By Kilian Imperial Tea

Posted on April 28, 2014 by Kafkaesque

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

Source: Fragrantica

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

A Moment of Purity

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

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

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

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

Source: forwallpaper.com

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

Jasmine tea balls in bloom. Source: aliexpress.com

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

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

Source: bioloskiblog.wordpress.com

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

Source: polychemcoatings.com

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

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

Source: made-in-china.com

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

Jasmine Tea. Source: tea-terra.ru

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

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

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

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

Jasmine Sambac. Source: flowallp.com

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

Source: womanfaq.ru

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

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

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

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

DETAILS:

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

By Kilian Sacred Wood

Posted on April 27, 2014 by Kafkaesque

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

Source: lamasatonline.net

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

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

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

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

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

Source: graphicsbeam.com

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ebanol via Givaudan

Javanol via Givaudan.

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

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

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

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

Mysore sandalwood. Source: Fragrantica

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

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

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

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

Source: blinds-wallpaper.net

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

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

Source: seriouseats.com

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

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

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

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

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

Source: polychemcoatings.com

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

DETAILS:

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

Profumum Antico Caruso

Posted on April 26, 2014 by Kafkaesque

Profumum Roma wants you to take a trip in time with its Antico Caruso, starting in a simpler, more elegant era when barber shops were filled with creamy soaps, herbal tonics, and the aromas of rich lemon oil, and men were pampered the old-fashioned way. Yet, that journey to the past quickly changes because classic masculinity is not at the core of Antico Caruso. The heart of the perfume brings you to the modern era with a more unisex scent that is all about smooth, almond creaminess.

Source: Profumum Roma website.

Antico Caruso was released in 2001, and is an eau de parfum with pure parfum concentration. Like its sugary, feminine sister, Confetto, it is an almond fragrance at its core, but Antico Caruso does not start out that way. Far from it. In fact, for much of the first hour, I was wondering if the almond was ever going to show up. It certainly seemed nothing like Profumum’s description of the scent on its website with its talk of “wheat fields” and floral orange blossoms. In my opinion, Profumum’s description of the scent is so misleading, I’m going to skip quoting it entirely.

I think the best summation of Antico Caruso — at least for its opening phase — comes from Luckyscent which writes:

Inspired by the scent and atmosphere of a classic, old fashioned barbershop: white tiled floors and leather chairs; rich, creamy soaps and brisk herbal tonics; the buzz of good-natured conversation. A vibrant citrus note mingles with the subtle sweetness of almond on a warm base of wood. The result is clean, but in a comforting and luxurious way— not at all astringent or antiseptic. Antico Caruso brings to mind the good manners and relaxed pace of an earlier time, but has an ease and minimalism that keeps it wearable and modern.

Schorem, Bertus & Leen barbershop, Rotterdam, NL. Source: gentlemensavenue.com

There doesn’t seem to be any consensus on the notes in Antico Caruso, and I’ve found that Profumum rarely gives a thorough list, settling instead for a nutshell summation. As noted earlier, the company talks about wheat fields, but oddly enough, it doesn’t say one word about lemons — and Antico Caruso definitely contains plenty of that!

Thus far, the most detailed assessment seems to come from Fragrantica which mentions:

almond, lemon, orange blossom, sandalwood and amber.

Personally, I smell slightly different notes:

lemon, almond, lavender, sandalwood, vanilla, and possibly clary sage.

