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

Posted on May 30, 2013 by Kafkaesque

African sunset, Zambia.

Set the jungle on fire!

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

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

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

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

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

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

The notes in Idole include:

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

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

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

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

NW Africa fire dance via viewphotos.org

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

One of Lubin’s associated images for Idole.

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

Traditional African Dogon Masque via Wikicommons

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

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

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

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

African tribal makeup via iStock.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Idole EDP

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

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

African Masai Warrior. Source: Foursquare.com

DETAILS:

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

Perfume Review: Agonist The Infidels

Posted on May 29, 2013 by Kafkaesque

Agonist is a Swedish perfume house launched in 2008 whose focus seems to be the close interplay of perfume and sculptured art within the context of Norse culture. As the company’s website explains:

AGONIST creates pure 100% natural fragrances inspired by the Nordic climate and culture. Raw materials and product give form to a Swedish but even more Nordic clarity, – fresh with a vigourous weight and beautiful low tones.

In close collaboration with prominent perfumers, unique Eau de Parfums are created according to the traditional art of fine perfumery. The fragrances are then artistically sculptured in handcrafted Swedish glass created in collaboration with glassartist Āsa Jungnelius at Kosta Boda.

In the case of The Infidels, it seems to be the second in a series of perfumes that began with The Infidel, singular. (Fragrantica says The Infidels is the third, but doesn’t give the name of the second in the series.) The issue of The Infidel, singular, seems to be a confusing one since it is a perfume with fundamentally different elements. And, yet, many reviews of The Infidels, plural, bring up the notes (black current or cassis, green cumin, lavender, etc.) of its predecessor.

The Infidels, plural, is an oriental perfume which Agonist describes as follows:

The Infidels. A deep 100% natural perfume inspired by the exact moment when the bud is about to burst. The heart of the rose with a deep and sensual ambience.

Top Notes: Pink Pepper Corn, Sicilian Lemon, Cloves, Indian Davana and Elemi

Body Notes: May Rose, Turkish Rose, Sambac Jasmine, Egyptian Jasmine, Burmese Magnolia, Iris, Comoros Ylang Ylang, Somali Myrrh, Opoponax

Base Notes: Patchouli, Sandalwood, Vetiver, Cistus, Peruvian Balm, Lebanese Cedarwood, Virginia Cedarwood, Indian Amber, Bourbon Vanilla.

Between the notes and the perfume name which conjured up images of The Crusades and the Middle East, I was enormously excited to try The Infidels. I was certain I’d be taken to the desert, to Constantinople, to North Africa, to a land filled with molten resins and frankincense. Given that long list of heady notes, it was a sure bet it would be something deliciously ambered and oriental. Imagine my utter disbelief then when I was taken to a 7-11 filled with… Juicy Fruit. Yes, Juicy Fruit gum, only in solid syrup form. Hours and hours of Juicy Fruit syrup without end….

The Infidels opens on my skin with lemons and cloves, backed by pink peppercorns and apricot-infused florals. From what I’ve read, Davana is a flower native to India with an apricot aroma — and it is a heavy component of the Infidels. In the opening seconds, it is backed by some other fruity note that is tart, almost like green plums or cassis, but not quite. There is also some sweetly nutty smoke, elemi pepper, velvety magnolia, jasmine and rose. It’s an extremely unusual combination, and it sits atop a subtle booziness that feels almost like a melony-lemon liqueur. Not Midori, but some sort of odd, fruity cocktail liqueur that goes far beyond the usual rum-like nuance to many ambers.

As the minutes pass, some notes deepen while new ones join the party. The magnolia becomes significantly more pronounced: lovely, lush, smoothly buttered and rich, but never sour or over-ripe in an indolic way. There are soft, flickering touches of iris that add to the overall velvety creaminess of the florals. Sweet patchouli and lemon-nuanced vetiver lend a small voice in the background. And, at the base, the myrrh overshadows the frankincense with its nutty, sweet, almost vanillic warmth; its smoke tendrils are soft and muted. Then, suddenly, a strong banana aroma, undoubtedly from the ylang-ylang, comes barreling through, joining the dominant apricot-lemon-pink peppercorns fruity aspect of The Infidels.

