Slumberhouse Ore Extrait

Posted on September 14, 2013 by Kafkaesque

Well, this is certainly the best way to “drink” and drive! Pure whisky of the wonderful single-malt variety, infused with dry cocoa powder, butterscotch, smoky woods, dark resinous amber, peppermint, and a hint of green herbs. It’s hard not to think about drinking when you wear Ore, a dry, woody, sweet, and virtually alcoholic fragrance that swirls about in a rich, unctuous, deep bouquet that can be compulsively sniffable at times.

Ore is the creation of Slumberhouse, a niche, indie perfume brand out of Portland, Oregon. The company describes itself as follows:

Slumberhouse is a boutique cologne label in the heart of Portland, OR; created and inspired by urban and street culture, art, film and music – especially the new school of hiphop and graffiti artists. We are a group of young gents who march to our own beat, embracing an absolute disregard for other brands, trends and marketing cliches. Slumberhouse represents an unequivocal love for the art of fragrance making.

It’s a fascinating background, matched by the equally fascinating candour and genuine commitment shown by one of the founders, Josh Lobb, who now seems to be the sole force behind the brand as well as its perfume creator/nose. In his personal blog on the website, the 31-year old Mr. Lobb reveals his personal struggle with keeping costs down while using the best fragrance absolutes; his realisation that he was barely breaking even with many scents; and his personal journey in making some of the Slumberhouse fragrances.

Ore Extrait. Source: Luckyscent

Mr. Lobb is a very admired Indie perfumer, not only because he seems like a genuinely nice chap but, also, because he’s astoundingly talented for someone who is so young and wholly self-taught. He also is a perfectionist who works constantly at honing his creations, which explains why he essentially scrapped much of the original Ore perfume and re-released it this year in a new version. The reformulated Ore is not only an extrait de parfum in concentration, but, apparently, a fundamental re-working of the notes and their proportions.

Ore is classified on Fragrantica as an “oriental spicy” perfume, and the Slumberhouse website describes the new Extrait version and its notes as follows:

A swim with the caramel nettles

flooded with the dusky murk

I wish I could dream it again.

Oakwood, Cocoa, Mahogany, Guaiac, Dittany of Crete, Vanilla, Whiskey Lactone & Peru [Balsam] Resin.

Dittany of Crete. Source: mountainvalleygrowers.com

Mr. Lobb frequently uses extremely unusual ingredients that I’ve never heard of and end up having to research (which is something I absolutely love about Slumberhouse), and Ore is no exception. Looking up “Dittany of Crete,” it seems to be a very rare, healing, aromatic shrub that only grows on the island of Crete, that was referenced in ancient legends about aphrodisiacs and wounded warriors, and that is apparently a type of oregano used for centuries for medicinal reasons, including the curing of snake bites. Who knew?! And how cool! Honestly, I absolutely love the places Mr. Lobb takes me when I review one of his fragrances.

Source: wall.alphacoders.com

Ore opens on my skin with a blast of pure whisky that is slightly smoky and peaty, much like a lighter version of the Islay single malt, Laphroaig. It’s swirled in with dark, dusty, dry cocoa powder flecked with hints of vanilla. It’s sweet, but it’s not cloying. It’s boozy, but never feels as though you’ve been drenched in actual alcohol. It’s not sharp or abrasive, but as smooth as satiny caramel with a dry, lightly smoked nature.

Inside the golden-brown haze are other surprises. There are flickers of a dark green freshness that is hard to describe in any way other than Slumberhouse’s own analogy to nettles. Yes, it has the feel of dark, forest-green nettles on a Scottish moor somewhere, but it’s extremely mild and muted. Underneath, there is a foundation of dark, smoky woods, dominated by guaiac wood’s whiff of autumnal burning leaves. There is a touch of peppermint which is a little surprise. I’d read that the original Ore eau de parfum had a strong aroma of Carmex medicated lip salve, but Mr. Lobb seems to have sharply tone it down in the extrait, leaving only something that smells to me like hard-boiled, pink-and-white peppermint candies.

Source: Indiamart.com

Ore’s primary bouquet, however, is of whisky infused with dark cocoa powder. Not sweet chocolate, but dusky, dry cocoa. I’m an absolute sucker for the note in perfumery, and to mix it with peaty, slightly smoky whisky seems like utter genius to me. It’s such an intoxicating swirl that the opening moments of Ore leave me sniffing my arm like some sort of alcoholic in need of a fix.

Source: upwallpapers.net

There is a profound richness to the scent which is a somewhat odd mix of sweetness with dryness. Sometimes, I think Ore verges on the gourmand. The Peru Balsam, which is one of my favorite amber resins, has a dark, chewy, thick quality here, and mixes with the dry vanilla and the whiskey to create something that smells a lot like butterscotch at times. Yet, the dark woods add a subtle smokiness and strong hint of dryness to the scent as well. The dry “nettles” and the dusky cocoa contribute an additional counterbalance to the sweetness. I suppose this is my idea of a ideal “gourmand” fragrance: a dark, woody, slightly smoky, dry sweetness that doesn’t actually smell of food or dessert.

