’ve ever tried from Serge Lutens, and more suited to a cheap department store.

La Vierge de Fer is a floral eau de parfum whose name translates to “The Iron Maiden” (or virgin). It was created by Christopher Sheldrake, and released in September of this year as one of the famous, pricey, bell jar “Paris Exclusives.” The perfume is not sold world-wide, but is limited to Serge Lutens’ Paris headquarters, the Lutens websites, or to the Lutens section of Barney’s New York.

The inspiration for the fragrance seems to vary depending on which source you read. Some say that La Vierge de Fer was inspired by Picasso’s Les Demoiselles d’Avignon, others talk about Joan of Arc, or the medieval torture device called the Iron Maiden. A few mention Serge Lutens’ mother and how the fragrance is partially an homage to her. (You can read about Serge Lutens’ childhood, and how his mother was forced to abandon him as a baby in the first part of my profile on Monsieur Lutens.)

An Iron Maiden. Source: museumofman.org

In an interview with Ozmoz, Monsieur Lutens seemed to give a nod to a few of these things:

The name you picked, La vierge de fer (The Iron Maiden), is pretty intense. There’s a reference to torture. Is there perhaps a connection to Joan of Arc, too?

SL: All maidens have a connection between them. Joan of Arc kicking the English out of France is one of the loves of my life. Whether she’s wearing armor or crowning the King of France, she’s a reference, absolutely, but not here. The Iron Maiden is more of an attitude. My own attitude towards what creates beauty. You can’t conceive of anything without a certain fragility, a scar at the bottom of it all. Opening that scar to make it universal is the basic principle of Art. An iron maiden used to be an instrument of torture. And if the term ‘to create’ means anything, it means that whoever does it is tortured and sacrificed on the alter of something.

La Vierge de Fer bell jar.

On his website, Serge Lutens doesn’t add any clarification, writing and describing the perfume rather cryptically:

The religion of iron needed a Virgin, and the Virgin, a lily.

“Have you smelt it?”
“Yes, I have.”
“And how is it?”
“As striking as the fleur-de-lis seal on the arm of a criminal.”
“Never?!”
“And deep down, as itchy as a hair shirt on the skin. In fact, a sublime torture!”.

As always, Serge Lutens keeps the perfume’s notes secret. Surrender to Chance says they are:

Lily, jasmine, amber, vanilla and sandalwood.

The notes I detect are slightly different:

Lily, aldehydes, muguet (or lily of the valley), jasmine, generic amber, white musk, vanilla.

Calla lilies. Source: cosmovisions.com

La Vierge de Fer opens on my skin with notes that are, indeed, as itchy as a hair shirt, though the torture is far from “sublime,” in my opinion. There is a heavy layer of soapy aldehydes that have a lemony undertone. They are followed by lilies that don’t smell like indolic Stargarzers so much as the fresher Calla lily shown in the photo. I also detect a subtle, green whiff of dainty, dewy lily-of-the-valley which I’ll just call by its French name, muguet, in order to avoid any confusion. The whole thing smells as fresh as Dior’s legendary Diorissimo, which would be fine and dandy were it not for the white synthetics.

Bounce dryer sheets.

The green-white floral bouquet is infused with a sharp white musk that sends a piercing pain through my eye every time I smell La Vierge de Fer up close. It starts off resembling expensive hair spray, which is bad enough without its fast transition into the most potent of laundryesque dryer sheets. It is astoundingly bad, astoundingly cheap, and just plain astounding — period — from a house like Serge Lutens. One reason why I like his perfumes is because they generally (with some exceptions) eschew very heavy amounts of synthetics, and, even then, it’s rarely the cheapest form around: common white musk. I don’t go to Serge Lutens for a fragrance that smells like any white florals found in Sephora or Macy’s. I don’t pay his prices for what a celebrity might put out for $30, and I most certainly do not expect such a scent in one of the uber-expensive bell jars whose price has just gone up in the U.S. to $310. The depths of my disappointment and disbelief knows no bounds.

Source: wallpaper.metalship.org

As I struggle to stop wincing at the shooting pains in my head from the Bounce fabric softener sheets, I notice the odd contrasts emerging in La Vierge de Fer. The fragrance runs hot and cold, metallic and gourmand, in a mix that is both discordant and perplexing. The top notes are soapy aldehydes, piercing white musk, and fresh, green-white lilies, but there is a metallic clang surrounding them that goes beyond mere coldness. It’s as though there were a vein of chilled silver running through the notes, no doubt due to the bloody white musk and the aldehydes. The latter quickly lose their lemony overtones, and turn into pure soap with a tinge of waxiness.

Vanilla powder. Source: food.ninemsn.com.au

Appearing underneath the cool, white bouquet are sudden flashes of something warm, dusty, and sweet. At times, it feels like richly custardy, sweet vanilla. Other times, it’s like dusty, dark, vanilla extrait in unrefined, unprocessed powder. The rich sweetness in the base acts like a wave hitting the green-white floral shores before pulling back, then returning once more. It’s almost like a sort of relay race between the sweet gourmand notes and the alternating cool, metallic, clangy element, the soapy aldehydes, and that piercingly sharp, laundryesque, white musk. It’s rather brilliant on an intellectual, theoretical level, but somewhat disorienting and perplexing on a purely olfactory one.

I’m not happy. I have not been happy on any of the occasions when I’ve tested La Vierge de Fer. Lily is perhaps my favorite floral note, and white floral bombs are the one kind of floral scent that I gravitate towards, but I can’t decide which part of La Vierge de Fer I find more off-putting. So, it’s probably a small mercy then that the perfume has such incredibly weak projection. Within minutes, it feels as though it were evaporating off my skin. Well, everything except that revolting white musk. In less than 10 minutes, in fact, La Vierge de Fer is a complete skin scent on me, which is pretty astonishing. I have problems with longevity, not sillage, but 10 minutes? For an eau de parfum?!

Lily of the Valley, or Muguet.

La Vierge de Fer also suffers from the cardinal sin of being utterly boring. I have nothing against soliflores — perfumes celebrating and revolving around one main note — if they are interesting or well-done. For me, however, La Vierge de Fer is tedious and banal. Exactly 20 minutes into its development, the perfume loses that odd metallic clang and coldness, and the relay race with the vanilla ends. I wasn’t keen on it, but at least it was interesting, and I could see how the metal might be a symbolic representation of either Joan of Arc’s armour, or the steel spokes of the Iron Maiden as it pierced flesh warm from vanilla and white from lilies. Once that extremely clever bit of elegiac sophistication vanishes, you are left with nothing more than lilies infused with soapy aldehydes and horrific commercial musk. Even the more green muguet note vanishes, if it was even there at all. It’s hard to tell under all the synthetics, especially given how wispy the fragrance is on my skin.

Source: hdwallpapers.fr

It takes about 75-minutes for La Vierge de Fer to change, though it’s minor at best. At first, there is a subtle, nebulous change in the perfume’s temperature and feel, as though there were a growing warmth in the base. It’s not vanilla, and it’s most definitely nothing that is actually ambered, but La Vierge de Fer seems less crisp and fresh. The jasmine starts to come out, slowly vying with the lily for dominance, and turning the fragrance sweeter. Eventually, by the end of the 2nd hour, La Vierge de Fer begins to shed some of its laundryesque sharpness like an unpleasant snake’s skin, though the jasmine can’t erase all of it. The perfume is now jasmine and lily on an abstract, sweet, warm base that is infused with Bounce dryer sheets. By the end of the 3rd hour, La Vierge de Fer is nothing more than a blur of whiteness (and synthetics) that feels as though it’s about to die entirely.

To my surprise, La Vierge de Fer hangs on tenaciously, chugging away in the most translucent smear on my skin. It still gives me an immediate pain in my head every time I smell it up close, but the perfume is definitely there if you put your nose right on your arm and inhale forcefully. What is surprising is an odd, unexpected fruitiness that suddenly pops up alongside the clean, white musk in the base. To the extent that I can make out anything from La Vierge de Fer’s thinness, it almost smells like dark grapes. It has to be the indoles so prevalent in white flowers like jasmine; indoles can be broken down to something called methyl anthranilate, a natural compound which has a fruity aroma, often like that of Concord grapes (among other things). Whatever the reason for the sudden fruitiness, it is a fleeting thing that shows up on in the tiniest of ways and towards the end on my skin around the middle of the 5th hour.

