Dior Cuir Cannage (La Collection Privée)

Posted on June 11, 2014 by Kafkaesque

Cuir Cannage is Dior‘s latest release, mixing florals and leather in a mix that is both masculine and feminine. The fragrance not only reflects a very Serge Lutens approach to its deconstruction of orange blossoms, but is actually extremely similar to Lutens’ Cuir Mauresque.

Source: gheir.com

Cuir Cannage debuted this month as part of Dior’s prestige line of fragrances called La Collection Privée. (It is sometimes called La Collection Couturier on places like Fragrantica and Surrender to Chance, but I will go with the name used by Dior itself on its website.) The eau de parfum was created by François Demarchy, the artistic director and nose for Parfums Dior, and its name refers to the woven technique used on Dior’s “cannage” leather bags. Dior describes the scent as follows:

OPEN A BAG, PLUNGE INTO THE DEPTHS OF A
LIVED-IN LEATHER AND UNEARTH ITS SECRETS Continue reading →

Oriza L. Legrand Vetiver Royal Bourbon

Posted on May 24, 2014 by Kafkaesque

Source: Source: hdwallsource.com

The sky was green, swirled with mists of vetiver, mint, and herbs, but blackness hovered just on the horizon. Storm clouds of cade brought tar and campfire smoke, while leather, styrax and resins seeped up from a ground made earthy with brown tobacco absolute. A fine layering of wet leaves and moss lay strewn around, a last lingering sign of fall. A single small tent was visible in the vast expanse of blackened greenness, shining a golden ambered light. None of these things, however, could detract from the Aurora Borealis swirling all around, from the smoky vetiver and mint called Vetiver Royal Bourbon.

Vetiver Royal Bourbon is a newly released fragrance from the ancient house of Oriza L. Legrand (hereinafter just “Oriza“). It originally debuted in 1914, but it very much has the feel of a modern niche fragrance. In fact, it is rather like a lighter, thinner cousin to Profumum Roma‘s Fumidus, though there are definite differences. The similarity to a very bold, edgy, extremely distinctive scent like Fumidus makes Vetiver Royal Bourbon rather an amazing feat, given that the perfume is exactly 100 years old and has been only lightly re-tweaked for the modern era by Hugo Lambert, the nose behind the “new” Oriza fragrances and one of the brand’s two co-owners.

Source: Oriza L. Legrand.

Vetiver Royal Bourbon is an eau de parfum and part of Oriza’s relatively recent Soliflore Collection, a collection where all the fragrances are designed to highlight one specific note. The name in the title should tell you which one is the focus here, but Vetiver Royal Bourbon has a much larger ingredient list than you might expect. The perfume includes:

Top Notes: Peppermint, Thyme & Absolute Vetiver
Heart Notes: Cistus Labdanum [Amber], Iris, Vetiver Bourbon & Sandalwood.
Base Notes: Essence of Cade, Leather, Styrax, Immortelle, Tobacco, & Oakmoss.

Source: hdwallsource.com

Vetiver Royal Bourbon opens on my skin with vetiver, vetiver, and more vetiver. However, it is thoroughly intertwined with mint, aromatic herbs, and a eucalyptus-like mentholated camphor. The very green mix is followed by hints of smoky and phenolic, tarry blackness from the cade, as well as even lighter touches of brown tobacco. The whole thing is sprinkled with a subtle booziness that is quite hard to explain. It’s definitely not the single malt Scotch whisky of Fumidus, but it’s not really like purely ambered warmth, either. It lies somewhere between amber and the “bourbon” in the perfume’s title.

Source: wallpoper.com

At times, something about the overall opening combination feels very much like a vetiver and patchouli duet to me. The true, original, black patchouli note that was so common with hippies in the 1970s could be very green, with nuances of both peppermint and camphorated menthol. The really absolute, undiluted versions also have leathery, tobacco, and oily, turpentine nuances, as demonstrated by Farmacia SS. Annunziata Patchouly Indonesiano. In contrast, more ’80s-style patchouli was golden-brown-red, warm, woody, often infused with an ambered touch, and sometimes a little boozy.