Source: wallippo.com

Thirty minutes into Ore’s development, it smooths out into a well-balanced, dark cloud of cocoa whiskey with hints of peppermint atop chewy, sweet, amber resins that are lightly flecked by dry vanilla and slightly smoky dark woods. There is finally a subtle whiff of that Carmex medicated lip salve that I’d read about in Ore’s previous incarnation, but it’s very subtle. Less subtle is the sense of something slightly synthetic in the dark woods in the base. I tried Ore twice, applying different quantities, and it was rather noticeable the first time when I applied quite a bit of the fragrance. Or, at least, quite a bit for a Slumberhouse perfume: 3 large-ish smears.

Slumberhouse is well-known to create extremely potent scents that work best with only one spray, and which can otherwise overwhelm you with their intensity, projection and longevity. I tried to approximate that amount with my dabber vial, keeping in mind that Ore, as an extrait, is the most concentrated type of perfume available. Yet, just to be sure, I did a second test where I applied only one, very big, smear. The perfume smelled the same each time, with the exception of the synthetic element in the base which was noticeable only the first time around with the larger quantity. It didn’t give me a headache, exactly, but it did bother me with a small, brief throbbing behind my eye. It was never enough, however, to detract from my enjoyment of the scent.

Vermont West Hill House B&B.

Ore really feels like something well-suited for a cold winter’s night. The whisky-cocoa with butterscotch undertone really transports you to a cozy room before a fireplace while the snow falls gentle outside. You snuggle with your partner, one of you sipping Laphroaig, one of you drinking dark, hot chocolate, and both of you nibbling on a peppermint candy. I can’t see anyone wearing Ore Extrait in 100 degree heat, but what a perfect scent for Winter!

Ore is fundamentally linear in nature, and never really transforms beyond its opening bouquet. It’s a glorious scent in those opening hours, especially the first time around. There were moments where I felt like rolling around in it, the way a dog does in a particularly smelly patch of grass. Then, something happened. Around the star of the fourth hour, I started feeling a little overwhelmed by it all. It was perhaps too much unleavened, unalloyed richness. The linearity of so much unctuous heaviness, without change, felt almost cloying. Now, Ore itself isn’t cloying in terms of sweetness, but the forcefulness of all that thick, gooey caramel whisky really got to me. It is the primary reason why I tested the fragrance a second time; I wondered if my feelings would change, and if Ore merely required a lot of patience. My feelings didn’t change. If anything, I was significantly less enamoured of the opening, and found it less addictively, compulsively sniffable. Was it all just the novelty of such an unusual combination? Perhaps.

Source: abstract.desktopnexus.com

I think the more accurate reason with my slight change of heart is really the linearity. I always say that there is nothing wrong with linearity if you really love the notes in question, and I really enjoy certain aspects of Ore. However, it is such an incredibly rich, heavy fragrance that the only way to describe its feel is “unctuous” — and endlessly buttery unctuousness can be a little exhausting. Perhaps the best way to describe it is in terms of food. I love Devil’s Food cake, but a really large slice of it can be a little much. Wearing Ore feels a little like you’ve eaten not a slice of Devil’s Food, but the whole damn cake! It’s gloriously wonderful in one bite, even a bite that stretches on for a few hours, but it can be too much for 10 hours on end unless you have something to balance it out.

And Ore doesn’t. Ore was hours of unchanging, heavy butteriness until the very end when it became a simple smoky sweetness. All in all, it lasted just under 11 hours, with about 8 of them feeling very rich indeed. (On some people, Slumberhouse fragrances can last for 24 hours at a stretch!) I had problems at the end of the third hour, so the full lifespan felt a little like Rammstein playing at maximum volume right in my ear. I adore Rammstein, but I can’t listen to Du Hast or Ich Will at full blast, on repeat, for 11 hours straight. (Okay, sometimes, I can, and do. But extremely rarely!) Ore’s smoked, whisky butterscotch is like my beloved Du Hast and Devil’s Food Cake.

I think my difficulty with Ore encapsulates my difficulty with Slumberhouse as a whole. I want to love the fragrances. Oh, how I want to love them! There is always something in each one that I greatly enjoy, and I have nothing but the deepest respect for Josh Lobb who seems like an incredibly nice chap, in addition to being very talented. At the end of the day, however, something above the overall, sum-total effect of each fragrance just doesn’t work for me on a personal level. I think each one is great in its own way, highly original, and always boldly creative, but I haven’t found one that I can wholeheartedly love.

I’ve struggled to figure out why, and I’ve finally concluded that it’s the unctuousness and richness of the base which seems to be a common signature to all of Slumberhouse’s fragrances. What bewilders me is that I have never once had problems with a fragrance being too rich, until it comes to Slumberhouse…. In truth, it’s not so much a question of richness or power — two things I specifically look for in fragrances for my own personal use — but rather, the unalleviated, unalloyed nature of their unctuousness. Even when applied lightly or in a small dosage, the almost buttery, viscous thickness to the base — especially in conjunction with one other, extremely dominant, element — ends up being too much for me. For example, the potpourri-like element in Jeke‘s base, or the sweetness of Pear + Olive.