Source: backdropsforyourlife.wordpress.com

The perfume dies shortly thereafter, giving its last gasp just a little over 7 hours from the time I first applied it. In its final moments, it was nothing more than cheap, synthetic white “cleanness.” The 7 hours comes from an average quantity of about 3 smears, or about 2 sprays. At a smaller dosage amounting to one good-sized spray, La Vierge de Fer lasted only 5.75 hours on my skin. Were it not for piercing musk, which my skin clings onto like glue, I suspect the whole thing would have died after three hours, no matter how much I applied.

If I were to be diplomatic about the reactions to La Vierge de Fer that I’ve observed in groups or on various sites, I would say that they are mixed. Some eventually grow to appreciate the perfume as was the case for Bois de Jasmin, who wrote, in part:

La Vierge de Fer is neither punk nor bizarre. It’s not particularly dark either. I would put it as one of the more approachable and easy to like florals from Lutens’s impressive collection. It’s quite demure and delicate next to the bombshells like Tubéreuse Criminelle or Fleurs d’Oranger. The tender sweetness of jasmine is contrasted with the champagne of aldehydes in the top notes, and this beautiful contrast between softness and sparkle is carried on into the drydown. […][¶]

Jasmine and lily fireworks notwithstanding, La Vierge de Fer was not love at first inhale for me. I found it too simple and not challenging enough. But as I continued to dip into my sample, I found it more and more compelling. It’s simultaneously comforting and sophisticated, which makes it versatile enough to wear for just about any occasion. You simply have to love being showered with white flowers.

Well, I do happen to “love being showered with white flowers,” but I personally wouldn’t wear La Vierge de Fer if it were given to me for free. And no amount of time or testing is going to change my feelings.

In my opinion, La Vierge de Fer could go right next to the sort of clean, fresh, white, Spring-like floral scents found in Dillard’s, TJ Maxx, or Sephora. There’s nothing wrong with that if that is your taste, but I doubt anyone would want to pay $310 for it. One spends that sort of money on a Serge Lutens bell jar to get a wholly unusual, creative, innovative scent with a twist — a scent that has a complex, morphing character that is different from everything else out there, and that doesn’t come with a massive wallop of cheap synthetics. I realise that Serge Lutens has veered as of late towards lighter, thinner, simpler fragrances, and away from the complex (often Oriental) perfumes with which he began his line in the early 1990s, but I think La Vierge de Fer suffers from more than mere simplicity. I find it tedious and absolutely terrible. In almost every case with Serge Lutens — even when a particular fragrance doesn’t suit my personal tastes — I can admire the artistry, think it is well-done, and respect it. That is not the case here. I don’t think La Vierge de Fer even deserves to carry the Serge Lutens name.

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: La Vierge de Fer is an eau de parfum that is part of the Serge Lutens “Paris Exclusives” line, which means it is available only in the larger 2.5 oz/75 ml Bell Jar size. It retails for $310 or €140 for a 75 ml/2.5 oz bottle. You can buy it directly from the U.S. Serge Lutens website or from the International one.

In the U.S.: La Vierge de Fer should be available exclusively at Barney’s New York store, but for some reason, the fragrance is not on the website at the time of this review. Normally, you can call the store to purchase their Lutens bell jars. The number is (212) 833-2425.

Samples: You can order samples of La Vierge de Fer from Surrender to Chance starting at $3.99 for a 1/2 ml vial. The fragrance is also available as part of a Five Piece Non-Export Sampler Set, where you can choose 5 Lutens Paris Exclusives for a starting price of $18.99 for a 1/2 ml vial.

LM Parfums Hard Leather: Lust In The Woods

Posted on December 4, 2013 by Kafkaesque

Source: Tumblr. Original artist or site unknown.

Sex. Seduction. The scent of a man in leather and smoke. The softness of a woman in sandalwood and vanilla. Musky figures entwined on a rumpled bed, in a room filled with the black swirls of incense. The smell of his neck, his chin rough with dry stubble, and the lingering traces of rum on his mouth. Her body golden, smooth, covered with honey, and damp with sweat. Hardness, softness, and always, pure animal sensuality.

The images that come to my mind when Hard Leather first opens on my skin are wholly inappropriate for further description. But it happens each time I smell the new fragrance from by LM Parfums. In the past, seduction has come to mind with a few fragrances that I’ve tried this year, notably Hard Leather’s older sister, Sensual Orchid, and Amouage‘s Fate Woman, but nothing quite like this. Nothing quite so animalic, so overt. This is not about coy, flirtatious seduction, but steamy intimacy.

Source: timeslive.co.za

For me, the opening hour of Hard Leather is primal, purely sexual, and it impacted me immediately from the very first time I smelled it. It made me quite lose my cool, despite being with the actual perfumer in the most haughtily snobbish, constipated place in all of Paris. And every time I’ve worn it since, it makes me feel quite heated. In short, Hard Leather has one of the best openings of any perfume I’ve smelled this year. In many a year, actually. The rest of the fragrance is not quite as glorious, primarily due to a middle phase that I struggle with a little, but the perfume is still incredibly well done as a whole and I think a lot of men are going to love it.

Hard Leather is set to release some time this week or the next in France, so I thought it was time for a full, proper review, beyond just my cursory, initial ravings. [Update: The perfume was officially released a few hours after the posting of this review, and is now available for sale.] Hard Leather is pure parfum with 20% fragrance oils, and part of LM Parfum’s new line called The Intimacy Collection. The press release description sent to me states that Hard Leather’s olfactory pyramid includes:

Top Notes: Rum, Leather.

Heart Notes: Iris, Honey.

Base Notes: Sandalwood, Cedarwood, Oud, Frankincense, Styrax and Vanilla.

Smoke #6 by Stefan Bonazzi. (Website link embedded within photo,.)

When you smell Hard Leather from the sprayer on the bottle, you are hit with a wave of black incense that is almost fiery and piercing. It is followed by smoky, sweet oud that smells as though it were taken straight from an extremely old agarwood tree in Laos. On its heels is a powerful, intense sandalwood that is most definitely the real, spicy, glorious, and very rare kind from Mysore. There is a dustiness, a dryness to the wood-incense combination, but also a patina of sweetness. To my nose, the aroma evokes both the incense-sandalwood profile of my beloved vintage Opium, as well as the much drier, dustier, more fiery incense-sandalwood-oud combination of Neela Vermeire‘s Trayee. But you can’t judge a perfume by its bottle aroma, any more than you can a book by its cover.

Source: Tumblr. Original source or photographer unknown.

Hard Leather opens on my skin with an initial whiff of honey and genuine Mysore sandalwood, then a powerful, potent burst of animalic, raw, musky leather. It’s as though a light coat of honey was thinly layered over raw animal hides left in the sun, which are then drenched with musk. The leather is initially like that in Montale‘s Aoud Cuir d’Arabie, before it turns into something midway between Aoud Cuir d’Arabie and Serge Lutens‘ glorious Cuir Mauresque. By the same token, the musk is similar to that in Serge Lutens‘ Muscs Koublai Khan (hereinafter “MKK“), only rounder and generally softer. It has the most fleeting urinous edge, but far less than the Lutens had on my skin. I’m generally not one for very raw, extremely animalic leather, but, my God, it’s sexy here. It’s leather with the scent of skin, heated and musky after sex, lightly drizzled with honey, and wrapped up with tendrils of black incense.

On skin, the oud initially lurks behind the leather, but it rears its head after a few minutes. It smells exactly like the aged Laotian kind used in such expensive lines as Xerjoff, and Laurent Mazzone confirmed to me that it is indeed aged Asian agarwood. The wonderful difference, here, is that the oud never smells fecal, or (even worse) like rotting gorgonzola, the way that Laotian agarwood can sometimes be in perfumery. Instead, it’s smooth, with a bit of that “noble rot” funk that is true to real oud. It’s also sweet, thanks to the honey, and slightly smoking from the incense. The oud is blended perfectly with the other woods in Hard Leather, from the slightly musky, dry cedar, to the gloriously rich, smooth, spicy sandalwood. The latter most definitely smells like the real stuff, and judging by the Robertet name on my tiny decant and the fact that they deal with the most expensive raw materials, I suspect Mr. Mazzone spent a fortune ensuring he got actual, red Mysore instead of some generic beige wood or green Australian “sandalwood.”