Source: footage.shutterstock.com

Antico Caruso opens on my skin very close to what is described by Luckyscent. There is a potent wave of clean, very crisp, very bright yellow citrus, infused with a clean musk, and followed by a pungent herbal aroma. The whole thing is cocooned in a dry woodiness, then a good, frothing spray of lemony shaving cream and some expensive soap bubbles are poured on top.

photo: 123rf.com

The herbal aspect fascinates me. There is a brief touch of green anise which carries with it the faintest tinge of licorice, along with what I would swear is clary sage and lavender. The latter is subtle at first, so I thought I was imagining it, but, no, exactly 5 minutes in, I would bet one of my favorite bottles of perfume that there is either dried lavender, clary sage, or both in Antico Caruso. Clary sage has a herbal aroma that can be similar to lavender, and commonly has a rich soapiness, along with a subtle touch of leatheriness underneath. All of that appears in Antico Caruso, along with the more obvious dried lavender. As for the wheat referred to by Profumum in their description? Nary a whiff. And no almonds on my skin, either, not for another 45 minutes.

Source: spasation.com

What there is instead is an intensely bright, fresh, crisp lemony aroma infused with soapiness, clean musk, and a slightly pungent, aromatic herbal bouquet in a blend that replicates an old-fashioned cologne. You can almost feel yourself transported to a 1940s or 1950s Italian barbershop, envision the shaving cream being whisked a man’s face, and see the bright sunshine flooding in as the barber finishes off with a bracing blend of lemon and lavender oil on his customer’s skin. Antico Caruso is definitely impressive in how smoothly and elegantly they’ve recreated that world in perfume form.

My admiration aside, it’s initially a little too herbal and clean for me personally, but relief is in sight. Exactly 20 minutes into Antico Caruso’s development, the perfume starts to shift. The heavily soapy undertone softens dramatically to something that is much better balanced. A touch of lovely, creamy vanilla slowly stirs in the base. Vanilla is not listed on Profumum’s typically abbreviated list of notes, but I would swear that is what I am smelling. At the same time, Antico Caruso’s streak of woodiness that was initially so muted now blooms, taking on a wonderful creamy smoothness. It doesn’t smell like sandalwood to me, let alone actual Mysore sandalwood, but it doesn’t smell cheap or synthetic, either. It’s an abstract wooded note, but it’s lovely.

The almond appears after 45 minutes, and Antico Caruso continues to get better. The almond isn’t bitter, raw, or candied, but very fresh and light. It cuts through some of the herbal pungency, taming it, while also softening the lemon and turning it less crisp. The final traces of shaving cream soapiness fade away, leaving a citrus, almond, herbal bouquet that is lightly flecked with vanilla and creamy woods. It all feels very smooth, elegant, clean, and bright. The white musk in the base is, as usual, the one thing I don’t like, but that is just as personal dislike for the note.

Photo: my own.

Antico Caruso still manifests masculine and retro vibes, thanks to its very aromatic, citrus top notes, but they are growing weaker with every passing quarter-hour. Exactly 75 minutes in, the almonds in Antico Caruso bloom and change everything for me. They’re absolutely beautiful. Creamy, whipped with vanilla to a silky mousse, then lightly dusted with a touch of sugar, they are like a creamy dessert. Again, vanilla is not listed in Antico Caruso’s notes, but what is wafting from my skin certainly seems to contain the note. It’s lovely in its airy, rich smoothness. Yet, the herbal and citrus cologne aspect persists enough to ensure that Antico Caruso is never cloying goo. There is sweetness, most definitely, but there is also a very brisk, herbal, aromatic freshness that ensures Antico Caruso never ventures into saccharine territory.

Photo: Kate Donahue on foodbabbles.com

Antico Caruso’s primary bouquet now is of silky almonds with vanilla mousse, flecked by bright, crisp lemons and dried herbs, all atop a smooth, creamy woody base. At the 2.25 hour mark, the sillage drops to an inch above the skin, the herbal accord retreats to the sidelines, and the almond-vanilla-mousse dances in the spotlight with the creamy woods. The lavender and lemon are still there, as is the white musk, but none of them are the stars of show in the same way that they were at the start.

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

Antico Caruso remains largely unchanged for the next few hours, losing more and more of its herbal cleanness and citric freshness. As the hours pass, and the drydown begins, Antico Caruso’s primary bouquet is of creamy almonds amidst even further creaminess, both of the vanilla and wooded varieties. It’s absolutely lovely, and compulsively sniffable. In its final moments, Antico Caruso dies away in a blur of lightly sweetened creaminess flecked by almonds and that persistent, clean, white musk.