Within twenty minutes, all subtle nuances in the perfume disappear, and The Infidels becomes a solid wall of one thing and one thing only: Juicy Fruit chewing gum. Imagine the scent of the chewing gun, then concentrate it down by a thousand, put it above the faintest iota of sweetened vanillic amber, and that is The Infidels. The scent is thick and, in its nauseatingly cloying sweetness and richness, feels almost more like the sort of highly sweetened but artificial cough syrup that one gives children to lull them into thinking they’re not having actual medicine. It is one solid, immovable, unshakeable, unwavering wall. Nothing else flickers underneath it; nothing else has the remotest chance of competing against that barrage. And it never changes for the 10.75 hours that The Infidels lasted on my skin. It only becomes softer and, at the very end, a tiny bit musky but, no, it was Juicy Fruit until its dying breath.

The Infidels had very good longevity and moderate sillage. It was strong at first, wafting about 5 inches above the skin, before dropping around 40 minutes into the perfume’s development to hover an inch or two. Within that space, it was forceful. I actually felt my stomach churning at times wearing it. So much so that when I tried to make dinner, the sheer cloying strength of that Juicy Fruit syrup completely put me off eating.

In reading the reviews on Fragrantica, one thing is clear to me: a number of people are really writing about The Infidel, singular, perfume with its notes of black currant and green cumin. The rest…. well, the comments are all over the place from references to powder to a few who smelled cough syrup and general weirdness.

Even Now Smell This seems to have confused the two fragrances, writing:

The Infidels contains notes of blackcurrant, green cumin, bergamot, magnolia, tonka bean, lavender, patchouli, labdanum and amber.

The Infidels is a beautifully blended leather fragrance with spicy and floral accents. The Infidels goes on soft and smooth with lots of “silky” labdanum; don’t expect a “shock” of blackcurrant or green cumin (each of these notes has been “blunted” in the composition — I think even cumin-haters won’t mind the sweet/powdery cumin in The Infidels).

The Infidels, plural, original bottle.

Making matters more confusing, they even show the red bottle of The Infidels for a discussion of notes from The Infidel, singular, which has a blue bottle (with something resembling a bloodied hatchet). And, speaking of the bottles, that is all that a lot of people initially discussed when The Infidel (singular) and, then, The Infidels (plural) were released. You see, the bottles are somewhat of a big deal. As in a huge, ridiculously over-priced, artsy-fartsy deal.

The Infidel, singular, bottle. Original, non-refill version.

Initially, back in 2010, each perfume bottle seemed to cost almost $500 because they were only available in those hand-blown, sculpted shapes from the famous Swedish Kosta Boda glass works factory. Now Smell This’ review for The Infidels spends more discussing the bottle than it does the black currant and green cumin in the perfume. (It’s in the other one! The singular one!) The Infidels (plural) red bottle supposedly has steel pins which you use to apply the scent — which just makes me think of a grenade wielded by someone into agony and S&M. (Given the bloodied hatchet look of the Infidel bottle, I’m really starting to wonder about whomever chose “Agonist” for the brand’s name.) On Luckyscent, almost two-thirds of the comments focus on the cost of the bottle.

Well, Agonist must have heard the outcry because the perfume is now available in “refill” bottles which cost $195 for 1.7 oz/50 ml. That is the affordable, cheap version for poor people. The original, main bottle costs — now, today, in 2013 — almost $1500 at Aedes and over 20,000 rubles in Russia’s Lenoma. (See Details section below.) Yes, for a 50 ml/1.7 oz size. Agonist is clearly very, very serious about the whole concept of perfume as art….

Honestly, even if The Infidels cost the price of a pack of Juicy Fruit gum, I wouldn’t wear it. I’m not even sure how I managed to last almost 11 hours with it. Pun intended, it was an agonizing experience.