Source: 123people.es

The final result is an opening that I find to be utterly addictive, a smoldering cocktail of raw, steamy sex appeal. It’s as though Serge Lutens’ Cuir Mauresque mixed with MKK, Neela Vermeire’s Trayee, Montale’s Aoud Cuir d’Arabie, and a dash of vintage Opium’s drydown, only the final result is ramped up by a hundred. It’s Lawrence of Arabia’s swarthy, musky sheikhs, with Turkish harem concubines clothed only in tendrils of incense, having sex in the ancient agar forests of Laos under freshly tanned, cured leather coated in honey and sandalwood.

Yet, for all that the notes may sound aggressive or too much, Hard Leather’s opening is utterly seamless and perfectly blended. The notes fluidly move one into the other, each transforming the next, with no hard edges, roughness, or spiky, prickly bits. In this phase, the incense may be the sharpest thing about the fragrance, waging a war of blackness on the sexual musk and leather, as if to drag the lovers to a Chinese temple. One thing I’ve noticed is that Hard Leather is a fragrance where less is sometimes more at the start, because two big sprays can be quite intense.

Thirty minutes in, Hard Leather starts to shift. The leather loses some of its rawness, turning richer, and more burnished. The musk softens too, feeling a little less dirty or skanky, while the honey blends in the base to add the faintest touch of sweetness. The sandalwood becomes even deeper, and even takes on a floral touch that is quite lovely. Actually, all the wood accords grow stronger, as does the smoke. Slowly, Hard Leather begins the transition to its next phase where the wood elements dominate the scent to such an extent, I sometimes wonder if the perfume might be more aptly named Hard Woods.

An hour into its development, Hard Leather begins its second stage, turning intensely dry. The desiccated feel from the woods and smoke essentially neutralizes the honey, but I think something else is at play. I smell Norlimbanol with its arid and, yes, its synthetic feel. For those who are unfamiliar with the name, Norlimbanol is a super aromachemical from Givaudan that puts ISO E Super to shame with its power. It has an ultra powerful, sharp aroma of woodiness with an undertone of leather, but it is always bone-dry to the point of dustiness.

Recently, I spent 10 minutes sniffing just the outside of my little decant of Hard Leather, and there was a definite synthetic whiff of dry woodiness right from the sprayer. On skin, it only shows up after an hour or 75 minutes, but it does show up. A few times when I’ve sniffed Hard Leather on my arm and up close, I get an immediate tightness in my nose and the faintest tickle at the back of my throat. The Norlimbanol is merely a speck at first, but it becomes increasingly powerful in Hard Leather’s 2nd through 5th hours, and I have to admit, I’m not a fan of it. Even without it, I think the new focus on dry woods destroys the perfection of the first hour with its raw animalism and unapologetic, lusty sensuality. Bring back the sex and leather, I say!

Smoke #11 Stefano Bonazzi Selected Digital Works. (Website link embedded within photo.)

About 90-minutes into its development, Hard Leather is a different fragrance. The oud and Norlimbanol have taken over, turning the scent into one of extreme woods and incense with a very arid feel. The lusty, raunchy leather is blended into it, but it is a much more muted layer that lies underneath, and it is no longer Hard Leather’s main focus. At the same time, Hard Leather’s initially powerful sillage drops. With 2 big sprays (or the equivalent of 3 enormous smears), Hard Leather initially wafts about 5-6 inches around you, before dropping down after 90 minutes to a softer, airier cloud that is only about 3 inches. It’s very intense when smelled up close, and remains that way for hours.

The other notes make a valiant effort to counter-balance the the power of the oud, incense, and Norlimbanol. Unfortunately, my skin takes synthetics like the latter and runs with it, so they’re not particularly successful. Still, I really like how the Mysore sandalwood blooms, turning more floral and much creamier. I can also detect the sweeter notes stirring in the base. Styrax is a smoky, spicy, slightly leathered sort of amber resin, and it adds little flecks of golden warmth like fireflies in an extremely dark, smoky forest. The tiniest tendrils of vanilla curl up as well, stroking the woods, trying to tame them with sweetness in order to end the dry spell.

Source: hqdesktop.net

The core essence of Hard Leather’s second stage remains largely unchanged for the next few hours. Different notes wax and wane in prominence or strength, but the intense smoke, dry woods, and oud dominate. The power of the trio and the length of their stay really seems to depend on how much Hard Leather you apply. The more you spray, the longer their duration and force, and the less sweetness the fragrance manifests. Regardless, midway during the third hour, the vanilla starts to play a much bigger role. It’s now quite cuddly, cozy, rich, and sweet. The sandalwood turns even creamier; it’s a very smooth, incredibly luxurious aroma that begins to muscle its way onto center stage. Hard Leather is an elegant blend of dryness, sweetness, spiciness, creaminess, smokiness, leather, and woods, with just a hint of something raunchy, untamed, and animalic at its edges.

Source: 123rf.com

At the end of the fifth hour, the dryness finally recedes, and Hard Leather transitions to its third stage. The primary focal point is now spicy sandalwood and sweet vanilla, followed by oud, incense and increasingly muted hints of musky leather. It is all much more discreet, lying right on the skin, though it doesn’t take any effort to detect Hard Leather up close. Other notes pop up and down like a Jack in the Box. The honey reappears from time to time in the background, adding to Hard Leather’s growing glimpses of sweetness. The base feels much warmer now as well, though the styrax resin never seems like actual amber but something much more abstract in nature.

The oddest thing is the iris. Sometimes, Hard Leather has a definite floral element, but it really seems to stem primarily from the sandalwood. On occasion, however, the iris appears on my skin, primarily as a cool, soft suede with the faintest tinge of soft powder. It’s incredibly muted and weak on me, and I suspect cooler or paler skins may bring out the iris more than my warm, basenote-amplifying chemistry.

Source: top.besthdwallpapers.info

Hard Leather’s final stage begins around the 8th hour. The perfume is a blur of spicy sandalwood with tiny flickers of smoky oud, musk, and sweetness. It feels quite abstract on some levels, though the sandalwood is unmistakable. In its final moments, Hard Leather is merely a gauzy whisper of sweet, slightly spicy woodiness. The scent has astounding longevity on my perfume-consuming skin. Two big sprays (the equivalent of 3 enormous smears) lasted 14.25 hours, though it was quite patchy in spots and I actually thought it may have died after 12 hours. With only one spray, Hard Leather lasts just under 12.5 hours. The sillage is initially quite fierce, but, like all LM Parfums, softens and drops around the 90-minute mark. Using the smaller quantity, Hard Leather became a true skin on me at end of the 4th hour; with a larger application, at the end of the 6th.

I love Hard Leather, though it’s not perfect. I will never get tired of its opening, and how jaw-droppingly seductive it is. It is pure sex on a stick (or, in this case, sex in a bottle). I wish with all my heart that it would last forever, especially as I’m less enthused by the 2nd phase with all its Norlimbanol. Still, the aromachemical is miles away from the demonic toxicity of YSL‘s utterly heinous Noble Leather, and it certainly didn’t impact me in the same way. It’s also much softer and tamer in small quantities, so I’d gladly wear Hard Leather even with the bloody Norlimbanol. That should tell you how much I love that raunchy, sexual, primal start. It’s positively indecent — in the very best way possible! Hard Leather ends on a happy note, too, with creamy, rich, gloriously real Mysore sandalwood, warm vanilla, and, less excitingly, oud.

For all that I would like to drown myself in Hard Leather’s opening, for all its impact on me, I most definitely do NOT recommend the perfume to everyone. Those who disliked any of the fragrances that I’ve mentioned here — from Aoud Cuir d’Arabie and Cuir Mauresque, to Muscs Koublai Khan or Trayee — should stay away. Those who have issues with oud of any kind, especially aged agarwood, or who find animalic scents to be dirty, should avoid Hard Leather as well. People who like their leather to be more like suede or expensive handbags will find this scent to be far too raw for their tastes. And, as a whole, I don’t think Hard Leather is a fragrance that the vast majority of women would like on their own skin, though I think a lot would find it incredibly sexy on a man.

Hard Leather is a fragrance that skews sharply and unapologetically masculine, rendering things like Puredistance‘s glorious M extremely unisex in comparison. (I personally think that M really is unisex, but I know a number of women who feel they can’t wear it. That sentiment would be amplified by a thousand for Hard Leather.) I think the dryness of Hard Leather’s second phase may also be difficult for people of either gender who prefer a little more sweetness with their woods or animalic touches.