It’s hard for me to compare my experience to that of others because, as noted, Ore has been completely changed from its original character, and the majority of reviews pertain to the old Ore eau de parfum. The most useful comparative explanation of the differences comes from Mark Behnke of CaFleureBon who writes:

Ore was one of the first fragrances Mr. Lobb released back in 2009. Of all the updates this one shows the evolution of Mr. Lobb as a perfumer and also the evolution of the slumberhouse aesthetic. It is by far the biggest difference between the original and the extrait of the fragrances which have undergone this re-imagining.

If I was pressed I would’ve said the original Ore was my least favorite of Mr. Lobb’s earlier creations because it had all the subtlety of a right cross to the nose. An overpowering dry cocoa seemed to overwhelm every receptor in my brain. It took nearly an hour for me to realize there was anything else as it went through a slightly caramel aspect on top of an edgy green balsamic base. Coming to this after trying other things by Mr. Lobb made me exhibit some patience with it but it was really close to being unbearable. […][¶]

The extrait of Ore opens with the same dry cocoa but this time it is toned down enough to let other things come out to play. There is a subtle touch of thyme which picks up the less sweet aspects of the cocoa and adds some of the green quality of the original early on without being as sharp. The transition seems more smoothed out with less of an abrupt shift happening as there was in the original. The mix of woods: oakwood, guaiac and peru resin turn Ore into a creamy balsamic mix coated in cocoa. Right here is where Mr. Lobb shows his improvement as perfumer; all of this is present in the original but it collides with each other like a pinball against a bumper making an unappealing thunk. In this new extrait the notes are well-balanced which allow for a more complete picture to be presented and that picture is something to behold. A bit of vanilla added in the late going turns all of this into a slight tobacco accord that lasts for a fleeting moment.

I never tried the original Ore, but it seems to have been quite appreciated by those (other than Mark Behnke) who tried it. On Indiescents, there are raves about its “smoked Tootsie rolls” quality, although one person had problems with the medicinal element from the much talked about Carmex-like undertone. The general character of the old Ore can be seen in some of the following descriptions:

Earthy, sweet but not cloying, very sensuous. Amazing.

Dark and Boozy. I get nothing of Carmex in this scent. However, the chocolate and sage come out in this when I wear it. My husband loves it-once it dries down.

Since i am addicted to and love the smell of Carmex i had to buy this…i was soo pleasantly surprised, this is a super nice sexy beast of a gourmand fragrance……i can definitely pick out the cocoa absolute in the dry down and love it.

Very nice! If you love rich,not so SWEET gourmet scents,this is worthy of sampling! I was expecting something more off-beat,due to the Carmex comparison,but its quite feminine and soft.

I’m smitten. Seriously, it takes a lot to interest me and this fragrance has had me distracted all day. Delicious. What I love is that it is sweet and feminine without being cloying. It’s sexy and strong. The dry down is lovely and soft but still has strength. Beautiful.

There are similar accounts for the old Ore eau de parfum on Fragrantica where men seem to be as much a fan as the women. One commentator, “Alfarom,” described the scent as:

Balsamic chocolate. Ore opens dry and rough with a desweetened cacao note. Dark woods remark their presence right away while a boozy accord concours in adding some warmness during the middle phase and the drydown. […] This bizarre concoction between edible and inedible elements makes of Ore one of the most original takes on the gourmandic theme. Intense but barely sweet, mysterious, dark and dangerously sexy.

If you take the accounts of the old Ore and read them in light of CaFleureBon’s assessment of the new Extrait version, the result seems to be a more toned down fragrance. Better modulated, perhaps, but my experience seems to indicate a scent that is also much less dark, smoky, and balsamic than it was before. I certainly don’t think that Ore I tried was particularly smoky or dark; it seemed quite caramel, butterscotch golden — in both visuals and aromatic feel — to me, but it might well just be my skin which always amplifies the sweeter elements in a perfume’s base.

All in all, I think Slumberhouse is an incredibly original perfume house that every serious perfumista should explore for themselves, especially if they like very rich, potent scents and especially if they’re jaded about the sameness of many fragrances put out there today. Maybe you will fall in my boat or maybe you’ll find one you love, but, either way, you really should experience (at least once) the uniqueness, originality, and creativity that is Slumberhouse’s ultimate hallmark. As for Ore, it may not be to my personal tastes at the end of the day, but I strongly urge those of you who like fragrances that are boozy, rich, almost (but not quite) gourmand, and feature dark cocoa powder, to give it a try. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of you found it quite addictively delicious.