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: The Infidels is an eau de parfum that comes in a 1.7oz/50 ml “refill” bottle for $195 or €125. Agonist’s website offers both the “refill” bottle and a handmade “sculpture” art bottle from the famous Kosta Boda glass works factory. It costs €980 or a crazy $1,470 from Aedes in New York. (It used to be over $500 from what I’ve read.) Agonist also sells a Sample Set of 6 perfumes, each in a 2ml vial, for €24. In the U.S.: The Infidels is available in the 1.7 oz bottle from Luckyscent for $195, along with samples. Other vendors are Aedes and Hirschleifers. The Perfume Shoppe (which has a store in Canada) sells “1 Travel & Trial Size Spray Atomizer filled w/ Your Choice” of Agonist perfume, including The Infidels, for $65 but it seems a little high for a measly 4 ml spray bottle. Outside the U.S.: I’ve struggled to find websites that carry Agonist fragrances overseas. In the UK, The Infidels is available at Liberty London and The Conran Store for £125. The only other two online sites that I’ve found are First in Fragrance, and Essenza Nobile which sell the 1.7 oz bottle for €125. Elsewhere, and relying on Agonist’s Facebook page, it appears that Agonist is also carried by the Paris department store, Printemps, in its exclusive “Scent Room” and, in Sweden, by the NK Department store. In Australia, apparently Agonist is carried at the Assin concept and high-fashion store. In Kuwait, it is carried by Parfumerie d’Exception. In Russia, Lenoma has the art bottle for a huge price (over 20,000 rubles). Beyond that, I have no clue. The company has no store locator on its website. Samples: Surrender to Chance doesn’t carry Agonist. Your best bet is Luckyscent at the link above.

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

Posted on May 27, 2013 by Kafkaesque

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

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

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

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

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

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

The official notes in M7 are as follows:

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

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

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

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

Labdanum compiled into a chunk. Source: Fragrantica

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

Clary Sage. Source: TreeFrogFarm.com

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

Source: eHow.com

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

Source: Tumblr

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

M7 Original in the solidly dark bottle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Source: palaces.monaco-hotel.com

Perfume Review – Amouage Ubar: The White (Floral) Stallion

Posted on May 26, 2013 by Kafkaesque

Have you ever seen an Arabian horse running? It’s an object of awe and grandeur, from its tiny, delicately chiseled head with those vividly intelligent eyes, to its hugely curved, muscular neck, its perfect, lithe body, and its perpetual grace that puts all prima ballerinas to shame. My sister had a massive Arabian stallion called Sheytan, black as night, with a temper to match, and that half-wild, murderous devil was the terror of our stable boys (and many grown men). I had a Palomino, a handsome golden beauty of great age with a plodding nature. It was the only horse my parents would trust for a tiny four-year old and, though I loved him, I always wanted a black Arabian. I would console myself on sleepless nights by dreaming of riding a stallion like Sheytan in the desert, letting only the wind accompany the steady roar of his hoofbeats.

Arabian Horse tumblr_m7dtkdCrFl1rwt5gqo1_500

Source: dahabhorseridingclub.com

For some indescribable reason, I feel as though I’ve found a white Arabian in perfume form, and it’s Ubar from the royal perfume house of Amouage. Ubar isn’t a pure white steed but one flecked with yellow and gold, a larger-than-life, 3D, floral-oriental powerhouse whose mighty body also has a head of surprising delicacy. It is not a mere thoroughbred race horse; Ubar is too Oriental for that. It is definitely a mighty Arabian, and now I just need a desert in which to set it free.

Source: Friendfeed.com

Ubar is an eau de parfum that was released in 1995 to celebrate Oman’s Silver Jubilee year, and which made for Oman’s royal perfume house by Créations Aromatics. As First in Fragrance explains, the inspiration was the eponymous legendary city:

Ubar, also known as The City of a Thousand Pillars, existed from ca. 2,800 B.C. to ca. 300 A.D. According to legend the city amassed fabulous wealth from trading between the coastal regions of the Arabian peninsular and the population centres of the Middle East and Europe. Modern historians regarded Ubar as a figment of mythical Arabian tales and never thought that it really existed.

Ubar is mentioned in the fabulous tales from One Thousand and One Nights. According to legend God, enraged by its decadence and profligacy, smote the city, driving it into the sands, never to be seen again.

Ubar.

For some inexplicable reason, Amouage discontinued Ubar, before suddenly deciding to bring it back in 2009. Now Smell This has the details, along with the fabulous historical tidbit that the legendary city of Ubar was re-discovered in 1992 with the aid of satellite imaging. (Yes, I really do love history, even more than perfumery!)