Both styles of patchouli with all of their characteristics are reflected here with Vetiver Royal Bourbon’s opening bouquet, though the notes are subtle, and aren’t all equal in terms of their prominence. To be clear, Vetiver Royal Bourbon does not actually contain patchouli — of any kind. But the peppermint, cade, amber, tobacco, styrax all manage to replicate various aspects of the note, even if it is in indirect form. The only thing which is missing is the sweaty dirtiness of black patchouli. That is most certainly not visible in Vetiver Royal Bourbon, not by any means.

Vetiver roots, the primary source of the aroma. Photo: Herbariasoap.com

One of things I find interesting about Vetiver Royal Bourbon is how the vetiver plays off of the other notes. Vetiver can smell like a variety of things, depending on the place from which it is sourced or how it is treated. It can be earthy, dry, grassy, minty, rooty, mineralized, or sometimes a little like lemongrass. On my skin, Haitian vetiver frequently manifests a strong mintiness, something that not everyone else experiences.

Here, Oriza has used actual peppermint to accompany the note, which rather leads to a situation where I’m getting double the dose. It’s a little bit of a problem for me, as minty vetiver is really not my thing and, in fact, even mintiness from patchouli can be a bit difficult for me. With Vetiver Royal Bourbon, each and every time I mention the note, you should assume that it smells of both vetiver and mint. The two things are really inseparable in Vetiver Royal Bourbon, from the very start of the fragrance all the way until its dying breath.

Yet, there is much more going on in the perfume’s opening moments. Under the top layer of green vetiver-mint, there is a subtle touch of earthiness, no doubt from the tobacco, followed by campfire smoke from the cade, burnt resins dominated by the styrax, and tarry, blackened leather. The oakmoss is subtle, but it adds to the story, too, conjuring up images of wet leaves festooning the ground in a damp, very misty, foggy countryside on a fall day. Much more apparent is that streak of boozy amber that I talked about earlier.

Source: Facebook page of “Amazing Landscapes, Nature, Animals and Places.” Photographer may be Nergis İnan.

It all reminds me strongly of Profumum‘s famous (or, perhaps, infamous?) Fumidus, though there are sharp differences. There is no Laphroaig whisky here, no saltiness, no diesel touch, and no passing suggestion of a compost heap. The sense of something peaty from the vetiver is more muted, as is the black rubberiness from the cade. As a whole, Vetiver Royal Bourbon feels greener, more herbal, and slightly more medicinal, especially for the first hour. Fumidus doesn’t really have anything comparable to the eucalyptus-like camphorated note that is evident here, and the mint that I experienced is probably limited to my weird skin chemistry and the tricks it plays with vetiver in general. Plus, even then, the mintiness was milder.

Photo: My own.

Fumidus feels like a much black scent as a whole. While there is a definite streak of that in Vetiver Royal Bourbon, thanks to the cade and styrax, it feels much less substantial or heavy here. Fumidus has birch tar conjoined, arm in arm, with the vetiver, but the balance is different in Vetiver Royal Bourbon. I think the cade note trails in 3rd place in the Oriza scent behind the vetiver-mint. Then again, cade is very similar to birch tar. One perfumer told me that he sees cade as a more masculine note than its olfactory cousin, while I think it has a more turpentine-like quality. The thing is, both Fumidus and Vetiver Royal Bourbon demonstrate quite a bit of the latter.

In Oriza’s creation, the cade’s turpentine nuance starts to awaken 20 minutes into the perfume’s development, along with a certain tarriness. Black leather and sticky, smoky, styrax join it, as they seep upwards to coat the pungently green, minty vetiver. The end result is to substantially weaken the impression of patchouli, and it soon fades away entirely. The perfume also becomes much less earthy, though an occasional hint of thick, slightly dirty tobacco absolute lurks at the edges.

“Novemthree” by Olaf Marshall. Source: vitaignescorpuslignum.blogspot.com

From a distance, Vetiver Royal Bourbon’s predominant bouquet now is of a chewy, dense, slightly dirty, minty, smoked vetiver. And, by and large, it remains largely the same way until its very end, with only a few exceptions. As a soliflore, Vetiver Royal Bourbon is never going to be a complex, twisting, morphing creature. It is a very linear scent, but there are changes to the secondary notes, their prominence, and the perfume’s sillage. It’s largely a question of degree.