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: Ore comes only in an extrait or pure parfum concentration, and is most frequently sold in a 1 oz/30 ml size which costs $125 or £95. A little goes a long way. It is available directly from Slumberhouse which also sells Ore in a large 100 ml size for $300. In addition, Mr. Lobb offers a 2ml sample of Ore for $7.50. Finally, he seems to offer overseas shipping at checkout. In the U.S.: Ore Extrait is available in the 1 oz/30 ml size from Parfum1, which also sells with a 0.7 ml sample vial for $4.50 and a Discovery Pack of 5 Extrait fragrances in a 0.7 ml vial for $17. Parfum1 offers free shipping for all domestic orders above $75, $5.95 for orders below $75, and international shipping for a (high) fee. Ore Extrait is also sold by Indiescents which offers 3 free perfume samples with every full-bottle purchase, ships to Canada, and may possibly do International shipping via the Canadian post. (I’m not too clear on this point, or how it works.) Finally, you can also purchase Ore Extrait from Luckyscent, along with a sample, and they ship internationally as well. Samples: I obtained my sample from Surrender to Chance which sells Ore Extrait starting at $5.99 for a 1/2 ml vial. Outside the U.S.: In the UK, Slumberhouse is now available at Roulier White for £95, along with 2 ml samples for sale. I have to thank the kindness of a reader, “C,” in letting me know. Roulier White carries most of the Slumberhouse line, though they’re only taking pre-orders on Ore Extrait at this time. As for other countries, it seems that you can order directly from Slumberhouse who appears to offer overseas shipping at checkout. (Thank you, again, “C.”) Finally, in an interview with Basenotes, Josh Lobb wrote “anyone who wants to order should feel free to send an email or contact Suendhaft in Germany.” You can find their website here.

Serge Lutens Santal de Mysore

Posted on September 12, 2013 by Kafkaesque

A taste of India. It’s hard not to talk about food when discussing Santal de Mysore, Serge Lutens‘ dark, gourmand tribute to that rare, precious Indian wood. Once abundant, Mysore sandalwood is so depleted and protected that it might as well be extinct for everyone but perfumers with the deepest pockets. In the case of Santal de Mysore, I think some clever olfactory alternatives have been used to recreate the dark, deep, spicy, smoky smell of Mysore sandalwood in a fragrance that is as much about food as it is about the precious wood.

The special, limited, and cheaper, 50 ml anniversary issue.

Santal de Mysore is an eau de parfum that was created with Lutens’ favorite perfumer, Christopher Sheldrake. It was released either in 1991 or 1997, depending on what you read, and the only reason that is significant is because a special anniversary 50 ml bottle seems to have been issued at some point in time. The bottle is significantly cheaper than Santal de Mysore’s usual bell jar form, and is even discounted further on a few online retail sites. Normally, however, Santal de Mysore is considered one of Serge Lutens’ non-export Paris Exclusives that is only available at his Paris headquarters or at Barney’s in New York.

The Bell Jar form available from Serge Lutens.

On his website, Lutens gives a brief description of the fragrance that hints at its notes and makes explicit its extremely spiced nature:

What incredible sandalwood!

This scent takes spices to the limit – they nearly cry out against the sandalwood base. One perceives saffron and, strangely enough, wild carrot.
Sweetness paves the way for a blast of heat!

The perfume notes are, as always, kept secret but the list — as compiled from Luckyscent, Fragrantica, Barney’s, and the Lutens statement — seem to include:

Mysore sandalwood, cumin, spices, styrax balsam, caramelized Siamese benzoin, saffron, cinnamon, rosewood, and wild carrot.

Baghali Polo. Source: Cooking Minette.

Santal de Mysore opens on my skin with a burst of spices. There is light curry, followed by leathery burnt styrax resin with a charred caramel aroma, saffron, a slightly herbal note that smells exactly like buttered dill, and a touch of sweetened carrots. I’m actually a little surprised by how the much-maligned curry note, noticeable as it is, feels so light. Perhaps a better description is to say that it doesn’t smell of the stale, cumin, body odor that I had so feared, or of really potent, yellow curry. Instead, for me, the strongest aroma is actually hot buttered dill and, specifically, a dill pilau or rice dish in Persian cuisine called Baghali Polo (or sometimes, Sabzi Polo). (There is a recipe for Baghali Polo with lovely photos at Cooking Minette.) Santal de Mysore is more than 75% Baghali Polo on my skin, right down to the little blob of melted saffron butter that some chefs put on top of mound. I really couldn’t believe it, but there is absolutely no doubt at all in my mind of the similarities.

Styrax resin via themysticcorner.com

There is a spicy wood note underlying it all, but it doesn’t smell like Mysore sandalwood to me. I’ve stopped hiding the fact that I’m a complete sandalwood snob, but that has nothing to do with it in this case. Santal de Mysore doesn’t smell of sandalwood in its opening minutes primarily because the curry, herbal, spiced accords overwhelm everything else in their path. This is a primarily a food fragrance on my skin, not a woody one.

Five minutes in, the styrax’s burnt, blackened aroma becomes less harsh, and the resin takes on a slightly tamer aspect. Now, it merely smells very dark, chewy, and balsamic, with sweetened leather, caramel and smoke swirled in. Flickers of cinnamon and saffron dance quietly at the edges, adding a spicy richness to the woody foundation, but I still think that this is “Mysore sandalwood” only by virtue of being built up by additives, instead of the real thing. My belief is underscored by a very definite whiff of something synthetic in the base which gives me a tell-tale pain behind my eye each and every time I take a very deep sniff up close.

Ebanol via Givaudan.