Ubar has been relaunched this year (2009¹). It has new packaging (see image above), a new concentration (the original was an Eau de Toilette; now it’s an Eau de Parfum) and a new price (much higher). The notes (bergamot, lemon, lily of the valley, Damascena rose, Bulgarian rose, jasmine, sandalwood, synthetic civet and vanilla) are reportedly the same. […]

[H]ow does the new Ubar compare with the old? Well, first, I thought it was gorgeous in 2005, and it’s still gorgeous in 2009, but the change in concentration (and obviously, the reformulation) is significant: the new Ubar is a much heavier scent, with considerably more emphasis on the floral notes in the heart and correspondingly less emphasis on the base. The original Ubar was, to me, a sandalwood fragrance decorated with a few flowers; the new Ubar is a floral fragrance, first and foremost, with a woody oriental base[.]

The complete set of notes — as compiled from the official list on the Amouage website and from Fragrantica — are as follows:

top: lemon, bergamot, lily of the valley, tangerine, orange, litsea cubeba and violet leaf
heart: jasmine, damascene rose, orange blossom, ylang-ylang, tuberose, freesia, and palisander rosewood
base: civet, vanilla, sandalwood, patchouli, vetiver, copahu balm and black amber

According to my research on Fragrantica, Litsea Cubeba is an evergreen shrub native to China whose aroma is “lemon-like, sharp, tangy, with sweet undertone.” As for Black Amber, Fragrantica says it is the lowest, cheapest grade of ambergris. Copahu balm, for those who have never encountered it, is simply another type of very rich, spiced amber resin. Interestingly, if you examine that list of ingredients, the usual Amouage mainstay of frankincense is missing.

Ubar opens on my skin with a burst of ruby-red, velvety, heavy, meaty rose. If this were meat, it would be a heaping slab of prime rib. It drips its hearty juices and jammy nectar atop a base of patchouli that almost feels infused with oakmoss. The mossy note feels midway between fresh and green, and dried, pungent and robust. Co-mingled with that rich damask rose is a subtle touch of orange blossom and big chunks of orange that feels both pulpy and infused with spice. The juicy flesh of the fruit adds another layer of richness to the jamminess of the rose, but any truly fruity aspects are alleviated by the lurking hints of delicate, dainty, sweet freesia and green, spring-like lily-of-the-valley.

In that opening blast, perhaps my favorite part are the subtle, spicy nuances in Ubar. It has to be the indirect effect of the Copahu resin which subtly adds a rich, thick, almost honeyed, but definitely spicy amber touch to the base. There is almost a boozy effect in those opening minutes — not like rum but, rather, like extremely expensive, aged cognac. There is a profoundly liqueur-like feel that smells wonderfully ostentatious, plush, hedonistically decadent and luxurious. At first, it is quite a separate, distinct note, but quickly, it melts into the perfume to become significantly muted, adding only an indirect touch of depth to that beefy, jammy, Damascus rose.

Ten minutes in, green notes rise to the surface. It is not precisely like lily-of-the-valley because there is a heavy milky aspect to the floral greenness. In fact, it actually smells like a dead-on replication of extremely concentrated green tea, infused by a huge amount of cream. After another five minutes, the lactonic (and green tea) element fades, replaced by the clear, unquestionable note of lily-of-the-valley. It is infused with lemon and has a miniscule amount of spiciness underneath, thereby preventing it from ever being heavily soapy in nature. I assume that spicy-lemon nuance comes from the litsea cubeba. (As a side note, no other perfume house so consistently uses ingredients that I have never, ever heard of in all my life. It’s always a voyage of discovery with Amouage, and I find that enormously appealing.)

The famous, “Sun Drop” yellow diamond.

While the lemony lily-of-the-valley quietly makes its presence known, so too does the jasmine and, my word, is it stunning. It has the feel of night-blooming jasmine in full narcotic headiness with a sensuous aroma that feels almost tactile, reaching its floral tendrils across a warm summer’s night as if the floral fingers were waving at you in the air. It is so rich and strong, the note almost seems visually solid. In conjunction with that beefy, meaty, prime-rib of a rose, the overall effect feels like the perfume has turned into a floral holograph right before your eyes, shimmering in 3D effect like a revolving yellow diamond. (Jasmine always feels “yellow” to me, if that makes any sense, and I always have to remind myself that it is, in fact, a white flower. But, dammit, its richness feels so yellow, especially here!)