All in all, Antico Caruso lasted just under 12.5 hours on my perfume-consuming skin. That figure is a bit less than what I usually get from some Profumum scents, but I know Antico Caruso’s longevity could easily be increased by applying more of the scent. On a normal person, many Profumum scents last well over 15 hours, with some reporting 24 hours or more. In terms of sillage, Antico Caruso become a skin scent on me around the middle of the 6th hour, but was still easy to detect up close for some time after that.

Jean Paul Gaultier’s Le Male. Source: Fragrantica.

Just as with Confetto, the reactions to Antico Caruso can be boiled down to a few, strikingly similar assessments. On Luckyscent, Fragrantica, or MakeupAlley, the comments generally boil to one or more of the following refrains:

Antico Caruso is exactly like Jean-Paul Gaultier‘s Le Male;

Antico Caruso is extremely similar to Le Male, but without the latter’s cloying, “screeching,” and overpoweringly synthetic vanilla;

Antico Caruso has a barber shop smell with herbal notes and shaving foam;

Antico Caruso smells like the most luxurious almond soap with a clean, smooth, creaminess and lovely sandalwood;

“The smell for the perfect, classy gentlemen…” (Also, “Soft, classy attractive from the first sniff.That’s how a man should smell in my opinion. It’s oh so pure and sexy at the same time. Freshness, clean clothes with good old sandalwood soap dried in the sunny countryside.”)

Antico Caruso is too masculine for women. (E.g., “I gave it 3 for me, but I also would give it 5 for a man” ; or, “May be more appropriate for my boyfriend.”)

The citrus and barbershop tonalities are much more noticeable if you spray from a bottle, than if you dab, unless you dab on a lot.

Source: mlle-mlle.blogspot.com

I was happy to see that one Fragrantica reviewer detected a lavender aroma just as I did. “Houdini4” also provides comparisons to fragrances other than just Le Male, so his assessment may be useful for some of you:

Instantly I thought this smelled like a lavender, almond and vanilla combination which is very pleasing. How about this Antico Caruso is an elegant blend of the best bits of from three well known fragrances. A ménage a trois of sorts between Le Male, Givenchy Pi and Amouage Reflection.[…] It’s what Le Male should smell like but goes awful on my skin and it has the deep almond accord of givenchy Pi without the sour edge. Finally it has the class and sophistication of Reflection without the relative complexity. This is a nice fragrance that has phenomenal lasting power it really is impressive. [Emphasis to names added by me.]

MOR vanilla almond soap. Photo: Kim at averysweetblog.com. (Website link embedded within photo.)

On Luckyscent, the vast majority of the reviews are positive, but they also come from men. My two favorite ones are filled with evocative historical images for what Antico Caruso makes the reviewers feel. What is interesting is that one of them detected the almond immediately, far more than anything herbal, and that Antico Caruso’s main characteristic for him seemed to be luxury almond soap that conjured up something serene and comforting, like “fresh, wholesome days outdoors and the pure simplicity of monestary, abbey or temple settings”:

Oh ! yeah. This is somewhat of a medicine chest upon first whiff/application but then it really gets complex, rich , masculine and has an elusive comforting nature. It has a great life span- at least 5 to 10 hours, it takes about an hour just to sit with you and develop – very good sign IMO. It’s got a good description , shaving cream mixed with a very oppulent antique wardrobe filled with hair creme, woody rich soaps, leather shoes of the most bespoke calfskin , a linen suit you wore to a temple in India where the finest sandalwood burned – maybe even a tiny bit of extremely rare aged English pipe tabacco. It’s just too complex to type- but delivers alot of invoked feelings and vaugue memories- the aroma captures places and times for me, not just a pleasure of smell alone. Never been able to say that for any offering,except for CdG Incense/Avignon before this.