Speaking of that dryness, Hard Leather at the end of the second hour made me think of Amouage‘s Opus VII. The two fragrances are very different, particularly because of the herbal oddness of the fenugreek in Opus VII and the nature of the two musks. On my skin, the animalic elements in Opus VII turned into something strongly reminiscent of a wild cat enclosure at the zoo with peeing lions, instead of the scent of skin during sex. Opus VII is visually greener, with strong spices, and heavily peppered with ISO E Super. Yet both fragrances have an extreme darkness to them, and share oud, incense, sandalwood, leather tonalities, and amplifying synthetics with a bone-dry feel. I think Hard Leather is much less desiccated than Opus VII, and has sweeter, warmer elements, but, in terms of an aesthetic style, the two fragrances share some distant kinship, though I must stress again that they don’t smell anything alike.

Photo: Oleksiy Maksymenko. Source: FineArtAmerica. (Website link embedded within photo.)

Still, if Opus VII was your cup of tea and you didn’t find it too dry, oud-y or smoky, then you should definitely try Hard Leather. If neither Opus VII nor any of the other fragrances mentioned here were your style, Hard Leather won’t be either. In my case, I loathed Opus VII (thanks to the peeing lion and the ISO E Super), but I do love Hard Leather because of its greater kinship with fragrances like Cuir Mauresque, MKK, and Trayee. The raunchy sexuality of that opening phase is so beautifully balanced, melded so seamlessly with the other notes, that it is very tasteful in my eyes — which makes it even more seductive and hot. Perhaps the best way to describe it is to compare it to the height of foreplay, instead of anything more… climactic, shall we say. Hard Leather’s subsequent journey into the depths of a dark, smoky forest undergoing a drought is hardly as appealing, but the creamy, sweetened warmth of the final stage takes us back to bed, with a couple now sleeping off the after-effects of both stages in a haze of sandalwood, oud, and sweet muskiness.

Unfortunately, none of this comes cheaply. From what I’ve gathered, and from my early taste of the 2014 LM Parfums fragrances that I tried in Paris, Laurent Mazzone’s new Intimacy Collection seeks to focus on more complex, sophisticated scents based on the most expensive of ingredients. Hard Leather is the first in that collection, and it is priced accordingly at €295. (The current extraits perfumes are €195, a €100 less.) I don’t know what the American price will be when it eventually hits these shores and comes to Osswald in New York, but €295 is $400 at today’s rate of exchange. On the other hand, Hard Leather is also pure parfum in concentration, and there is a 100 ml of it. It smells expensive; it includes incredibly costly ingredients like aged Laotian oud, iris, and, more importantly, rare, almost extinct Mysore sandalwood; and a single spray has great potency and longevity.

I’m the first one to decry perfumes that are over-priced for what they are, but I think you’re definitely getting your money’s worth with Hard Leather. It is worth every penny. In fact, if the perfume consisted solely of that smoking hot, steamy opening, but cost twice as much, I’d contemplate selling a kidney to buy it. My God, that opening… that opening…. I don’t know if I should take a freezing cold shower, or just spray on some more.

Disclosure: sample provided by LM Parfums. That did not impact this review. I do not do paid reviews, my opinions are my own, and my first obligation is honesty to my readers.

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: Hard Leather is pure parfum extrait that is available only in a 100 ml/3.4 oz bottle which costs €295. It was released just today, 12/04/13, online, at LM Parfums. Samples of all LM Parfums extraits are usually available and priced at €19 for 5 ml size, and I see Hard Leather is also listed as of 12/14. Laurent Mazzone’s Premiere Avenue now has a decant of Hard Leather for that price as well. In the U.S.: Laurent Mazzone’s fragrances are sold exclusively at Osswald NYC, but they informed me on Twitter that they won’t receive Hard Leather until January 2014. I will try to update this post when they do. Outside the U.S.: You can find Hard Leather, along with all LM Parfums, and 5 ml samples of each at Laurent Mazzone’s own Premiere Avenue which ships throughout Europe. Hard Leather is not yet offered in decant form, but you can check back later as the perfume was just released today. In the UK, the LM Parfums line is exclusive to Harvey Nichols. In Paris, LM Parfums are sold at Jovoy. In the Netherlands, you can find LM Parfums at ParfuMaria or Silks Cosmetics. In Germany, First in Fragrance carries the full line, and sells samples as well. You can also find LM Parfums at Essenza Nobile, Italy’s Vittoria Profumi, or Alla Violetta. In the Middle East, I found most of the LM Parfums line at the UAE’s Souq perfume site. For all other countries, you can find a vendor near you from Switzerland to Belgium, Lithuania, Russia, Romania, Croatia, Azerbaijan, and more, by using the LM Parfums Partner listing. Laurent Mazzone or LM Parfums fragrances are widely available throughout Europe, and many of those sites sell samples as well.

Parfums de Marly Safanad

Posted on December 2, 2013 by Kafkaesque

The lushness of an orange orchard under a turquoise Mediterranean sky. The juice of fruits lying heavy and ripe on the branches mixed with the heady, languid whiteness of their white blossoms. Orange in all its manifestations dances a duet with custardy ylang-ylang and vanilla, until… suddenly… the scenery changes and you’re in cool, grey Paris in a garden filled with irises.

Source: Fragrantica.

That is a portion of my journey with Safanad, a new fragrance from Parfums de Marly which was released earlier this year. Parfums de Marly is a house founded in 2009 under the direction of Julien Sprecher, and its name refers to the beautiful, 18th-century horse sculptures by Guillaume Coustou called “Les Chevaux de Marly.” All the fragrances in the line carry the name of a particular horse or equine breed, and Safanad is no exception. As the company description quoted by Jovoy Paris explains, Safanad was inspired by a present from the Queen of Sheba to King Solomon:

A Safanad horse. Source: straightegyptians.com.

Safanad, is from the ancestor of an Arabian horse breed that exists for several thousand years. The queen of Sheba presented to the wise king Solomon this thoroughbred horse named Safanad, meaning “The pure”.

This fragrance from perfumes de Marly reflects the grace of a thoroughbred. Besides the excellent quality the daring elegance, the concentrated energy and the unique temperament completes the fragrance.

The unique beauty of this fragrance is poured in with the top notes of Orange and pear.

Amber, sandalwood and vanilla harmonizing excellently in the base with the heart of Orange Blossom iris, and ylang-ylang.

The succinct list of the perfume’s notes is:

Top Note: Orange, Pear

Heart Note: Orange Blossom, Iris, Ylang-Ylang

Base Note: Ambergris, Sandalwood, Vanilla.

Source: Telegraph.co.uk

Safanad opens on my skin with an explosion of concentrated orange, followed by sweet, heady orange blossoms. The fruit is intense, as if the pulp of a hundred oranges had been reduced down to a few teaspoons. There is a syrupy sweetness to Safanad that is augmented by the orange blossoms which are heady, opulent, and potent. For all their lushness, they don’t feel indolic, and never have that almost excessive, blowsy, sometimes rotting feel that white flowers can occasionally have.

Ylang-Ylang. Source: Soapgoods.com

Other notes soon appear. There is a subtle whiff of pears that are dewy, watery, fresh and green. It’s more like pear nectar, and it’s lovely, which makes it a shame that the note is so fleeting and overwhelmed by the orange-orange blossom duo. Much more noticeable is the ylang-ylang which is a powerful part of Safanad’s opening. It has a very custardy, almost banana-like aroma which is extremely rich, and supplemented by an equally custardy vanilla. Together, the pulpy orange, the lush florals, and the vanilla create a bouquet that is intensely feminine, sweet, and syrupy.

The top bouquet is pretty, but significantly less interesting to me than the base. There are the faintest touches of something ambered, wet, and very musky lurking down there, but it never feels like actual ambergris. In fact, on my skin, Safanad never felt very ambered at all in any concrete, distinct way. Instead, there are suggestions of something abstract that merely has the feel of something golden, if that makes any sense. There is also something synthetic, noticeable primarily in the opening minutes of Safanad, a sort of buzzing around the florals that I can’t pinpoint. It was there on two of the four times that I’ve worn Safanad, but always when I applied much less of the fragrance.

What is much more distinct and interesting is the unexpected, odd darkness in Safanad’s base. It smells resinous, smoky, almost like incense, and at times has a distinctly leathered feel. If there is “amber” resin in Safanad, to my nose it smells like Styrax with its slightly smoky, spicy, leathered undertones. It makes me wonder about the notes provided for Safanad, because there is definitely something dark lurking in its depths that doesn’t fit with what is listed. Unfortunately, the accord is subtle, extremely minor, and quite fleeting. It pops up about 15 minutes into Safanad’s development, and lasts only about 30 minutes on my skin.