Amidst that heady blast of jasmine-rose, touched by lemony lily-of-the-valley, the other notes become much less individually distinct. Ubar’s patchouli can always be felt in the background, but the ambery, boozy note from the copahu resin receded long ago. And there is almost no strong feel of smoke and frankincense which is the usual signature for an Amouage fragrance. There feels like there are some flickers of frankincense, muted and almost indecipherable, but every time I think I’ve got a hold of the note, it vanishes. And I’m not the only one who wonder about its presence in Ubar. Now Smell This also struggled to decide whether or not it was there. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if the subtle traces of some amorphous smokiness stemmed from the Copahu resin instead.

Source: Mearas.net

Around the forty minute mark, Ubar settles into its paces like an Arabian once it is in a full, comfortable gallop that it can maintain for hours. It is a perfectly blended, harmonious, monstrously big sum-total of: heady, exuberant flowers; lemony lily-of-the-valley; muskiness tinged with smoke; velvety, mossy patchouli; and subtle, almost minute flickers of spiced, pulpy orange. Like an Arab stallion racing in the desert, its footsteps kick out small traces of other notes, like pebbles or dust in the wind. There is civet which comes out from time to time like a teasing ghost. It’s never urinous, skanky, dirty or raunchy on my skin, but just another layer of muskiness that is added to the narcotic flowers. There are also subtle suggestions of sandalwood lurking at the edges but, at in the early hours, it never feels like real Mysore sandalwood. I honestly think it’s either synthetic or a variant, because it lacks the truly spicy, deeply complex, rich, layered feel of Mysore sandalwood. Still, it’s creamy and adds a subtle depth to very strong patchouli base. Hints of amber are also apparent at times but, like the other tertiary notes, it’s muted in the face of those powerful florals. Lastly, about two hours in, a quiet touch of soapiness arrives, underlying that lily-of-the valley note, but it soon fades away.

In its middle phase, Ubar becomes, primarily, a musky rose-jasmine fragrance whose other notes sing very softly in the shadows. At times, the whole thing feels like one extremely powerful, abstract burst of flowers backed by musk and patchouli. Yes, there is still some lemon nuances, but the fresh, spring, green Lily of the Valley element (that was never huge to begin with) disappeared around the middle of the third hour. The civet is noticeable, though it isn’t a profoundly distinct note beyond general muskiness at this stage. The sandalwood still feels very synthetic, muted, and vague. And, finally, on my skin, the amber effect is extremely indirect.

However, starting around the sixth hour, Ubar starts to shift a little. The jasmine-rose duet is joined by stronger animalic civet, followed by a touch of vanilla. The civet never smells urinous to me or like “cat-butt” as some of its detractors call it, but the note is strong, more than just general “muskiness,” and even a little sharp at times. Since it’s a synthetic ingredient for animal cruelty reasons, I’m not surprised that it burns my nose. As time passes, that softens a little, as does Ubar itself. It’s finally less voluminous in feel and projection, finally a little closer to the skin, and much more softly golden. Vanilla becomes more significant around the 8th hour, creating a warm, musky sweetness on the skin that remains until the very end.

I truly can’t say that the amber in the base or drydown is very profound, and I certainly don’t detect ambergris with its almost grey, sweaty, richly heavy, salty feel. The ambergris used in Ubar is the lowest grade called “Black Amber”; reading the Fragrantica which I linked to above, it seems to be an extremely soft form and I get the sense that it smells far from the real, hardcore whale ambergris. Furthermore, I’ve never read any accounts of Ubar where the reviewer thought amber (never mind ambergris) was a huge part of Ubar. There is a golden feel to the base in Ubar’s final stage, but it stems more from the lingering effect of the Copahu resin, mixed with the musky civet and vanilla than anything that smells “ambery.” When Ubar finally starts to fade away, all that’s left is some vanilla musk.