One of the bigger changes pertains to Vetiver Royal Bourbon’s weight. It opens as an incredibly light fragrance, sheer, and feels quite insubstantial at first. The perfume is miles away from Fumidus in this regard, as the Profumum scent has great opaqueness, heavy oiliness, and density. In contrast, the Oriza scent feels as light as air, even though the actual notes are relatively strong. Vetiver Royal Bourbon doesn’t have Chypre Mousse‘s forcefulness, but it feels more potent than many others from the line, including Muguet Fleuri.

The odd thing is how that wispiness changes. Vetiver Royal Bourbon never gets into Fumidus territory, but it does grow deeper, richer, and fuller over time. The first hint of it arrives after 20 minutes, as the labdanum, tobacco, and styrax stir in the base. An hour and a half into the perfume’s evolution, Vetiver Royal Bourbon’s leathery quality grows more pronounced in the foundation. Up top, the cade’s turpentine and smokiness start to overshadow the aromatic, herbal and mentholated camphor notes. Once in a while, there is almost a burning feeling to the scent, as though a vetiver wildland had been covered with black pitch and tarry asphalt, then set on fire. The perfume now feels much heavier that it did at the start, though Vetiver Royal Bourbon is still a light fragrance as a whole. To put it bluntly, Vetiver Royal Bourbon is no longer anorexic, because the vetiver has been fed a meal of richer notes.

Source: wallpapervortex.com

By the end of the 4th hour, the labdanum is in full bloom, turning Vetiver Royal Bourbon sweeter and much warmer in feel. The various smoky, tarry, leathered, and turpentine undertones are in slow retreat. Vetiver Royal Bourbon is now primarily a minty vetiver scent cocooned in a warm, golden embrace with milder, increasingly muted smokiness and blackness. There is a slight powdery quality to the fragrance, but it’s really more of a texture than any actual powder. It’s almost as if the labdanum amber is a bit grainy, if that makes any sense.

Source: Source: hqwide.com

Over time, the ambered glow fades on my skin, and Vetiver Royal Bourbon turns into a minty vetiver duet. It’s as though the vetiver has been purified, set free of both the smoky, blacker, leathery elements and of the labdanum’s warmth. What is left is a scent that very dark green in visual hue, and largely limited to pure vetiver. I’m afraid its mintiness is too much for me, especially as it demonstrates a tiny medicinal touch on my skin with lingering traces of mentholated camphor. In its final moments, the perfume is a mere wisp of vetiver greenness. All in all, Vetiver Royal Bourbon consistently lasted over 9 hours on me: 10 hours with 3 small sprays, and just under 9.5 with 2.

I have worn and tested Vetiver Royal Bourbon four times in total. On all of those occasions, I never detect any immortelle. Not at any point on my skin. The perfume never varied in its core essence or in the structure that I’ve outlined here today, but there were two very minor differences. In one test, the booziness of the amber was significantly less noticeable. In another, the earthy, tobacco, and oakmoss undertones were even more muted and subtle.

I have the very vague, wholly unscientific sense that heat was the deciding factor in the last circumstance. More of Vetiver Royal Bourbon’s subtle nuances came out in the heat, while cooler temperatures (and higher air-conditioning levels) squashed some of the elements. And, as with a number of Oriza fragrances, applying a greater quantity of the fragrance seems to amplify some of its base notes.

There is great purity in Vetiver Royal Bourbon’s vetiver focus, as well as a triumphant celebration of its minty and smokier aspects. All of that makes it a little too much for me personally, but that is merely a question of individual tastes and the fact that I don’t love vetiver in such concentrated amounts. Fumidus was too much for me as well, though I respect it just as much. In both cases, it is the mintiness of the vetiver that is my difficulty, not the blackness, tarriness, or smokiness. I think those things are very well handled in Vetiver Royal Bourbon.

In fact, the Oriza perfume would be a great alternative to those who struggled with the much greater quantity of smoky birch tar in Fumidus, as well as its thick, oily density. I can’t see many people wearing Fumidus in summer, but Vetiver Royal Bourbon’s lightness makes it a fresher alternative that you could definitely pull off in the heat.