Source: theesotericcuriosa.blogspot.com

“Antico Caruso” smells like the purest, creamiest luxury soap you’ve ever experienced—the kind that came in cakes and wrapped in paper, scattered throughout cruise liners (like creamy-tart “Vinolia”–only sweeter) and seaside hotels in the early part of last century. There is even a similar theme between Caswell-Massey’s famous “Almond Shave Soap” and “Antico Caruso”, but antico is less salty and veers away from the syrupy cherry tone of almond and into a creamier realm of polished wood and hard-soap lather. This is a serenely comforting scent: The almond note gives it a very subtle gourmandesque spirit; however, the opening citrus zing and powdery sandlewood finish make it far to clean to pass as a food substitute. “Antico Caruso” is also, despite masculine references to barbershops and cologne, quite unisex in nature and I imagine many women would find it’s unusual non-floral creaminess appealing. It’s the smell of “clean” before “clean” meant “disinfectant/detergent”. It makes me think of fresh, wholesome days outdoors and the pure simplicity of monestary, abbey or temple settings. If you always hoped for a sweeter, creamier version of “CKOne“, “L’Huere Bleu” or you’re just looking for an interesting scent to surround but not precede you, I’d suggest “Antico Caruso”. [Emphasis to names added by me.]

Lemon almond soap. Source: blog.wholesalesuppliesplus.com

As you may have noted, most of the Antico Caruso discussion is from men. My personal feelings on the gender issue is that Antico Caruso definitely opens like a man’s cologne with its herbal-citrus aroma and shaving cream undertones. I think women who are used to mainstream fragrances, and/or who prefer clearly, distinctly feminine perfumes will struggle with Antico Caruso. I’m not sure many will have the patience to wait 75 minutes to get past the opening in order to experience the unisex almond-vanilla heart.

On the other hand, I think that all the references to “barbershop” vibes may predispose some women to think that the fragrance is not for them. After all, a lot of women wear perfumes with lavender, citrus and clean soap aromas, so why should Antico Caruso’s opening be too much? How you frame the discussion and categorize the notes may impact your reaction. If you’re the sort who doesn’t find dried lavender to be medicinal or masculine in nature, then you shouldn’t have a problem with the rest of the perfume.

Almond Powder. Photo: Emma Christensen. Source: thekitchn.com

To be clear, though, quite a few women find Antico Caruso to be “lovely and unisex,” relaxing, “cuddly” or “precious.” On MakeupAlley, some female reviewers love the scent, perhaps because the drydown is so very different than the citrus, soapy opening:

With notes of citrus, almond and sandalwood, the Luckyscent website describes it being reminiscent of rich, creamy soaps and brisk herbal tonics. At first, I thought this scent didn’t work on me…. It seemed kind of soapy perfumey and could work on a man better than a woman…but the drydown is a soft almond baby powder scent….not a sneeze inducing powdery scent but like baby powder and sweet dry almond…and it has no masculine edge left. Also, the staying power on this is tremendous which is rare for a cuddly scent (which this certainly is once you get to the bottom notes).

how relaxed and istantly happy i felt after putting on my skin after bath the other day.I was so distressed and tired and it worked like some magical potion. It smells a bit of cherry (well that comes from almond) and it’s sweet tarty with a subtle vanilla note and a true sandalwood drydown.Precious!

I wasn’t getting the barbershop notes at all, but putting on a ton, I can get that sense. There’s a old fashioned perfume feeling to this in quantity, but overall it dries to a gentle, slightly powdery vanilla musk that’s compulsively sniffable. The wood, old style cologne and herbal tonic are there in suggestion, but it’s all muted into a mood rather than distinct pictures. Lovely and unisex, warm and comforting. Expensive though. Makes me sad because I would love to own this but it’s just too expensive.