All in all, Ubar feels almost exactly as Luca Turin describes it. Yes, for once, I actually agree with the famed, prickly critic. In his gushing five-star review of Ubar in Perfumes: The A-Z Guide, he wrote:

I remember years ago seeing an iMax movie at the Air and Space Museum in DC: it started out with a grainy black and white film of a biplane taking off, and just when you thought you were beginning to wonder why you’d shelled out twenty bucks, the screen turned to colour, widened to a huge hollow sphere and you were flying above a forest in turning-leaf colors above a Pitts S2 painted in shiny red and white. Even the sound was gorgeous. Everyone went “aaaah” and I shed 40 years of age in 10 milliseconds. After smelling several dozen pigeon-toed, rickety modern fragrances designed by depressive accountants, encountering Ubar is a similarly joyful experience. This thing is so huge, gleaming, overengineered and chock-full of counterrotating planetary gears that you feel all you can do is let it tower over you while you walk around it and kick the huge tires. Ubar is technically a floral-oriental but the flowers are 3XL in size and the Orient has been scaled accordingly. If the old Dioressence had an illegitimate child with the first Rush, it would smell like this: a huge, purple romantic rose in the manner of the lamented Nombre Noir, a ton of creamy lactones, a whale’s worth of animalic amber. Ubar joins the small club of nuclear-tipped fragrances: Poison, Giorgio, Angel, Amarige. Use it carefully, for once you spray it on there’s no going back.

I can’t believe it, I actually agree with “His Majesty” in almost every respect! I only quibble on the “whale’s worth of animalic amber” since, on my skin, it is quite a subtle, indirect background thing. Notwithstanding that minor difference of opinion, I think the rest of Mr. Turin’s assessment is absolutely perfect, right down to how the “oriental” aspect has been scaled down to a small size.

He’s certainly right about Ubar being “nuclear-tipped.” This is one extremely powerful fragrance. Do not spray it with reckless abandon! Two to three small, dabbed smears gave me monstrously strong sillage at first but, after the first hour, it drops by a little. It doesn’t radiate out across a room at that point, but it does create a small, soft cloud around you, wafting about a 6 inches above your skin for hours and hours on end. You can definitely smell it on yourself, though I don’t think you’d overwhelm a co-worker across the room. (As a general rule, I would not recommend Ubar for a conservative office, no matter what the quantity.) Ubar only becomes a skin scent about 6.5 hours into its development and it lasts about 11.5 hours on my perfume-consuming skin. None of that applies, however, if you spray on a lot. More than 2-3 small sprays all over (remember that spraying amplifies a perfume due to aerosolization), and those around you will definitely notice. From a distance.

Though there is a lot of love for Ubar out there (even amongst those for whom lily-of-the-valley becomes a scrubber note), not everyone can handle it. The opinions on Fragrantica range from outright love, to occasional horror (due to the civet note), to those who admire it but find it far too big to wear:

This is one of the ‘richest’, most luxurious perfumes I have ever tried. I don’t usually like civet, but in this composition, it was not unpleasant to me. It is an extremely smooth and long-lasting floral perfume.

The only Amouage I dislike. It is so strong it gives me instant nausea. I think I am getting that “Mongoose” strongly”.

Ubar is an extraordinary flowery fragrance, done on the Arab way. I smell something very close to agar wood note and some animal notes as well which I do not see listed here, but that is how it feels- untamed flowers, mostly violet leaves, greenish tuberose and jasmine.

Love the topnotes, REALLY LOVE the drydown. I struggled a bit with the heart…For about 30 minutes, this beautiful creation smelled like celery and urine, though I don’t know which notes listed above would lend to the urine-like smell.

Ubar by Amouage is all about flowers, it recalls many good big floral vintage perfumes I’ve already tried before, so if you love a good, bold and in your face floral you might want to give this a try. [¶] It opened with a big bucket of flowers, the smell itself is sharp, almost animalistic and very strong, it fills up a room and is not for pleasing a bus full with people :). [¶] The heart part on me is full with rich ylang-ylang, almost buttery, still going extremely strong and stays like this all trough the drydown – a rich, expensive smelling bomb of flowers – warm, elegant and inviting. [¶] Unfortunately like in many cases with Amouage – I find this to be too much, on the other hand – they do try to give what their customers paid for – a full and rich fragrance that simply screams “royal and expensive”.