Source: hercity.com

For the most part, Safanad’s opening is a simple, uncomplicated orange blossom floral with extreme sweetness. In my notes, I wrote a few times: “orange custard,” or “orange creamsicle with ylang-ylang.” Yes, from afar, I smelled like both for a good portion of Safanad’s first hour, and I have some mixed feelings on the subject. My skin tends to bring out and amplify basenotes, so I sprayed some Safanad on a friend who loves florals. Safanad was different on her skin: less vanillic and syrupy, and with more of a pure, almost fresh, non-indolic, gauzy orange blossom aroma than the richer, custardy ylang-ylang. She found it simple and incredibly sweet, but she didn’t mind it. Yet, when I asked this floral lover if she would ever want to wear it or buy Safanad for herself, she looked dubious. She also looked distinctly unenthused about the version of the fragrance that appeared on my skin, and commented on how different it smelled. As always, skin chemistry makes a difference.

What shocked me is how quickly the perfume’s sillage dropped from an intense forcefulness to a skin scent — on both of us. With one big spray, Safanad turned into a skin scent on me after a mere 45 minutes! With two huge ones, it took 75 minutes. I first tried the fragrance at Jovoy in Paris, and was quite drawn by the orange blossoms, so I sprayed on quite a bit, but the same sillage problem reared its ugly head. My skin has longevity problems, not sillage ones, so the fragrance is clearly intended to be something soft, gauzy and translucent — no matter how much you apply. But 45 or 75 minutes is still too little!

Bearded iris via scenicreflections.com

About 50 minutes in, Safanad’s bouquet start to change. First, the iris emerges, slowly growing stronger and diffusing the fragrance’s fruity sweetness. It’s a floral iris, not a carroty, dank, earthy, rooty one or even a highly powdered one. A more surprising change to me is that Safanad starts to take on a distinctly jasmine aroma. I know both ylang-ylang and orange blossom, but my skin is somehow emanating something that felt very much like jasmine (with all its own distinct, particular nuances) as well. Safanad’s base alters too, primarily with the vanilla which loses a lot of its custardy richness and turns more sheer. The hints of something dark, leathered, and smoky recede; the fragrance becomes less syrupy; and the fruity orange pulp lessens. At the same time, a slight creamy woodiness appears, though it never smells to me like actual “sandalwood,” and is a pretty abstract, nebulous thing as a whole.

Orange Blossom. Photo: GardenPictures via Zuoda.net

At the end of the second hour, Safanad is a smooth, gauzy orange blossom scent infused with jasmine-like notes, followed by iris and ylang-ylang. The whole thing sits above a base of a gauzy, thin vanilla that is flecked by something vaguely ambered, and musky. A subtle, wholly abstract, creamy woodiness lies even deeper below, but sometimes I think it’s merely a figment of my imagination. It’s honestly hard to detect all the nuances of Safanad beyond the florals and vanilla, in part because the perfume is like a breath or suggestion that clings to the skin like a translucent film. I have to put on a lot of it to really get at its essence in the first few hours because, on the surface or from a distance, Safanad really seems like nothing more than syrupy, fruited orange blossom with ylang-ylang custard.

Photo: Mary Foster Creative, Etsy Store. (Link embedded within photo.)

It is only at the start of the 4th hour (with a regular dose) that Safanad suddenly transforms. (If you apply a large amount of Safanad, it will take longer.) At that point, to my surprise, the iris suddenly takes over, increasingly dominating the now muted orange blossom. Eventually, Safanad is nothing more than a cool, powdery iris fragrance, lightly dusted with vanillic powder. It essentially smells like the inside of a suede handbag, with powdered vanilla. Safanad remains that way until it finally dies away. It lasted around 6.5 hours with a regular application, and a little over 7.25 hours with a really huge quantity. The sillage on my skin was weak after the first hour, and the perfume was incredibly hard to detect even with a lot of sprays after 5 hours.

I couldn’t find any detailed blog reviews for Safanad, but it was briefly covered by Mark Behnke of CaFleurebon. He didn’t experience any iris, mainly just orange blossom:

[It] opens on a crisp pear note before diving head first into the orange blossom which seems to arrive very rapidly on my skin. It is further supported with iris and ylang-ylang but this is a very complex orange blossom note. I’m not sure but I think this must be a particularly high quality version of this raw material because there seems more subtlety and depth to it than I normally experience in an orange blossom note. This ends with a smooth amber, sandalwood, and vanilla base.

I’m torn on the issue of Safanad. One part of me thinks that Safanad is an elegant choice for anyone who loves discreet but really sweet, intensely fruity orange blossoms scents, especially with a side of vanilla. The other, more critical side of me struggles intensely with the fact that Parfums de Marly is charging $275 for a fruity-florals that isn’t very complicated, that is extremely unobtrusive and sheer, and that doesn’t substantially change in any way until its final blur as a powdery floral with vanilla. Safanad is well done, but it’s a largely conservative, classic, unoriginal take that isn’t very distinctive.

Then again, the orange blossoms are lovely, as is the burst of photo-realistic, concentrated orange pulp at the start. Really and truly lovely. The part of me that adores both notes is happy, but the devil on my shoulder keeps tapping me, insisting that I smelled like an orange creamsicle for a good portion of the first hour, and that it became skin scent after 45 minutes unless I sprayed on a hell of a lot. The devil then points to Safanad’s price, and laughs his head off.

I’m afraid the devil wins out in this argument. If Safanad were more unusual, twisted, perhaps with a little grit and more of that mysteriously smoky, almost leathered touch, then I would be much more enthusiastic as a whole. I would still take a look at the perfume’s price and my sillage/longevity numbers, and have criticism, but I wouldn’t be struggling to write a review about a wholly conventional fragrance. If Safanad were priced at $100-$130, I would gladly recommend it as a choice for women who love very sweet, white fruity-florals, and orange blossom in particular. It may not be distinctive or original, but it is an elegant, pretty, extremely feminine fragrance with a luxurious opening. At $275, with the problems that it has, I find it much harder to recommend with any enthusiasm.

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: Safanad is an Eau de Parfum that only comes in a 2.5 oz/75 ml bottle which costs $275 or €159. Parfums de Marly has a website which is incredibly frustrating and not particularly user-friendly, no matter how pretty it may be. It also has no e-store, and Safanad is not even listed amongst its fragrances. In the U.S.: the perfume is available at OsswaldNYC which offers samples of the fragrance, if you call by phone. They offer samples of any 10 fragrances in 1 ml vials for $10 with free domestic shipping. I also found Safanad on sale for $220 at a site called Chifo Perfumes, but I have never heard of them so I don’t know how reliable they may be. Safanad is available at Parfumerie Nasreen (which also sells samples), and at The Fragrance Group. Outside the U.S.: I found Safanad on sale for $149 at Kuwait’s Universal Perfumes. At the normal price of €179, you can find Safanad at Premiere Avenue in France (which ships worldwide, I believe). The fragrance is also carried at Paris’ Jovoy, and Germany’s First in Fragrance, which also sells samples. In the UK, the line is supposedly exclusive to London’s Fortnum & Mason, but they only show 3 Parfums de Marly items on their website. Safanad is not one of them. In the Netherlands, Safanad is available at ParfuMaria and Parfumerie NL. In Denmark, it’s sold at La Schiller. There are a number of Russian vendors, one of which is Ry7. Parfums Marly has 3 stores in Dubai and the United Arab Emirates. For all other countries from Qatar to Hungary, you can use the Store Locator guide on the Parfums Marly page. Just go to the top right in the midst of the dark bar at the top of the page, and you will find the category written in somewhat spidery, white script. Samples: I obtained my sample of Safanad while browsing in Jovoy Paris. A number of the vendors listed above offers samples of the fragrance. However, Safanad is not offered on the usual decanting sites.

Guerlain L’Instant de Guerlain pour Homme & L’Instant Eau Extreme

Posted on December 1, 2013 by Kafkaesque

Source: parfumdepub.com

Women are missing out. Those who pay heed to Guerlain’s ridiculous gender classifications are losing the opportunity to try a very refined fragrance that starts off as crisp and fresh as a glass of sparkling, chilled Perrier with lemon, before turning into a slightly gourmand fragrance centered around cozy, milky tea with jasmine. It is L’Instant de Guerlain Pour Homme, commonly nicknamed LIDG, an eau de toilette that plays with hot and cold, light and dark, cologne and gourmand elements.