So, I looked up sandalwood aroma-chemicals, and I would bet that Santal de Mysore uses Ebanol. Givaudan describes it as follows:

Olfactive note:

Sandalwood, Musk aspect, Powerful

Description:

Ebanol has a very rich, natural sandalwood odour. It is powerful and intense, bringing volume and elegance to woody accords and a diffusive sandalwood effect to compositions. Ebanol is highly substantive on all supports.

Javanol via Givaudan.

Givaudan also sells something called Javanol, and there are elements of something similar to its description which pop up at the final stages of Santal de Mysore. Javanol‘s description reads:

Olfactive note:

Sandalwood, Creamy, Rosy, Powerful

Description:

Javanol is a new-generation sandalwood molecule with unprecedented power and substantivity. It has a rich, natural, creamy sandalwood note like beta santanol.

I don’t know about Javanol due to the “rosy” description given above, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Santal de Mysore contained Ebanol. For one thing, the woody note in the fragrance smells extremely synthetic, but also dark and powerful. For another, have I mentioned just how rare it is for a fragrance to have true Mysore sandalwood these days? Finally, there is a support from another skeptic, Tania Sanchez. In her book with Luca Turin, Perfumes: The A-Z Guide, she diplomatically and tactfully writes:

Sandalwood oil from Mysore, India, was for a long time both fairly cheap and gorgeous — which is probably why it was overharvested to the point of needing government protection. I have a small reference sample of the real thing, with its inimitably creamy, tangy smell of buttermilk. I have no idea if Santal de Mysore manages to use any of it or if it depends on the Australian sandalwood (totally different plant and material) or synthetics, because it aims to cover any gaps with an overpowering coconut-and-caramel accord reminiscent of Samsara, a tropical fantasy of rum in oak barrels for armchair pirates.

I don’t smell coconut and I personally don’t see the similarities to Guerlain‘s Samsara, but I fully agree that Christopher Sheldrake must have sought to cover the gaps created by the use of synthetics in Santal de Mysore’s base by adding an overpoweringly strong spice and food element as a supplement. I may be a sandalwood snob, but that doesn’t change my impression that the “Mysore sandalwood” aroma is an artificially created construct, and it smells like it.

It takes less than 20 minutes for Santal de Mysore to start to shift. The fragrance softens, and drops in projection surprisingly quickly on my skin. Yet, it’s still very potent — even a little sharp — when smelled up close. It’s an intense bouquet of dill, buttered rice and light herbal, cumin curry, followed by saffron, sweet carrots, and chewy, gooey, thickly resinous black sweetness atop a base of spiced, synthetic woods. It’s odd, unusual, very foodie, interesting, somewhat appealing, and somewhat off-putting — all at once. By the 90-minute mark, the green, herbal spiced elements feel even stronger as the styrax’s slightly leathery, burnt caramel aroma continues to soften.

Dried fenugreek leaves via Suhana.co.in

I have to wonder if there is fenugreek in Santal de Mysore, along with something like dried leeks. There are whiffs of something in the fragrance that very much resemble bottles I have of both herbs in my kitchen. Whatever the specifics, the “curry” in Santal de Mysore smells to me like something green in nature, more than spicy red or yellow. To be specific, it’s more along the lines of a Saag than a Korma or Rogan Josh curry made with a possible Garam Masala base. The cumin is there, lurking below, but I truly don’t think it’s as predominant as the more herbal, green curry elements. Even stronger is the burnt caramel aroma that is perhaps the first real thing you smell from a distance.

By the end of the second hour, Santal de Mysore turns creamy, smooth, and much better balanced in terms of its spices. There is almost a floral nuance to the deep woods, but the synthetic element remains as well. On some spots on my arm, it’s even a little sharp. Around the 3.5 hour mark, the herbal notes feel almost solely like fenugreek and dried leeks, rather than the earlier buttered dill rice. The dominant bouquet, however, is of cinnamon mixed with burnt caramel. Santal de Mysore’s sillage drops even further, and the fragrance now floats a mere inch above the skin.

Source: samsunggalaxy.co

The perfume’s final dry down begins near the middle of the sixth hour. Santal de Mysore finally — finally — smells primarily of the eponymous woods in its title. It’s rich, deep, smoky, sweet, dark, and beautifully creamy. The woods are now the sole star of the show, though they coat the skin like a veil. The sandalwood probably isn’t real, given the way the woods smelled so synthetic earlier on, but the overall effect is definitely that of Mysore woods. I feel like singing Etta James’ famous song, “At Last.” The lovely drydown continues for another three hours or so, until the fragrance finally fades away as sweetened woods. All in all, Santal de Mysore lasted just shy of 10.25 hours on my skin, with moderate sillage that turned quite soft after a few hours.