[From a male commentator]: I knew this was supposed to be floral, but it’s way too floral for my taste. I think the main culprit is the lily-of-the-valley, which is so strong that it overpowers the roses and jasmine, which I generally find pleasant. I can smell a little rose in the mix, but it’s not strong enough to balance the sharper white florals. I cannot smell the base at all due to the LOTV, which dominates everything throughout the entire development of the scent. [¶] I was hoping that at some point the base would make its way through, but the next morning I can still smell LOTV on my wrists. I have to say that this is a wearable LOTV, not a scrubber as many of them are for me, and it’s one I might choose if, for some unknown reason, I wanted a LOTV scent. The perfume is well-made, so I think anyone who loves pure florals of this type would enjoy Ubar.

I didn’t experience a particularly strong Lily-of-the-Valley note and certainly no “mongoose”-like or urinous civet, but I do agree with the general feel of many of the comments. Ubar is a total flowerbomb explosion that does scream out wealth, luxury, and opulence. It is absolutely over-the-top. And I completely share the opinion about how Ubar feels like a lot of vintage floral fragrances.

Source: Wallpapersget.com

In fact, in my notes, I wrote a long bit about Ubar’s retro and 1980s diva character because it is nothing short of a rearing, white Arab stallion. It is a perfume that feels incredibly classique, in a timeless, high-class, elegant, luxurious way. It’s so opulent, it’s retro, as if this were a 1970s or 1980s, big, diva perfume — only without the screeching element that some of those perfumes had. (Poison, I’m staring straight at you!) I think Ubar’s edges are softer, more well-rounded and creamy, but it’s all a very relative matter. Someone who likes “fresh, clean” fragrances would go into a coma with Ubar; those who can’t handle powerful, narcotically heady fragrances would probably pass out; and those who struggle with indolic, big, white florals would probably be completely overwhelmed. Ubar is stronger than (vintage) Fracas, and it reaches (vintage, 1970s) Opium levels of power.

I wouldn’t recommend Ubar to a lot of people. Those with the aforementioned perfume taste should stay far, far away. Those who are looking for an unobtrusive, versatile, office-friendly, and/or day fragrance — don’t even bother. Young women may also have problems with Ubar, as I’ve read a few people comment that it feels “old lady.” Yes, it definitely is for a more mature woman who wants something extremely sophisticated. And, lastly, in total honesty, I don’t think a lot of men would be comfortable wearing Ubar. It definitely tips heavily to the feminine side of things with all those powerful white florals. However, if you’re a man whose tastes aren’t limited to aromatic fougères, citrusy, gourmand, or oud-based fragrances, and if you enjoy big florals with powerful sillage and longevity, I would strongly urge you to sniff out Ubar.

As for me, I really enjoyed the heady splendour of Ubar with its enormous white beauty, but I prefer my Arabian horses to be Blacks, Bays, and Chestnuts with a little more of unisex smoke and spiciness in their nature. I would certainly wear Ubar if a bottle were ever to fall into my lap but, to my surprise, it is Amouage‘s Lyric that tempts me the most. It feels like a darker stallion with its spicy undertones, even though Lyric was primarily a ylang-ylang fragrance on my skin with hardly any rose. In fact, if I were to do a blind smell-test, based only on what I had heard of each fragrance, I’m sure I would have picked Ubar to be “Lyric” and Lyric to be “Ubar.” Ubar’s heavy, beefy, bloody, red rose presence is exactly what I had thought Lyric would be like (but wasn’t). On my skin, Lyric turned out to have very little rose but, instead, mostly bucketfuls of bewitchingly creamy, buttery, velvety ylang-ylang atop smoke, spices, and custardy vanilla. It just feels like it would fit better with Ubar’s golden bottle and image in my mind. Yet, even apart from the unexpected twist that it took on my skin, I much prefer Lyric because I think it has greater depth, complexity, and range than the primarily white floral aspects of Ubar.