It’s elegant and sophisticated, but I think it’s even better in the richer, deeper, spicier, and smokier flanker eau de parfum version called L’Instant pour Homme de Guerlain Eau Extreme in the U.S. (“LIDGE“), but simply L’Instant de Guerlain pour Homme Eau de Parfum in Europe. (For the sake of succinctness, I’ll merely refer to the latter as “L’Instant Extreme.”) In fact, L’Instant Extreme may be my favorite thus far out of Guerlain’s modern line-up. In this review, I’ll cover both the original fragrance (which I’ll just call “L’Instant” or “LIDG“) and its eau de parfum Extreme version.

L’INSTANT DE GUERLAIN POUR HOMME (EAU DE TOILETTE):

L’Instant de Guerlain Pour Homme (LIDG) Eau de Toilette.

Contrasts in masculinity and femininity, crispness and warmth, hot and cold — those were the exact goals for L’Instant, an eau de toilette created by Beatrice Piquet, and released in 2004. The fragrance is described by Guerlain as follows:

Luminous Woody.
Fresh, warm, sensual.

This paradoxical fragrance skates between fire and ice, flamboyant virility and discreet femininity. The luminous freshness of citrus crystals and star anise contrasts with the warmth of patchouli, hibiscus seeds and cocoa to offer, through this luminous woody scent, a unique moment after which everything will be different.

With L’Instant de Guerlain pour Homme, the Guerlain Perfumer takes a first step towards freshness in 2004, showcasing a hot and cold olfactory contrast. The fresh top notes are inspired by an oriental aniseed drink called arak. The base notes feature the gourmand notes of the dessert by a famous pastry-maker, worked around chocolate and patchouli.

Surrender to Chance provides the succinct list of L’Instant Pour Homme’s ingredients:

top notes of citrus, anise and jasmine; middle notes of patchouli, cedar, Indian sandalwood, Lapsang tea, cocoa beans and lavender; and base notes of hibiscus seeds and musk.

Source: societeperrier.com

L’Instant pour Homme opens on my skin as a sparkling, zesty, citrus cologne with fougère-like touches of lavender. The lemon is so fresh, clean, and brisk that it reminds me of a glass of chilled Perrier infused with citruses. Within seconds, however, L’Instant turns warm with dusty cocoa powder. It feels initially out-of-place, discordant and too dusky sweet, but it soon melts into the base. There are hints of creamy woods lurking there as well, but, to my nose, it doesn’t smell of real or Mysore sandalwood. Instead, it smells like something generic and, given its later manifestation as something almost cashmere-like in softness, it seems more like Cashmeran than sandalwood. Regardless, it’s still pretty, and serves to create a bridge between the zesty, crisp, cool notes and the warmth lurking in L’Instant’s base.

Source: apollotea.com

Other elements are soon noticeable as well. Subtle touches of anise swirl together with smoky, green, slightly sharp cedar. There is also the first whisper of a dark, black, Lapsang Souchong tea that mixes with the creamy elements and the fresher notes to create an unusual cocktail: half warm, milky, sweetened tea; and half cold, Pastis/Ouzo with sparkling lemon. It’s rather fascinating. Lest all this sound like a discordant hodge-podge, lest me assure you that it is not. The cocoa powder’s early whiff of sweetness softened within an instant, losing its distinct, individual identity, and melting into the crisp aromatics, lavender, woods, tea, and anise to create a soft warmth. It’s a strong combination at first, wafting about 3 inches above the skin from 3 very big smears, but it feels almost transparent as well. L’Instant pour Homme is simultaneously both brisk, and languidly mellow, smooth, and creamy.

Source: womanfaq.ru

L’Instant’s brisk, clean, lemon notes soften 25 minutes in, and start to weaken as the warm base rises to the surface. More and more, the perfume smells like warm, creamy, milky tea instead of chilled, brisk, lemon Perrier with ouzo. There are hints of a green jasmine dancing around, along with the soft, smooth “sandalwood” that holds the faintest, merest flicker of something smoky. This feels almost like an intermediary stage, bridging the cool opening phase with the L’Instant’s eventual turn into something warmer, softer, more floral.

Forty minutes in, the floral-woody elements grow stronger, changing L’Instant more and more into something that is primarily a lemony, jasmine, woody musk over a Chai-like base. The flower is green and fresh, not sweet, syrupy, indolic, or over-the-top. Yet, it has a soft creaminess to it, thanks to the equally green “sandalwood.” I refuse to believe the latter comes from India, and it has to be a green tree from Australia — if it is even sandalwood itself as opposed to some synthetic like Cashmeran. I’ll spare you my pet peeves on “sandalwood” in modern perfumery, and simply say that the base works here as a creamy, textural element that perfectly suits the Lapsang Souchong milky tea.

The perfume shifts yet again at the 90-minute mark. L’Instant Pour Homme is a soft blur of notes that overlap each other in a graceful blend of jasmine, creamy woods, and musk. The faintest trace of lemon lingers, but the cocoa is becoming more noticeable, diffusing the occasional greenness that remains around the floral edges. The milky tea accord has temporarily retreated, though it later pops up again with greater visibility. L’Instant is all about the floral woodiness right now. The fragrance has also changed in terms of sillage, dropping to hover right on my skin with no projection at all, though it is still distinct and noticeable if sniffed up close.

I’ve tried L’Instant pour Homme several times, and noticed that it always seems to go through the same stages on my skin. Each time, its primary, main bouquet seems to be:

0-20 minutes: sparkling, chilled Perrier dominated by brisk lemon, and a hint of ouzo.
20-40 minutes: crisp, milky, lemon tea; a cool fragrance with starting hints of warmth; and the growing significance of jasmine and cocoa;
40-90 minutes: jasmine infused with lemony citrus over creamy tea;
90-180 minutes: a creamy jasmine, floral, woody musk which turns into a skin scent at 120 minutes.
180+ minutes: milky tea and jasmine, lightly sprinkled with dry, sweet cocoa. It is a bouquet that is extremely hard to detect at times.

The last two stages are interesting. Whenever I think that L’Instant has turned into a floral woody musk like something from Chanel (the drydown of 1932 comes to mind), the milky chai element either pops back up or takes over completely. The jasmine really isn’t the main player in L’Instant’s drydown, often hiding behind the creamy, sweetened, milky tea, but it certainly appears more on my skin than the cocoa.

As for the sillage, I have to say that I was pretty sure that L’Instant had died completely on my skin at the end of the second hour, then at the end of the third. By the fourth hour, I was shocked to see L’Instant still hanging on tenacious, though I had to practically attack my arm and inhale like a wild animal to find it. It was a mere blur of creaminess that was vaguely woody and sweetened. Yet, L’Instant is an extremely tenacious little thing, and I was quite stunned to detect thin, wispy bits of it lingering 8.5 hours from the start. There wasn’t much to the scent in terms of notes, but it was there.

L’Instant Pour Homme doesn’t suit my personal tastes, primarily because of its ephemeral quality and sillage, but I think it’s very well-done, refined, and sophisticated. Perhaps more to the point, I find it wholly unisex in nature. The crispness of the opening is no different than any number of fragrances worn by women, from Arquiste‘s L’Etrog, to half a dozen things from Parfums d’Empire, Histoires de Parfums, Santa Maria Novella, or other houses. L’Instant pour Homme certainly feels more feminine than a scent like Azemour from Parfums d’Empire with its arid, pungent, oakmoss citruses. Yes, L’Instant has a cologne-like start, but it lasts about 15 minutes before the fragrance starts the transition into one of its many Lapsang Souchong chai variations. The drydown is certainly plush, warm, and creamy enough to work on both genders.

Source: weheartit.com

For me, L’Instant evokes a very specific customer: images of extremely well-heeled men and women in New York’s Upper East Side. Very wealthy, Ralph Lauren-types where the women are cool blondes in long, soft, flowing cashmere wraps with chic riding boots, or dark brunettes with a sleek New York style. The men are in crisp, well-tailored, dark suits, or in discretely expensive, casual attire as they drive their Range Rovers to the Hamptons. It’s all about elegance with discretion, a seemingly haughty, brisk aloofness belied by approachable warmth and coziness. It’s suitable for a variety of occasions, but especially the office given its discrete, unobtrusive sillage.

Source: mobile-wallpapers.feedio.net

I don’t think L’Instant Pour Homme is the most distinctive, unusual fragrance on the market, but it’s a very refined one that deserves its cult status amongst men. It’s too well-known a fragrance to warrant comparative assessments or reviews, but you can read the gushing raves on Fragrantica for yourself. I will only point out that others seem to have significantly better luck with L’Instant’s duration than I did, as the vast majority (123) voted for “long lasting” (defined as 7-12 hours), outweighing all other categories by a land-slide.