It’s true, Profumum scents are not cheap at $240 a bottle. On the one hand, they are 100 ml of pure concentrated parfum, and a little goes a long (long!) way. On the other, Antico Caruso is not particularly original. Just as with Confetto, it has a very close counterpart in the designer or mainstream aisle for much, much less. And they’re both much less original or distinctive than some of their non-gourmand siblings in the Profumum line — like the peaty Laphroaig Scotch and smoky vetiver Fumidus, or the kelp and salty ocean Acqua di Sale.

The thing about Profumum, however, is that they generally use very high-quality ingredients and few synthetics. So, yes, Antico Caruso may be like Le Male, but almost everyone agrees that it is not even close to being as synthetic or as shrilly over-bearing as the Gaultier creation. Whether it feels different or luxurious enough to warrant the price is going to be a personal determination. I personally happen to think Antico Caruso is very elegant, and I struggle to see how Profumum’s quality could possibly be compared or equated to Le Male.

Almond cream. Photo: Melissa Breyer at care2care.com

For me, Antico Caruso is one of the nicest Profumum scents that I’ve tried in a while, and I have to admit that I far preferred it to its almond sister, Confetto. Though I enjoyed both almond scents, Antico Caruso comes out ahead for a few reasons. Confetto was a little too sweet for my personal tastes. Antico Caruso felt not only more complex, relatively speaking, but I also found the drydown to be beautiful and compulsively sniffable. Yes, the opening was a little too herbal for me and I don’t particularly like soapiness, but neither aspect lasted all that long on my skin. The main thing, though, is that almond-vanilla mousse over a base of creamy woods will always beat out sugared almond with cotton candy for me. The vanilla is simply better, richer, deeper, smoother and more high-quality in Antico Caruso.

Do I like Antico Caruso enough to actually buy a full 100ml bottle? That part I’m not so sure about. I suspect some of you will find yourself engaged in a similar debate if you try either Confetto or Antico Caruso. But if you love sweet almond fragrances, you should really give one of them a test sniff.

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: Antico Caruso is an Eau de Parfums with Extrait concentration that only comes in a large 3.4 oz/100 ml bottle. It costs $240 or €179. Profumum doesn’t have an e-shop from which you can buy their fragrances directly. Profumum now seems to have released 20 ml “stylos” of 10 of its fragrances, including Antico Caruso, but those 20 ml each cost €60. The stylos are also limited to Europe thus far, in such department stores as Paris’ Printemps boutique. In the U.S.: you can find Antico Caruso at Luckyscent and OsswaldNY. Both sites sell samples at different prices. As a side note, Profumum says that the perfume is accompanied by body products like “body milk” or “Shower bath.” Outside the U.S.: In the U.K., Profumum is sold at Roja Dove’s Haute Parfumerie in Harrods. Elsewhere, you can generally find the Profumum line at Paris’ Printemps store, Premiere Avenue in France (which ships world-wide), France’s Soleil d’Or, the Netherlands’ Celeste, Hungary’s Neroli, zurich’s Osswald, and Russia’s Lenoma boutiques. Taizo in Cannes also carries Profumum and says they ship worldwide, but I don’t see an e-store. Profumum’s website says that their fragrances are carried in a large number of small stores from Copenhagen to Poland, other parts of France, the rest of Europe, and, of course, Italy. You can use the Profumum Store Locator located on the left of the page linked to above. Samples: Surrender to Chance does not have Antico Caruso. However, you can order vials of both scents from Luckyscent or Osswald. The latter has a sample program for U.S. customers along with free shipping, though there is a 3-item minimum.

Profumum Confetto

Posted on April 25, 2014 by Kafkaesque

The innocence of childhood pleasures as experienced through the prism of sugared almonds. That is the essence of Confetto, one of two Profumum Roma fragrances that celebrates the joy of almonds. However, it takes a very different approach from its more masculine counterpart, Antico Caruso. With Confetto, the focus is purely gourmand in nature, centered around a fluffy, very unisex, pink and white confection infused with vanilla.