Alexander Skarsgård by Ralph Mecke for GQ Style German. Source: iloveromancenovels.blog63.fc2.com

As a whole, I think the perfume is unapologetically masculine in nature, and the handful of raves that I have seen for the scent on Oriza’s Facebook page all come from men. One chap stated how much he appreciated the vetiver’s darker facets, the lack of earthiness, and the perfume’s overall refinement. Another asked about the eucalyptus-like note, and I have a vague memory of someone else talking about the smoky leatheriness. I mention these comments largely because there are no other reviews for the fragrance that I can share with you. Vetiver Royal Bourbon is too new to have a Fragrantica entry, and no-one has tried it on Basenotes.

Oriza is a house whose creations sometimes have a very vintage feel, but Vetiver Royal Bourbon is a fragrance that could have been launched today by another niche house. It simply does not feel like a fragrance that was released 100 years ago, not by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, I’ve spent a good deal of time amusing myself with thoughts of people’s reactions back then to the smoky, leathery, Fumidus-like vetiver in a world where Jicky, L’Heure Bleue, Phul-Nana, powdery florals, and scented waters ruled the day. Vetiver Royal Bourbon must have been completely revolutionary for its time, but it fits in perfectly in today’s modern world.

Vetiver Royal Bourbon is very affordable for a niche scent, especially for 100 ml of eau de parfum. The perfume costs $125 or €90, which is less than the €120 price of its other Oriza siblings outside the Soliflore line. It is currently available on Oriza’s website and at a variety of European retailers. (See the Details section below.) For American readers, I’ve been told that Vetiver Royal Bourbon should be available next week (or at the beginning of June) at Luckyscent, a site which is now carrying the full Oriza L. Legrand line, including the lovely soaps and candles.

So, if you love smoky, minty vetiver, do give Vetiver Royal Bourbon a try. I think it’s very well done.

Disclosure: Sample courtesy of Oriza L. Legrand. That did not influence this review, I do not do paid reviews, and my opinions are my own.

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: Vetiver Royal Bourbon is an eau de parfum that comes in a 100 ml or 3.4 oz bottle, and costs $125 or €90. It is available directly from Oriza’s e-store. A great sample set is also available but it does not include the Soliflore range of fragrances, such as Vetiver Royal Bourbon. In the U.S.: Luckyscent now carries the full Oriza L. Legrand line, and should be receiving Vetiver Royal Bourbon this upcoming week or at the start of June 2014. It will cost $125. Oriza is also carried at New York’s JuJu s’amuse. It has two locations, and I’ve provided the number for one, in case you want to check whether they do phone orders: 100 Thompson Street New York, NY 10012, with Ph: (212) 226.1201; but, also, 1220 Lexington Avenue (at 82nd Street), New York, NY 10018. Other vendors in Europe: Oriza’s perfumes are also sold at Paris’ Marie-Antoinette (which was my favorite perfume shop in Paris), as well as one store in Sweden. In the Netherlands, the Oriza line is carried at ParfuMaria, but VRB is not yet listed. Germany’s First in Fragrance also carries the Oriza Legrand line, but it is the same story there. Both stores should eventually get the fragrance. Oriza L. Legrand is also sold at a few places in Japan. For details on those retailers and the Swedish store, you can check Oriza Points of Sale page.

Reviews En Bref: Cuir Garamante & Cuir Venenum

Posted on May 18, 2014 by Kafkaesque

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

MDCI PARFUMS CUIR GARAMANTE:

Source: Luckyscent.

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

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

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

Photo: My own.

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

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

Source: hqwallbase.com

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

Photo: my own.

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

PARFUMERIE GENERALE CUIR VENENUM:

Source: Fragrantica

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

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

Parfumerie Generale, however, lists only:

Orange Blossom, Leather , Cedar, Musk and Honey

Orange Blossom Syrup.

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

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

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

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

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

Source: fantom-xp.com

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

Photo: my own.

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

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

Source: post-gazette.com

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

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

Stale malt liquor with addition of one marinated cigarette butt.