For me, personally, L’Instant is too thin, sheer, and translucent, too fresh at first before turning into a rather simple floral, woody musk at the end. None of that is really my personal style and, while I found it refined for others, what showed up on my skin was somewhat uninteresting for my tastes (it’s all subjective!), and irritatingly transient. The L’Instant Pour Homme Eau Extreme eau de parfum is a whole other matter, however. I found it lovely, and it is the version that I would personally recommend, especially for women.

L’INSTANT EAU EXTREME:

L’Instant Pour Homme Eau Extreme (LIDGE), or L’Instant Eau de Parfum.

L’Instant’s second flanker was released in 2005, and its massively long American name is L’Instant de Guerlain Pour Homme Eau Extreme (with “LIDGE” as a nickname). In Europe, it seems to be entitled merely L’Instant Pour Homme Eau de Parfum. Regardless of name, Beatrice Piquet intended Eau Extreme to be a “more intense, richer, smokier and deeper version of the original fragrance. The perfume opens with notes of crystal citruses, star anise and elemi. Neroli, patchouli flower, Indian jasmine and Lapsang tea are the heart of the composition, laid on the base of cedar, Mysore sandalwood, cocoa, patchouli and hibiscus seed.” As Guerlain adds on its website,

There are no languid half-measures about the composition of this Eau Extrême. The fresh notes of citrus and star anise, embellished by floral notes, embrace the light before melting into a deeply sensual and gourmand woody accord of patchouli and cocoa.

For me, the two fragrances are different for reasons that go beyond mere deepness or concentration. I find them to have completely separate olfactory profiles, due, in part, to the ingredients used. According to Fragrantica, the list of notes for L’Instant Eau Extreme includes:

citrus, star anise, elemi, neroli, patchouli flower, Indian jasmine, lapsang tea, cedar, Mysore sandalwood, cocoa, and hibiscus seed.

Pre-Columbian chocolate with chilies. Source: CaFleureBon.

L’Instant Eau Extreme opens on my skin with citruses dominated by sharp, fiery spices. It’s a visual of yellow, reds, browns and dark greens, especially once the patchouli kicks in with its slightly pungent, very green feeling leafiness. Sweet, dusty, milk chocolate cocoa powder and smoky dark woods soon follow. L’Instant Eau Extreme’s spiciness is interesting; for me, it goes far beyond star anise and actually verges on a red pimento chili pepper with a definite bite.

Underlying the spiciness are other elements. There is the most minuscule, fleeting whisper of bitter neroli, but the main citric note is that of sun-warmed lemons. It’s a heavier, sweeter, richer note than the crisp, brisk, chilled lemon used in LIDG eau de toilette. There is also smokiness from the elemi which carries a nuance of leaves burning in an autumn bonfire. The whole bouquet is lightly dusted by a cocoa powder that feels soft, dusty and sweet like milk chocolate. Yet, there is also a definite nuttiness to L’Instant Eau Extreme, as if the cocoa and patchouli had combined to produce toasted hazelnuts.

The patchouli lurked about Eau Extreme’s opening, but it becomes really noticeable about 5 minutes in, adding a dusty earthiness to the scent. It’s not a chewy, dense note, and, at first, it’s far from the usual patchouli aroma with its interplay of sweetness and smoky spiciness. Instead, the patchouli is initially evocative of dry, dark, slightly damp soil with a bit of a musky overlay. Its lack of sweetness counters the cocoa, creating a blend that is perfectly balanced and never cloying.

Star Anise. Source: foodlve.com

The original LIDG’s milky tea note carries over to Eau Extreme as well. The difference is that it is now infused with the fiery, chili-like star anise, earthy patchouli, smoky woods, and a far greater confluence of sweet cocoa powder. Eau Extreme has a touch of a floral musk at the edges, but it is indistinct on my skin at this stage, and is never as profound or significant a note as it is in LIDG eau de toilette.

Twenty minutes in, L’Instant Eau Extreme turns into a fragrance dominated by patchouli, followed by cocoa, and creamy tea that has been infused with fiery, spicy, star anise and lemon. Regular readers know that (true) patchouli is one of my all-time favorite notes, so it’s probably not surprising that L’Instant Eau Extreme is my favorite out of the two Guerlain siblings. The fragrance soon turns into a powerful but airy, almost transparent cloud that is a beautiful blend of sweet, spicy, woody, earthy and creamy elements dominated by patchouli. It wafts about four inches above the skin, and little tendrils follow in the air as I move.

Yet, at the same time, there is something synthetic in the perfume’s base that consistently gives me faint twinges for the first two hours when I sniff the perfume up close. I didn’t detect anything similar in LIDG, so I have to wonder if it is that slightly acrid, biting star anise that is to blame. When the note fades and L’Instant Eau Extreme turns into a creamier, softer, more vanillic patchouli, so does my occasional headache.

Source: howbenefitstea.com

Slowly, very slowly, L’Instant Eau Extreme starts to change. Forty-five minutes, the jasmine appears. There are only hints of it at first, but it remains a lingering trace at the perfume’s edges. Then, the patchouli loses its earthiness, turning sweet, creamy, and soft. The star anise mellows, and that chili pepper, pimento facet starts to fade away. The tea accord becomes increasingly dominant, feeling always creamy and milky, and softening the smokier woodier elements in L’Instant Extreme. As with regular LIDG, the eau de parfum version goes through a phase where it smells like milky tea with a slice of lemon and a light touch of jasmine. This time, however, the tea is dominated by a soft patchouli as well.

At the start of the third hour, L’Instant Extreme is a creamy patchouli with a vanilla undertone. There are varying levels of tea, jasmine, lemon, and woodiness that wax and wane, but they are not the dominant, primary essence of the fragrance on my skin, and they become increasingly muted. L’Instant Eau Extreme turns into a skin scent at the start of the 4th hour, though it is still easily noticeable if sniffed up close. About 6.5 hours in, the perfume is a lovely, cozy, gourmand blur of patchouli with a nutty, cuddly, caramel-vanilla aspect that makes me wonder if L’Instant Eau Extreme also has a touch of tonka bean in it. After all, it is the tonka bean that is partially responsible for Guerlain’s signature Guerlainade note, and base aroma here seems different than mere milk chocolate powder. Whatever the reason for the caramel-vanilla touch, it works wonderfully with the patchouli.

Photo: Heather A. Riggs, available at her Etsy store, ShyPhotog. (Website link embedded within photo.)

Yet, L’Instant Eau Extreme’s drydown never feels wholly like a gourmand patchouli soliflore, perhaps because of lingering, ghostly traces of the other notes. There are rare moments when the sun-sweetened lemon, delicate jasmine, or milky chai pop their heads back up. There are also the merest suggestions of lingering smokiness and woodiness from time to time. As a whole, though, L’Instant Eau Extreme is a patchouli-dominated fragrance. Like its older, thinner sibling, it turns more and more abstract, and becomes harder to detect, though it is generally a much stronger, richer, deeper scent. In its final moments, 10.5 hours from the start, L’Instant Eau Extreme is merely a blur of sweetness. The fragrance has strong projection at first, which turns softer at the end of the second hour, and discreet after four hours.

For all that cocoa is supposed to be such a big part of L’Instant Eau Extreme, it never dominated as a note that was distinctive in its own right. Rather, it seemed to melt into the base, creating that creamy, milky undertone that was a part of both versions of L’Instant. Only at the start, in the very opening minutes of each fragrance, did I think, “Oh, chocolate powder.” Instead, my skin turned the note into something that merely had an indirect effect on the other notes. Judging by the comments on Fragrantica, it’s merely my skin because plenty of people detected a very distinct, profound cocoa powder accord in L’Instant Extreme.

Since LIDGE (Eau Extreme) is different than LIDG (original), and not as well-known, a few of the Fragrantica reviews may be helpful. Take the comment by “hedward,” who absolutely hates Ouzo and, thus, Eau Extreme’s opening, but who wrote this about the fragrance’s main stage:

As the heart notes began to creep in LIDGE started to make sense after my nose had recovered from the anise attack. During the heart there was a very dry tea note which was incredibly clever – smokey black tea to be precise. It kind of had a chai latteish feeling to it (and I mean real chai latte, not the one from Starbucks)Then the tea died down and patchouli made it’s way to the stage… this is where the magic begins. The drydown is marvelous!! Semi-sweet pure cocoa with shining earthy pathcouli and a slightest hint of vanilla. This smells like a golden Maya temple – reeks of wealth and power but in a very delicate and beautiful way. The scent was so bright and glorious it almost radiated rays of golden light with a jesus choir singing in the backround!! I’m a sucker for dark chocolate as well as for patchouli so this serves my senses just right. The only bad thing about this fragrance is the vile anise in the opening – reminded me of Ouzo which I deeply detest.