Source: Profumum Roma website.

Confetto is a concentrated eau de parfum that was released in 1996. Profumum has a lovely description of it on their website:

Both woman and child.
Capricious and gentle like a curl in the wind,
like candy floss, like a black silk
petticoat raised by the swirl of the merry go round.
Outspreads harmoniously to recall innocent or maybe forbidden delicacies.
[Notes:] Almond, anise, musk, amber, vanilla.

Confetto opens on my skin with sugared almonds, vanilla, and a clean white musk, trailed by a hint of fresh, green anise. It’s a very sugared scent, redolent of cotton candy and hyper-saturated carnival treats, but it’s actually less sweet than I had anticipated. Profumum’s gourmands are renowned for being quite over-the-top, undoubtedly due to their singular focus and extremely concentrated nature, but I’ve certainly smelled much sweeter, more syrupy fragrances lately than Confetto. (I shall endeavour not to bring up my trauma at the hands of Fusion Sacrée (Lui), yet again.)

Sugared almonds. Source: hatdieungon.vn

It’s a relative matter, I grant you. On the sweetness scale of 10, I would firmly place most of the Profumum’s gourmands at around an 8 or so. That said, Confetto still surprised me a little, especially in the opening hour when there was a tiny touch of freshness, thanks to the anise. Confetto’s white musk also adds to that sense, though I find it too sharp for quite a few hours. (I loathe white musk, so put that comment into context.) The other helpful aspect is that Confetto is much lighter in feel than many of its siblings in the line which seem positively opaque in comparison. It certainly is airier, fluffier, and drier than Dulcis in Fundo, a waffle cones and vanilla scent that is exceptionally rich. So, for me, Confetto would initially rank as a 7 on the sweetness scale, before moving up to an 8, while Dulcis in Fundo would be a consistent 9.

Source: wedding-flowers-and-reception-ideas.com

From afar, Confetto smells primarily of “Jordan almonds” or Italian “confetti,” the hard-shelled, vanilla-coated almond candies often given at weddings. It is also thoroughly infused with a pink or white candy floss vanilla. I have mixed feelings about the latter. As someone who doesn’t particularly like gourmand fragrances, that sort of vanilla always feels and smells a little cheap to me. I prefer a richer, smoother, deeper vanilla that is more like creamy custard or mousse. Still, somehow, the combination generally works for Confetto.

Confetto is quite a simple, uncomplicated fragrance, and very linear. I always say that there is nothing wrong with linearity if you like the scent in question, so that is not a slam. But the fact remains that Confetto’s core essence of sugared almonds with very sweet vanilla and clean, white musk never really changes. All that happens is that some of Confetto’s nuances fluctuate in prominence. For example, the white musk varies in its sharpness or significance over the course of the perfume’s development. The anise is always a tertiary player on my skin, but, around the end of the 3rd hour, it seems to disappear completely, only to suddenly return. For much of the middle portion of Confetto, it becomes a bit of a ghost note, weaving in and out of the sidelines, before it fades away entirely at the start of the 8th hour.

Pink meringues. Source: misslemon.eu

The most significant change to Confetto occurs midway in the second hour when heliotrope arrives. None of the lists that I have seen mention the flower, but I’d swear it’s in the perfume. Every one of heliotrope’s characteristic nuances appears, particularly the almond-vanilla meringue and the Play-Doh note. I’ve never once had a purely almond fragrance smell like Play-Doh, but it frequently happens with heliotrope. And it happens here with Confetto, as well.