How you feel about Santal de Mysore will depend on a few things: your thoughts on curry and cumin, and your patience. Whether your read the comments on Fragrantica or that of samplers/buyers on Luckyscent, it’s always the same issue. For many people, the fragrance is simply too foodie, with curry being the main problem. For a few, it’s the burnt caramel that is the issue. For others, however, the fragrance’s final drydown is worth it, and they urge patience with the early notes, arguing that they are short in duration and quickly mellow into beautiful sandalwood. To give one example, a Luckyscent commentator wrote:

i wish i could afford jugs of this stuff. it is a tricky one, though! at first, it smells gourmande — curry, black pepper, and butter. delicious to eat, but not so great to smell liek a kitchen. oooh, but wait for it… if you are a sandalwood lover, it is worth the wait. and you don’t have to wait long! on the skin, it mellows out (and warms up!) really quickly. the harsh foodie smells dissipate in maybe 5 minutes, and then the silky road down sandalwood lane begins. this sandalwood is deep, warm, rich, and buttery. it is maybe 2:1 sweet:spicy as sandalwood goes. but you know how some sandalwoods are lovely, but kind of mixed up with vanilla or amber scents? this one is subtly more smokey, spicy, and just enough of a sour or a bitter touch to balance out the sweet buttery parts so that they are not overwhelming. this is a rich, deep sandalwood, as long as you are not turned off by the weirdness of its first few minutes.

There are numerous opinions on the other end of the spectrum, however, and they are probably best represented by this Fragrantica review:

Great scent if you’re… an Indian chef ;), as it smells exactly the same as curry. Disturbing cloud of heavy cumin and nose-drilling curcuma. No trace of sandalwood or benzoin whatsoever. Literally spicy scent that is harsh and nauseating at the same time. A big no-no..

I’m afraid that Santal de Mysore isn’t for me. I simply don’t like foodie scents in general, and I would have great difficulty walking out of the house smelling of either Persian Baghali Polo or Indian Saag. If it were merely a matter of minutes, I could deal with it, but it was hours and hours on my skin. You may have substantially better luck, but, in all cases, you have to be able to withstand the curry aspects of the opening stage. If you’re one of those people who is utterly phobic about cumin in all its possible manifestations, then I would advise staying away from Santal de Mysore. If you love sandalwood above all else, and enjoy gourmand scents, then you may want to exercise some patience and see how things develop on you. One thing is for certain, Serge Lutens and Christopher Sheldrake truly give you an olfactory carpet ride to India.

DETAILS:

General Cost & Discounted Sales Prices: Santal de Mysore is an eau de parfum that comes in a discontinued 1.7 oz/50 ml size and in a 75 ml bell jar size. The retail price of the small 50 ml bottle is $200, while the bell jar costs $300 or €135. However, Santal de Mysore is currently discounted at FragranceX which sells Santal de Mysore for $164.50, and Bonanza which sells it for $167.57. Parfums1 sells Santal de Mysore for $180, with free U.S. shipping and no tax.

Serge Lutens: Santal de Mysore is offered only in the bell jar version on the U.S. and International Lutens website (with other language options also available), and costs $300 or €135.

U.S. sellers: Santal de Mysore is available in the 1.7 oz/50 size for $200 at Luckyscent and Beautyhabit. It is available in the $300 bell jar version from Barney’s with the following notice: “This product is only available for purchase at the Madison Avenue Store located at 660 Madison Avenue. The phone number for the Serge Lutens Boutique is (212) 833-2425.”

Outside the U.S.: In Canada, you can find Santal de Mysore at The Perfume Shoppe for what may be US$200, but I’m never sure about their currency since it is primarily an American business with a Vancouver store. They also offer some interesting sample or travel options for Lutens perfumes. Elsewhere in Europe, it’s extremely hard to find the old 50 ml bottle, leaving your only real option to trek to Paris to get the bell jar. I couldn’t find any UK retailers. However, France’s Premiere Avenue has the 50 ml bottle and sells it for €106. I believe they ship world-wide, or at least through the Euro zone. In Australia, the 50 ml bottle of Santal de Mysore is sold on BrandShopping for AUD$160.95 and on HotCosmetics for AUD$217. In Russia, I found what appears to be SergeLutens.Ru which sells Santal de Mysore in the 50 ml bottle, but I don’t think Serge Lutens has a Russian website. It’s clearly a vendor of some kind, though.

Samples: You can test out Santal de Mysore by ordering a sample from Surrender to Chance where prices start at $3.99 for a 1/2 ml vial. There is also a Five Lutens Bell Jar Sample Set starting at $18.99 where you get your choice of 5 non-export Paris Exclusives with each vial being a 1/2 ml.

LM Parfums Sensual Orchid: Dressed to Seduce

Posted on September 8, 2013 by Kafkaesque

Gisele Bundchen for Vogue Turkey March 2011. Photo: the always incredible Mert & Marcus.

The urban jungle seemed very far away as she dressed in the bedroom of the villa at St. Barts. It hadn’t been a planned visit, but her seduction of him had been a long time in the making. He’d stolen her heart the minute he’d walked into the room, with his black leather jacket, devil-may-care tousled blond hair, chiseled Nordic face, emerald eyes, and wide grin. He smiled at everything, and she hoped he would smile at the new lingerie she had bought. She felt nervous, but excited, as she awaited his arrival. She gave herself another big spray of perfume for good luck.