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

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

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

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

Parmegiano Reggiano cheese. Source: maltatoday.com.mt

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

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

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

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

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

DETAILS:

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

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

Amouage Journey (Man): Fiery Splendour

Posted on May 8, 2014 by Kafkaesque

Source: dragonw.wikia.com

Stunning, bold splendour that grabs you from the first moment, and never lets go. Amouage‘s new Journey for Men takes you on a tour of the spice markets of Sichuan, armed with a hefty bottle of expensive cognac, as tendrils of incense waft from a nearby Buddhist temple. The fiery bite of a thousand Sichuan Hot Pots envelop you, but so do the dry woods nearby which are shot through with tiny streams of leathery resins. A haze fills the air, a haze of golden amber which cocoons you in warmth as you stumble — drunk on fruited booziness, your mouth on fire from the chili peppers, with incense smoke woven through your hair — into a soft cocoon of tonka creaminess. Journey Man is a brilliant essay on spiced, fiery boldness mixed with oriental opulence. I thought it was truly fantastic, but that opening… what a stunning opening.

Journey Man. Source; Amouage Facebook page.

Journey Man accompanies Journey Woman as the latest releases from the house of Amouage. They are both eau de parfums that will be released in June, and were created by Alberto Morillas and Pierre Negrin under the direction of Christopher Chong, Amouage’s Creative Director. As of yet, there is no press release on the exact inspiration or story behind Journey Man (hereinafter sometimes referred to just as “Journey“), but Amouage provided the perfume’s notes on its official Facebook page:

Woody Spicy

Top: Sichuan Pepper, Bergamot, Cardamom, Neroli Bigarade
Heart: Juniper Berries, Incense, Pure Geraniol, Tobacco Leaves
Base: Tonka Beans, Cypriol, Leather, Ambrox.

Sichuan hot pot or "Huo Guo". Source: thebeijinger.com

Sichuan hot pot. Source: thebeijinger.com

Have you ever had a Sichuan Hot Pot? I’m far too much of a chili pepper coward to do so, but I saw and smelt plenty of them when I was in China. The Hot Pot is a much beloved dish that goes back over a 1,000 years, and is centered on a hearty stock infused with chili peppers to which you add other ingredients. There are variations from region to region, but the province of Sichuan is famed for having the fieriest of them all. I’ve seen the impact on aficionados like Chef Anthony Bourdain, who was almost completely hobbled by its flaming intensity in one episode of No Reservations. As Wikipedia succinctly explains:

One of the most famous variations is the Chongqing (Chungking) má là (Chinese: 麻辣 – “numb and spicy”) hot pot, to which Sichuan pepper (Chinese: 花椒 huā jiāo “flower pepper”; also known as prickly ash) is added. Combined with spicy ingredients like chili, it creates a sensation on the tongue that is both spicy and burns and numbs slightly[.]

source: colourbox.com

Journey Man opens on my skin as a milder version of the Sichuan hot pot that made Anthony Bourdain gasp. In Amouage’s kitchen, the stock is made of expensive, aged, neroli cognac, while the accompanying ingredients are incense, dry cypriol, leather, and a touch of amber. It is fiery with a serious bite, but fantastically boozy as well. There is spiced dustiness hovering all around, which is perfectly balanced and countered by a wave of slightly sweetened richness. The intensity, fieriness and incredible boldness of the scent punches you in the solar plexus — and I mean that in the best way possible.

Journey’s spiciness seems to far transcend mere chili peppers, though. It feels as though half of a Chinese spice market has been combined in a really potent mix that is made of pure booze. I have absolutely no idea how the various notes coalesced to produced a cognac accord with a vaguely fruited undertone on my skin, but a random guess would be the amber mixed with the neroli and the juniper berries. The latter never carries a pine nuance but, rather, smells fruited, bitter and slightly resinous. Actually, it feels a lot more like pink peppercorn berries than anything from a juniper tree. As for the cardamom, it doesn’t have the vaguely sweet nuttiness that it often manifests on my skin. Instead, it feels more like the powdered remains left at the bottom of an old wooden spice drawer.