Source: smarterthanmatt.blogspot.com

I’ll be honest, there is something a tiny bit plastic-y to the scent at this point. The heliotrope’s almond meringue and Play-Doh tonalities lack the smoothness and luxuriousness of the same note in Guerlain‘s Cuir Beluga. The plastic touch does not appear here often, and it’s certainly not there all the time, but a minuscule wisp of it does pop up every now and then if you sniff really hard. In fact, I read accounts on MakeupAlley where two people definitely struggled with the Play-Doh and the plastic, which they seem to experience as separate things:

Remember the baby doll you had as a little girl — when you pressed it to your face it smelled of sweet rubber or plastic and an aroma vaguely approaching talcum powder. This is exactly what Confetto smells like.

The combination of sugary sweet and musk is not as appealing as I expected and can be stifling full strength. I get the notes that others mention…plastic, Play-Doh, cheapish vanillic almond.

My experience was nowhere close to either account, but I think that skin chemistry is clearly going to impact just how the heliotrope or vanilla manifest themselves on your skin. On me, the Play-Doh aroma only lasts about an hour, and the very muted, minor plastic undertones a little less.

Source: 8tracks.com

After that, Confetto returns to its singular, simple focus of fluffy sweetness with sugared almonds and candy floss vanilla, followed by white musk that is occasionally sharp, and a tiny dash of fresh, green anise. Confetto remains that way that until its very end when it dies away in a blur of sweetened almonds with vanilla.

All in all, Confetto lasted just short of 13.5 hours on my perfume consuming skin. Its projection was initially strong with 3 small squirts from my atomizer, amounting to 1 really big spray from an actual bottle. The sillage dropped to just above the skin after 90 minutes, but Confetto became a skin scent at the 5.5 hour mark. It was still easy to detect without any great effort when I brought my arm to my nose, and only became more imperceptible up close around the 9th hour.

For me, Confetto is a fragrance that feels very innocent and playful. A lot of the time, there is a certain comforting aspect to its sweetness. A few of the things that I’ve pointed out really amount to nit-picking because they are all subtle and/or minor. The vanilla is the only aspect of the scent that I’m truly a little dubious about. To my nose and for me personally, cotton candy vanilla always smells young and a little cheap. I simply am not drawn to it the way I am to a different sort of vanilla. That said, I thoroughly enjoyed the two times I wore Confetto, mostly because I’m a sucker for almonds and heliotrope. So, I would certainly wear Confetto on occasion if a bottle fell into my lap. In fact, I thought it was rather a perfect bedtime scent. But I’m afraid I don’t love either gourmands or cotton candy enough to actually buy it, especially as it’s not exactly cheap for the simple scent in question.

In short, it’s a question of individual tastes. There are plenty of people who adore the cotton candy aspect of fragrances like Aquolina‘s Pink Sugar. If those people also love sugared almonds, then they should try Confetto.

Source: popscreen.com

Speaking of scents with a similar vibe, people frequently bring up Hypnotic Poison when talking about Confetto. It’s been years since I smelled the Dior fragrance, so I admit my memory is a little rough as to the nuances, but I don’t think Hypnotic Poison is identical or an exact dupe for Confetto. There are some differences. Hypnotic Poison has no anise to my memory, and it certainly never conveyed any minty freshness as Confetto occasionally does. The Dior fragrance is more woody and golden, if I recall, and doesn’t read as pink and white the way Confetto does. According to Fragrantica, Hypnotic Poison also has quite a floral component, even if it’s not as significant as the almonds and vanilla. And I truly don’t recall a cotton candy vibe to the vanilla in Hypnotic Poison. Then again, as I mentioned earlier, it’s been years since I smelled Hypnotic Poison, so my memory of the finer points may well be off.