Notes I could not detect at all: Neroli, jasmine and surprisingly: citrus.

A few others were also “repulsed” by the first two hours of LIDGE, before falling in love with its subsequent development. In one instance, the person’s main problem seems to be the fragrance’s strength in the opening. As for women, there are quite a few who like L’Instant Eau Extreme, undoubtedly because it lacks the more cologne-like citrus focus of the original LIDG and is a sweeter, richer scent. One female commentator shared the opinion of a few men that Eau Extreme was better with time, but she also wrote that she thinks all Guerlains are generally better experienced after 30-40 minutes.

As with any fragrance that is hugely hyped and a cult legend, there are people who simply don’t see what all the fuss is about. L’Instant Eau Extreme is no different. Some people find it pretty good, but “not remarkable.” A few struggle with weak sillage and longevity, while a handful have the opposite reaction, finding that LIDGE is too strong, too enduring, and too intense. As a whole, I suspect that those who aren’t fans of patchouli will have issues with L’Instant Extreme, no matter how much cocoa may appear on their skin or what the perfume’s strength may be.

I like LIDGE a lot, but I don’t think it’s perfect and I want to emphasize the context for my feelings. For me, personally, I would like that the fragrance have greater weight, heaviness, and nuance on my skin. I would definitely prefer sillage that didn’t veer between slightly synthetic forcefulness, and a sudden gauzy, wispy softness after just two hours, before turning into a skin scent after four. And if I love L’Instant Eau Extreme, it is highly relative to my feelings about Guerlain as a whole.

This is actually my very first positive review for any modern Guerlain. I’ve been utterly unimpressed by all their recent creations thus far, let alone the terrible reformulations of their brilliant, justifiably admired classics. I would absolutely wear L’Instant Eau Extreme if a bottle fell into my lap, but it is not sufficiently breath-taking on an overall, general scale for me to hunt it down. (As you can read below in the Details section, the fragrance seems to be a European exclusive that is not commonly available in the United States, and may require purchase from Canada.) As a result, I would probably get my patchouli fix from fragrances that have deeper body, more depth, and are more noticeable on my perfume-consuming skin.

That said, L’Instant Pour Homme Eau Extreme is perhaps my favorite modern Guerlain thus far. I think it is warm, lovely, creamy, and smooth, and it would be sexy on both a man and a woman. Both versions, LIDG and LIDGE/Extreme are refined, very well-done, elegant fragrances that are offered at a reasonable price. If Guerlain ever took the words “Pour Homme” out of both fragrance’s names, I think women would suddenly realise that Guerlain offers a scent that is not a boring, girly fruity-floral, a simplistic gourmand, an “old lady” powder, or a super-sweet, over-priced, hot mess. There is another option, hiding under an archaic, ridiculous gender classification. Depending on your personal taste, you can go with a crisp, brisk, fresh cologne that turns into a discreet, soft floral woody musk with Chai tea; or you can go with a richer, spicier, smoky, woody oriental that turns into a cozy, patchouli, gourmand-oriental. Both are worth a test sniff, regardless of your gender.

DETAILS:

L’INSTANT EDT – Cost & Availability: L’Instant de Guerlain pour Homme is an Eau de Toilette that comes in two sizes: a 2.5 oz/75 ml bottle that Guerlain has priced at $75 or €62, or a 4.2 oz/120 ml bottle for $100. Like its brother, L’Instant Eau de Toilette is featured on the International Guerlain website, but there is no online store from which you can purchase the fragrance directly. However, French readers can purchase directly from the Guerlain France website. In the U.S.: You can find L’Instant at many department stores, but also at a number of discount retailers. The “small” 2.5 oz bottle is available at Overstock.com for $45.99 and at Target for $56.09, while I found the big 4.2 oz/125 ml size sold on Amazon by a third-party vendor at a discounted rate for $66.77. The perfume is also discounted in both sizes at FragranceX in the $60-range. At the higher, regular retail price, it is sold at Bloomingdale’s and in both sizes by Neiman Marcus. The L’Instant Eau de Toilette is currently sold out at Nordstroms. Outside the U.S.: L’Instant de Guerlain pour Homme is sold at many Sephoras, especially in France. In the UK, you can find it at Harrod’s and all big department stores. The House of Fraser had the fragrance discounted, which is undoubtedly why they are currently sold out. Samples: you can order samples of L’Instant EDT from Surrender to Chance where prices start at $3.99 for a 1 ml vial.

L’INSTANT EDP or L’INSTANT EXTREME- Cost & Availability: L’Instant in Eau de Parfum version, or L’Instant Eau Extreme comes in a 2.5 oz/75 ml bottle that costs £52.50, or €73. I simply cannot seem to find it in the U.S., whether at established retailers like Saks or Bergdorf Goodman, or at the discount sites. I’m not even sure if it would be available at the Guerlain boutique in Las Vegas. However, I know that it is available at Guerlain’s Toronto store. A poster on Fragrantica, “Aucffan1” posted some incredibly useful, detailed information regarding that affordable, no tax option:

Try buying from Guerlain’s Boutique in Toronto, Canada.. For 75 ml bottle the price is $80.00 US dollars and free shipping to the USA.. In the USA I just dialed area code and number.. [¶] Serious.. And no tax..

Address: 110 Bloor St W Toronto, ON M5S 2W7, Canada

Phone: +1 416-929-6114
The package came within 3 days….And very important you need to sign for the package.

Outside the US: I found L’Instant EDP Eau Extreme at a number of retailers, from Harrods to House of Fraser where it costs £52.50 for the 75 ml size. I found it discounted at Debenham’s for £47.25, and at Escentual for £42.00. Samples: in the U.S., you can order samples of L’Instant EDP or, as they call it, L’Instant Extreme from Surrender to Chance which sells vials starting at $5.99

Kafkaesque

Category Archives: Blog Features

Serge Lutens La Vierge de Fer

DETAILS:

In the U.S.: La Vierge de Fer should be available exclusively at Barney’s New York store, but for some reason, the fragrance is not on the website at the time of this review. Normally, you can call the store to purchase their Lutens bell jars. The number is (212) 833-2425.

Samples: You can order samples of La Vierge de Fer from Surrender to Chance starting at $3.99 for a 1/2 ml vial. The fragrance is also available as part of a Five Piece Non-Export Sampler Set, where you can choose 5 Lutens Paris Exclusives for a starting price of $18.99 for a 1/2 ml vial.

LM Parfums Hard Leather: Lust In The Woods

DETAILS:

Parfums de Marly Safanad

DETAILS:

Guerlain L’Instant de Guerlain pour Homme & L’Instant Eau Extreme

DETAILS:

Try buying from Guerlain’s Boutique in Toronto, Canada.. For 75 ml bottle the price is $80.00 US dollars and free shipping to the USA.. In the USA I just dialed area code and number.. [¶] Serious.. And no tax..

Address: 110 Bloor St W Toronto, ON M5S 2W7, Canada

Phone: +1 416-929-6114
The package came within 3 days….And very important you need to sign for the package.

DETAILS:

In the U.S.: La Vierge de Fer should be available exclusively at Barney’s New York store, but for some reason, the fragrance is not on the website at the time of this review. Normally, you can call the store to purchase their Lutens bell jars. The number is (212) 833-2425.

Samples: You can order samples of La Vierge de Fer from Surrender to Chance starting at $3.99 for a 1/2 ml vial. The fragrance is also available as part of a Five Piece Non-Export Sampler Set, where you can choose 5 Lutens Paris Exclusives for a starting price of $18.99 for a 1/2 ml vial.

DETAILS:

DETAILS:

DETAILS:

Try buying from Guerlain’s Boutique in Toronto, Canada.. For 75 ml bottle the price is $80.00 US dollars and free shipping to the USA.. In the USA I just dialed area code and number.. [¶] Serious.. And no tax..

Address: 110 Bloor St W Toronto, ON M5S 2W7, Canada

Phone: +1 416-929-6114 The package came within 3 days….And very important you need to sign for the package.

Phone: +1 416-929-6114
The package came within 3 days….And very important you need to sign for the package.