Source: wallpaperstop.biz

The swirl of orchids, velvety ylang-ylang, jasmine, vanilla and sweet musk curled in the air around her, mixed with the tropical hint of coconut that wafted in from the trees on the beach. She had loved him for so long, not daring to think he may feel the same way, and she almost couldn’t believe their time had finally come. She hurriedly poured herself a snifter of expensive, aged cognac to relax her nerves, and a few drops fell on her golden skin, mixing with the sweet flowers and tropical headiness. She smiled as the fragrance and boozy liqueur enveloped her in their narcotic touch. How could he resist their heady lure? She was wearing Sensual Orchid, she was ravishing, she was invincible, she would tempt him beyond all belief.

Source: Fragrantica

I generally try not to review fragrances that are exclusive to Europe, extremely hard to track down, or difficult to sample. I couldn’t help it this time, as I was quite surprised by a sexy, heady, gorgeous fragrance from LM Parfums called Sensual Orchid. LM Parfums is a French niche house founded by Laurent Mazzone, and its fragrances used to be exclusive to Europe until just recently. A short while ago, New York’s Osswald perfumery started carrying the line. Yet, I still hadn’t intended to officially review the fragrance that I obtained last year by complete happenstance from eBay. [Update: LM Parfums is now also available at Luckyscent.]

Then, a few days ago, after having a bad day, I just decided to put a tiny, single, minuscule sprayed drop on my hand. For hours, that almost nonexistent smear emitted a smell whose delicate tendrils curled in the air around me. I couldn’t believe it, and every time I sniffed my hand, I couldn’t get enough. So, I said limited access be damned, I just had to had to tell you about this wonderful perfume and the house behind it.

Laurent Mazzone. Source: unique.ru.com

LM Parfums is the brain child of a Frenchman with Italian origins, Laurent Mazzone, who was fascinated by fragrance from a young age. As Essenza Nobile explains, “[a]s a young child, he analyzed and mixed samples of perfumes to discover new scents…. a passion for scents was born.” In 1998, “drawn by fashion catwalks and workrooms,” Mr. Mazzone decided to dedicate his life to fashion, opening up a boutique called Premiere Avenue. (I believe it is the same Premiere Avenue site that I so often link to in the Details section as a perfume retailer.) When Mr. Mazzone decided to enter into the world of fragrance, he initially started with scented candles but, in 2010, he expanded into actual perfumes. He launched LM Parfums which now has eight fragrances to its tally. As that Essenza Nobile biography explains, his “desire is to convey his passion to fashion through a line of perfumes evoking luxury fabrics. […] He came across renowned noses that he had always admired by their creation fulfilling his emotion.”

One of those noses is Jerome Epinette whom Mr. Mazzone hired to create the second Extrait pure parfum in his collection. In 2012, LM Parfums released Sensual Orchid, a floral oriental with 20% perfume concentration. Believe me, its opulent richness and luxuriousness shows! Sensual Orchid’s description, as quoted by OsswaldNYC, reads:

Like a feminine model on the catwalk, Sensual Orchid captivates your senses with its incredible aromas. The second essence of perfume will take you to the front of the stage. The carnal pleasures evoked by this sumptuous arrangement of natural sophisticated fragrances. A first subtle scent of citrus fruit and almond leads you into a refined heart of orchid, jasmine sambac, Lysilang, peony and heliotrope then leaves a voluptuous final touch made of vanilla, musk, blonde wood, white cedar wood, labdanum and benzoin.

Source: Topwalls.net

The notes, as provided by OsswaldNYC, include:

Top notes: Mandarin, almond, neroli

Heart notes: Orchid, jasmine sambac, Lysilang [ylang-ylang], peony, heliotrope

Base notes: Vanilla, musk, blonde wood, white cedar wood, labdanum, benzoin

Fragrantica adds ylang-ylang to the list, but it seems to be a reference to Lysilang. According to the Academia del Profumo, Lysilang involves a special and different sort of ylang-ylang scent due to the “fractioning” method of perfume processing:

The technique of fractioning can be used to dismantle the odour into its various components or groups of components, before proceeding to select the fractions that are nobler or more interesting from an olfactory standpoint. The result is a cleaner, purer end product.

This technique is used with vetiver, for example, removing its earthier parts: the smell of the roots and its less attractive notes.

Lysilang (by Robertet), a very pure, natural and fresh odour, is obtained in this way from the essential oil of Ylang Ylang III from the Comoro Islands.

I think the description is important because ylang-ylang is a big part of Sensual Orchid, and its aroma feels unusually concentrated, rich, heady and creamy in the fragrance, while simultaneously being oddly clean in a way. It’s just one of a few unusual aspects of the fragrance.

Source: de.flash-screen.com

The key to Sensual Orchid, however, is the eponymous flower in the title. It’s an odd flower because it doesn’t have any one, particular, easily identifiable aroma. Orchids are not like tuberose or roses, to give just one example, with a clear, set fragrance. Instead, it can be almost anything, depending on the species of flower and what pollinated it. Fragrantica has a very fascinating exploration of the subject, in which Dr. Ellen Covey of the Olympic Orchids (both an actual perfume house and an orchid nursery) talks about the flower’s various, different, possible aromas:

There are about 20,000-30,000 species of orchids belonging to about 900 different genera. Orchid scents are all over the place from the most beautiful floral scents to odors that we find unpleasant, such as feces or rotten meat. The scent depends on what insect pollinates the orchid. Bees and butterflies are attracted to floral scents, and flies are attracted to rotting animal matter. Each genus of orchids has a range of scents, but there is generally some predictability within a genus. Cattleya orchids all have floral-type scents that range from light and citrusy to heavy and indolic. Bulbophyllum orchids often have rotten meat odors, or other stinky smells.