Cypriol. Source: indianflowersandherbs.blogspot

The cypriol (also knows as nagarmotha) is key in all this. As Fragrantica explains, the plant “is a relative to papyrus. Its smell is woody with earthy and spicy nuances.” Its oil is often used as a base for oud fragrances, which perhaps explains why some people smell the note in a perfume and think that they’re detecting agarwood. Here, the cypriol combines with the cardamom and incense to create an unusual dustiness. It’s not purely like an ancient Buddhist temple filled with incense; it’s not purely like spice dust; and it’s not purely woody dryness, either. It is like some combination of all three of those aspects in one. Perhaps the best way to describe it is as spiced, woody, incense dust.

It tries desperately to keep the cognac-like richness in check, but, to my joy, it fails. The fiery, spiced booziness flows over everything in a way that would make the Greek god of wine, Dionysius, and the Roman hedonist, Apicius, proud. My skin tends to amplify sweetness, so the note may not appear so strongly on others, but I really hope it does because it’s intoxicating when combined with the walloping amount of spices.

Alahine by Téo Cabanel. Source: liannetioparfums.nl

The overall effect resembles the start of one of my favorite fragrances, the opulent Alahine from Téo Cabanel. Journey Man is like a fierier, more piquant, drier and non-floral cousin to my beloved Alahine.

There are other differences as well, though. Whereas Alahine has deeply velvety, dark Ta’if roses and ylang-ylang, Journey has cypriol and strong woodiness. Journey’s fruitiness is more of the bitter bigarade and pink peppercorn kind (though it really feels as though Journey has petitgrain as well). And Alahine’s spice market is in Morocco where there are no Sichuan peppers to be found. Journey also has more of a leathered undertone. The differences become greater when you consider the development of the two fragrances as a whole, but they share a very similar opening centered on powerfully spiced booziness with incense and amber. Those of you who know my feelings about Alahine can perhaps understand why Journey Man impacted me so strongly.

Journey Man is very intense and potent, especially up close, but it is much airier than you’d expect. Initially, its sillage is excellent, though: using 3 spritzes from my decant which amount to roughly 2 small sprays from an actual bottle, the perfume projects about 4 inches above my skin. Yet, Journey doesn’t feel heavy or dense. It has strong weightlessness, to paraphrase a description that one of my readers likes to use for Bertrand Duchaufour creations.

Source: carolinejasmine.com

Actually, Journey Man feels like it could very well be a fragrance from Duchaufour. It initially has the same dusty quality as his stunning Trayee for Neela Vermeire, not to mention a similar spice, incense, woody vibe.

As with Alahine, here, too, there are differences. Journey Man is strongly boozy, while Trayee is not. Journey is more peppered, and significantly more fiery on my skin than Trayee; the incense feels more diffused throughout Journey and less individually distinct; there is no oud in Journey, though the cypriol tries to step in; and there is more golden warmth at the start. The cardamom is much less noticeable in Journey than in Trayee, especially as any sort of sweet nuttiness, and there is absolutely none of the true Mysore sandalwood that makes Trayee one of my favorite fragrances. I suppose if Trayee and Alahine had a torrid three-way love affair with some Sichuan chili peppers, their love child might be Journey Man.

Source: wallpapersfor.biz

Speaking of those peppers, they have a strange effect on me. Something about the scent tickles the nose and the back of my throat much like the capsaicin molecules in a real chili can do. At least, I think the tickle in Journey is from the Sichuan peppers. It could be from something else, since Journey Man also has an accompanying streak of raspiness and parched dryness that lasts for hours. I am sensitive to aromachemicals, so perhaps it stems from the cypriol, the Ambrox, or another molecule. In fact, I could very well be mixing two separate issues — the Sichuan capsaicin and the raspy woodiness — into one.

Photo: Jo Van Damme on Flickr. (Website link embedded within photo..)

Whatever the source of the Hot Pot bite, I happen to thoroughly enjoy it as an interesting counterbalance to all the booziness, but I do think that some people may struggle with its fiery kick. Another possible difficulty may be those flickers of desiccated woody dryness and raspiness that push Journey Man just to the edge of the unisex-masculine border. For me, the heavy layer of booziness and the ambered warmth counter these two rather separate issues, but it’s really going to come down to individual skin chemistry and personal tastes. People who like softer, richer, or cozier Orientals may struggle with these aspects of Journey, but those who love drier, woodier, and heavily spiced fragrances should have no problem.