If you’re tempted by Ubar, but put off by the brand’s steep prices, please know that there are ways around that; Amouage fragrances are often found at a huge discount at various, reputable, discount perfume retailers like LilyDirect. Ubar, in specific, is currently available for around $156 for a large 3.4 oz/100 ml bottle. (See, Details section, below.) For an Amouage, for the size, and for such a powerful eau de parfum, it’s truly an excellent deal. That large bottle will last you decades, unless you plan on spraying on more than 2-3 small spritzes over your entire body each time — in which case, the astronauts on the space station may sit up and wonder.

So give it a sniff if you’re looking for a sophisticated, seductive, diva, evening floral scent, and ride with the stallions to the ancient city of Ubar in the desert.

DETAILS:

Cost, Availability, Sales & Sets: Ubar is an eau de parfum that comes in two sizes: a large 3.4 oz/100 ml eau de parfum that costs $285, £170.00 or €215, or a small 50 ml/1.7 oz bottle that retails for $250, €185 or £150.00. Very few retailers carry the small size. LilyDirect, a very reputable online perfume retailer that frequently gives large discounts on Amouage, is selling a large 3.4 oz bottle of Ubar for only $156.08 instead of $285!!! That is an unbelievable price, especially given the free domestic shipping on orders over $100. (For Canadian readers, I’ve heard that LilyDirect will begin shipping to your country in June, so you may want to check with them then.) Ubar in the small 1.7 oz size is also on sale at Beauty Encounter for $163.49 with free domestic shipping and international shipping for a fee. (Obviously, you get more for cheaper from LilyDirect.) I’ve ordered from BeautyEncounter in the past with no problem, as have many of my friends, and they too are a very reputable dealer. Amazon seems to be selling Ubar via PlentyCosas and via FragranceNet with discounted prices of $163.54 for the small and $221 for the large bottle. If you were to go directly to FragranceNet the price is higher, depending on whether you want it boxed or not, at $200.19 for the small or $227.19 for the large. Otherwise, your first stop for purchase might be the Amouage website which sells Ubar in the small 50 ml/1.7 oz size for $250 as well as the larger size.

In the U.S., the authorized Amouage dealer is Parfums Raffy which sells Ubar in both sizes, including the smaller $250 bottle. There is free domestic shipping, and free Amouage samples with any order. Luckyscent carries only the large 3.4 oz/100 ml bottle of Ubar for $285. Ubar in the 3.4 oz/100 ml bottle can also be purchased online at Parfum1, MinNY, or the Four Seasons. Finally, Parfums Raffy sells a Mini Parfum Set of 6 Amouage fragrances (Ubar, Jubilation 25, Lyric, Gold, Dia, Reflection) in 7.5 ml crystal bottles for $280. MinNY sells the same Mini Set for $265.

Outside the US: OzCosmetics sells Ubar from Hong Kong (with free world shipping, it seems) and offers Ubar in the small 50 ml bottle for US$216.90 and in the large 3.4 oz bottle for US$246.90. In Canada, The Perfume Shoppe offers Ubar for USD$285 in the large 3.4 oz/100 ml bottle size. I think there is free worldwide shipping. Since CAD prices are usually higher, so you may want to drop them an email to inquire as to the Canadian rate. In the UK, Ubar is available at Les Senteurs where it costs £150.00 or £170.00, depending on size. Samples are available for purchase. There is also an Amouage boutique in London, and I’ve read that some people have purchased Ubar at Harrods (probably in the Roja Dove speciality boutique). In France, Ubar is sold at Jovoy Paris for €210 for the large 3.4 oz/100 ml bottle. For the rest of Europe, Premiere Avenue in France carries the full line of Amouage products, from perfumes to candles to body products. Like everything else it carries, Premiere Avenue will ship worldwide. (Send an email to info@eurl3.com for shipping costs.) In Germany, Ubar is available at First in Fragrance where it costs €190 or €270.00 (which is much higher than the €215 listed on the Amouage website) with free shipping within the EU and shipping elsewhere for a fee. In Australia, Au.StrawberryNet sells the small 1.7 oz/50 ml bottle of Ubar for AUD$223.50. For other countries, the Amouage website has a “Store Finder” which should, hopefully, help you find the perfume somewhere close to you.

Samples: Surrender to Chance sells Ubar at prices start at $3.99 for a 1/2 ml vial. Samples are also available at a few of the retailers listed above, where mentioned.