The reactions to Confetto are generally the same, no matter what site you look at. Whether it is Luckyscent, Fragrantica, or MakeupAlley, the responses generally boil to one or more of the following refrains:

Confetto is exactly like Dior‘s Hypnotic Poison;

Confetto is nothing like Hypnotic Poison, (e.g., it is “a wonderful liquorice almond in a bed of soft spices which I find a little bit herbal sweet through the minty vanilla in the background”);

Confetto is similar to Hypnotic Poison, but lighter and drier in nature;

Confetto is absolutely delicious, addictive, with grown-up depth, a luxurious feel, and worth every penny;

it is excessively sweet and cloying, with a similarity to a cheap, department store fragrance, a Sephora rollerball, or something from Victoria’s Secret. As such, it is too expensive for the scent in question;

it has a Play-Doh or plastic note;

the white musk ruins the drydown;

the amber is perfectly balanced and doesn’t overwhelm the central focus on sugared almonds with anise; and/or

Confetto has astounding longevity.

Pink candy floss or cotton candy. Source: Favim.com.

As you can see, there is a complete split in opinion, with the exception of Confetto’s longevity. Honestly, I think all of this stems from differences in skin chemistry. Whether Confetto’s vanilla takes on a plastic-y, “screechy” profile, its heliotrope turns into pure Play-Doh, its sugariness seems like cheap cotton candy, or its white musk feels too sharp is going to depend on the person in question, as well as the sorts of things that they like. One person’s horrible Play-Doh is actually another person’s comforting, childhood memory; and “sweetness” is even more of a subjective, personal interpretation.

Skin chemistry also explains the sharply divergent assessments of Confetto’s sillage. For many people, the perfume is a “beast,” while others think it is so soft that it is perfectly suitable for the office. Obviously, how much you apply makes a difference, and I’d generally recommend using less of a Profumum scent than you would a normal fragrance, unless potency is no problem for you. That said, I was extremely interested to read one comment on MakeupAlley which said that Confetto was lighter and airier when sprayed, but richer and heavier when dabbed. I must say, I personally haven’t noticed such a difference. In fact, as a general rule, aerosolisation usually makes a fragrance much stronger, but it should be clear by now that skin chemistry can do some crazy things and there is no one absolute answer when it comes to perfumery.

In general, the only thing that everyone agrees upon is that Profumum scents have great longevity. I think it’s true for Confetto as well. As a whole, all Profumum’s creations are extrait or pure parfums in nature with an almost unheard of 42%-44% concentration. The latter is one reason why many people feel the brand’s high prices are justified. In the case of Confetto, however, the $240 cost issue is a little fuzzier given the similarity to some cheaper options. It’s really going to come down to a personal evaluation of just how much you love the perfume.

As a side note, I know more men who wear Confetto than I do women, so it clearly has a unisex appeal. It also is a very easy, uncomplicated fragrance with versatility that can be worn to the office, as well as on casual occasions.

In short, if you love gourmands — and sugared almonds in specific — give Confetto a sniff.

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: Confetto is an Eau de Parfums with Extrait concentration that only comes in a large 3.4 oz/100 ml bottle, and costs $240 or €179. Profumum doesn’t have an e-shop from which you can buy their fragrances directly. In the U.S.: Confetto is available from Luckyscent and OsswaldNYC. Both sites sell samples at different prices. As a side note, Profumum says that the perfume is accompanied by body products like “body milk” or “Shower bath.” Outside the U.S.: In the U.K., Profumum is sold at Roja Dove’s Haute Parfumerie in Harrods. Elsewhere, you can generally find the Profumum line at Paris’ Printemps store, Premiere Avenue in France (which ships world-wide), France’s Soleil d’Or, the Netherlands’ Celeste, Hungary’s Neroli, Switzerland’s Osswald, and Russia’s Lenoma boutiques. Taizo in Cannes also carries Profumum and says they ship worldwide, but I don’t see an e-store. Profumum’s website says that their fragrances are carried in a large number of small stores from Copenhagen to Poland, other parts of France, the rest of Europe, and, of course, Italy. You can use the Profumum Store Locator located on the left of the page linked to above. Samples: Surrender to Chance carries samples of Confetto starting at $6.99 for a 1 ml vial. You can also order vials from Luckyscent or Osswald. The latter has a sample program for U.S. customers along with free shipping, though there is a 3-item minimum.