Orange peels in cognac. Source: zmojournal.blogspot.com

Journey Man continues to shift. The fruited undercurrent grows richer and stronger after 30 minutes. It is perfectly balanced between sweetness and bitterness, perhaps because the neroli often comes across a lot more like petitgrain (the woody twigs from the citrus tree) on my skin than the actual fruit. In contrast, the juniper note continues to smell like a spiced, bright, fresh pink peppercorn berries with a fruited character. Both of them are really quite muted, and are subsumed into the cognac as if orange peels, bitter berries and bigarade petitgrain had been left to macerate in the alcohol. On my skin, Journey Man isn’t really “fruity,” let alone in any strong, distinct way. It’s more like a subtle suggestion of rich orange and woody citrus twigs.

Photo: Hawkea. Source: hawkea.blogspot.com

By the end of the first hour, Journey Man is a stunningly intense, fiery, boozy, lightly “fruited” spice bomb with incense, dry woodiness, and ambered warmth over a balsamic, resinous, leathery base. The perfume feels richer, deeper, and smokier than it did at the start. However, the very first, tiny streaks of tonka appear in the base, promising changes up ahead. Up top, the dustiness has receded by a hair, probably thanks to the growing presence of the Ambrox, though the occasional raspiness and the capsaicin bite continue. The spice mix also seems to change a little, as something creates the impression of saffron. Not buttery or sweet saffron, but the more fiery, red, nutty kind. It is probably an indirect result of the Sichuan peppers merging with the cardamom.

Source: allposters.com

None of these smaller elements can detract attention away from Journey’s main duo: the spectacularly fiery, spice-booze accord. Honestly, I wonder why no-one has ever thought to combine chili peppers with slightly fruity cognac and incense before. It’s rather brilliant, if you ask me, especially with the balsamic leatheriness of the base. I also find it very evocative. I keep imagining the red dragons of classical Chinese art, or the lion (Foo dogs?) sculptures that guard the Forbidden City — only, here, they’re drenched in expensive French cognac. I really hope that other people’s skin chemistry will highlight or amplify the booziness in the same way, because it’s a superb counterbalance to all of Journey’s drier, woodier, and spicier elements.

Eventually, the cognac takes a step back and Journey Man turns much drier. It starts roughly 90 minutes in, when the perfume turns woodier, as the cypriol grows stronger. The spices feel a little more hazy and dusty, though the suggestion of saffron remains. The notes start to overlap, losing some of their distinctive edge, but also flow more seamlessly into each other. The amber is lightly flecked with tonka, while the orange fruits lose a touch of their sweetness and turn more bitter. The subtle dustiness returns, though it may be from the growing presence of the incense more than from the spices at this point. And the whole thing is much softer in sillage. Journey Man now hovers 2 inches above the skin, though it is still very strong when sniffed up close.

Tonka beans. Source: Fragrance-creation.com

To an extent, all of these changes are ones of degree, but Journey shifts fundamentally at the start of the 3rd hour when the perfume turns creamy. The tonka fully emerges from the base, melts into the boozy-incense-spice mix, and softens its edges, while also pushing back against the dryness. Journey feels less fiery and dusty now. Its spiciness has a creaminess underlying it which only grows stronger with every passing hour. Everything from the leathered undertone to the woody dryness now feels coated by a smooth layer of tonka.

At the same time, the amber grows simultaneously softer and more prominent. It doesn’t feel like an aromachemical and, in some ways, it doesn’t even feel like “amber” at all. Rather, there is a growing golden hue about Journey Man, a gentler warmth. Together with the tonka, the amber begins to tame Journey’s red dragon. Roughly 4.5 hours in, the perfume turns into a beautifully spiced, creamy amber fragrance with more subtle fieriness and quieter boozy, fruited cognac. Muted swirls of incense smoke are diffused throughout, as is the dry woodiness that no longer feels quite so scratchy. They all sit upon a smoother, gentler resinous base which is only vaguely leathered now, and completely tamed by the creaminess.

Artist: Helen Abbas, “Ramad (Ashes)”. Source: islamicartsmagazine.com

Journey Man feels bold but soft; rich but polished; fiery but creamy and (almost) tamed. However, it’s also much gauzier and lighter. The perfume’s sillage settles at the start of the 6th hour to hover just above the skin, feeling almost like a skin scent, though Journey was still easy to detect up close for another few hours.

Journey’s fire-breathing dragon finally settles down at the start of the 7th hour. The chili peppers remain, but they are fully coated and anesthetized in a layer of creamy tonka sweetness. In fact, the tonka slowly starts to take over everything. I have to admit, I’m a little regretful about that. I like creaminess, but not as much as I do spiced booziness. Here, the effect is to squash or muffle the incense, dry woodiness, and booziness to a large degree.

Ten hours into Journey’s development, the perfume is primarily a woody tonka fragrance dusted with light touches of largely abstract spices and embedded within a soft, golden warmth. The peppers feel more and more like fruited pink peppercorn berries, with only a mild touch of Sichuan. The cypriol has changed as well, and is now slightly earthy woodiness, more than dry or raspy.

Painting by Moon Beom via lostateminor.com

For the next few hours, Journey Man devolves more and more into lightly spiced creaminess with a vague, nebulous touch of woodiness. It’s pretty, but I personally find it a little uninteresting. (I think I’m mourning the loss of the boozy cognac.) At the same time, I have to admit that it’s nice not to have the Sichuan bite any more. Journey lasts a very long time on my perfume-consuming skin, and I think 12-plus hours of fieriness would be a little exhausting. In its final moments, Journey is nothing more than a blur of spiced creaminess. All in all, Journey lasted roughly 13.75 hours, with sillage that was generally moderate when taken as an average whole.

Source: fanpop.com

Journey Man is one of those fragrances that makes me happy when I wear it. It is evocative, tells me a thousand stories, and always transports me places. It is very distinctive with a strong identity that is centered on opulence, intensity, and spicy boldness. And, it is very much what I expect from an Amouage fragrance, which was not the case, alas, with Journey Woman. For me, Amouage should be more than mere prettiness with polished elegance. When I first applied Journey Man, my first comment was “my word!” The second was, “this is more like it!”

Not all of Amouage’s fragrances work for me as a personal matter, but they are generally fragrances that I deeply respect for their innovative brilliance, their complexity, and their luxurious character. Journey Man is one that I would absolutely wear myself. With a smile on my face, and a passionate response each and every time to that stunning opening. For me, Journey Man is much more approachable and appealing than some of the men’s line that I have tried, like Fate Man, for example, or the difficult Opus VII. I respect the technical brilliance behind them, but I can’t or wouldn’t wear them.

However, I also recognize that Journey’s appeal will come down to personal tastes, not to mention skin chemistry. It always does — but perhaps for Amouage more than for some other perfume houses. I don’t know if a fiery Sichuan Hot Pot made from cognac, incense, occasionally dusty spices, and dry cypriol will be for everyone. As noted above, my skin tends to amplify sweetness and base notes, so I’m not even sure if others will experience that mysterious cognac note that worked so brilliantly with the chili pepper and that so perfectly counterbalanced the woody dryness. I also suspect that for some, particularly women who enjoy softer orientals, both the Sichuan bite and the overall spice mix may be a little much.

All I can say is that, if you love spice bomb fragrances with fieriness, woodiness, incense, some dryness, and ambered warmth, you should try Journey Man. If you loved Alahine or Trayee, then you should go out of your way to try Journey. I think it’s a dragon worthy of Imperial China, and its bold splendour is stunning.

Disclosure: My sample of Journey Man was courtesy of Christopher Chong and Amouage. That did not influence this review, I do not do paid reviews, and my opinions are my own.

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: Journey for Men is an eau de parfum that should be available in June in most parts of the world. I don’t know its price, but it will be offered in a 50 ml bottle as well as 100 ml. All the usual Amouage retailers should carry the fragrance, including Luckyscent, Osswald, MinNewYork, Parfums Raffy, First in Fragrance, Jovoy, Harrods, and the like. I will try to remember to update this section at that time. Samples: Surrender to Chance just received Journey Man in store on June 16th. Samples start at $3.99 for a 1/2 ml vial.