I have orchids that smell exactly like coconut suntan lotion, butterscotch and cedar wood, cinnamon, sweet clover, roses, or baby powder. If there is a “typical” orchid flower scent, it would probably be a generic cattleya, but more often the “orchid” note in perfume is a fantasy note of some sort. Vanilla is extracted from the seedpods of an orchid, so maybe it could be thought of as the quintessential orchid scent.

Source: hd4desktop.com

I have no idea what species of orchid is in Laurent Mazzone’s Sensual Orchid, but I can tell you it smells wonderful! The fragrance opens on my skin with a burst of booziness. It’s pure cognac, as explicit, sharp, liqueured and slightly fruity as very aged, extremely expensive cognac can be. The note is then followed by: the richest ylang-ylang; custardy, rich vanilla; a hint of smoky woods; and bitter, green-white almonds.

On their heels is a delicate, pastel, floral note as crystal clear, clean, bright and sparkling as a bell rung at the top of the Swiss alps. It smells of lilies, peonies, hyacinth, rose, jasmine, vanilla — all wrapped into one in a cool, clean, crystal liquidity. It is all of those things, and, yet, none of those things. It’s a floral orchid in 3D. Mixed with the powerful ylang-ylang and the sweet vanilla, backed by that boozy cognac fruitedness, the final result is incredibly narcotic, dramatic, opulent, and heady.

Source: Foundwalls.com

Other notes are layered underneath. The orchid has a coconut characteristic that Dr. Covey talked about above, as well as some sort of subtle, intangible, sweet spiciness. There is also a whiff of juicy, sun-sweetened mandarin, lying heavy and ripe on the branch. The heliotrope’s almond note is interwoven throughout, and the whole thing sits atop a base of white woods with slightly smoky cedar.

Within minutes, the cognac’s sharpness softens, as the vanillic, creamy, floral facets of the orchid increase, along with a sensuous muskiness and the coconut. The latter feels both like chunks of the fresh fruit, and its rich cream. My feelings about coconut generally range from ambivalence to dislike, especially if there is a suntan oil feel or anything cloying. On my skin, Sensual Orchid manages the feat of having a rich coconut scent that is nothing like Hawaiian Tropics, and yet, conveys a wholly tropical feel in a very light way. I have no idea why I find it so intoxicating, but I think it’s the overall combination of notes that renders Sensual Orchid a very sensuous, compulsively sniffable experience.

Model Lara Stone, French Vogue.

There is a very classique richness to the scent, but it also has a very modern feel. Sensual Orchid is very airy in feel, though it is also extremely potent, heady, and strong in projection. Not Amouage or ’80s powerhouse levels of potency, but definitely enough to wrap you in a very shimmering haze. Despite the old-school richness, nothing about the fragrance feels dated or centered on traditional tropes. Sensual Orchid doesn’t call to mind the famous Dior models of old in their New Look dresses, or the grand dames of Chanel. It’s not a scent that I would associate with Guerlain’s divas, but with a very fashion-forward, confident, strong woman who is assured enough to flaunt her own sensuality. She is the sort who would wear Sensual Orchid with a skimpy dress to go out clubbing, then come home to toss the bottle in her carry-on bag and go on a quick, impromptu, romantic, weekend get-away to St. Barts.

Ylang-Ylang. Source: Soapgoods.com

Thirty minutes in, Sensual Orchid shifts a little. The dry, slightly smoked cedar stirs more prominently in the base. Up on top, the jasmine now appears to dance a merry quartet with the ylang-ylang, the orchid’s coconut, and the vanilla. The peony, the almonds, and that lingering, crystal clear, liquid note that feels so much like lilies, all look on from the sidelines and clap. From afar, the fragrance smells like an extremely seamless, well-blended bouquet of boozy sweetness, indolic flowers, and creamy vanilla. Up close, it’s almost too powerful and rich, with an opulent depth that reminds me of Amouage‘s Ubar mixed with some of my beloved Alahine‘s boozy overlay.

Sensual Orchid is a rather linear scent, and its core essence never changes. Over the next few hours, the differences are primarily ones of strength, deepness, and projection. At the end of the first hour, Sensual Orchid becomes smoother, richer, and deeper. The boozy cognac fades away, the mandarin orange retreats to the edges, and the fragrance feels mellower as a whole. By the 2.5 hour mark, the fragrance feels like a soft cloud. I wish the notes were better delineated with less overlap and haziness, but Sensual Orchid is nonetheless an intoxicating swirl of creamy, indolic, sweet florals, infused with vanilla, touches of coconut, and the vaguest whisper of dry cedar. The word “lush” keeps coming to mind, along with visuals of a billowing white and yellow cloud, and scantily clad women with golden skin. On occasion, the image is that of a naked woman on a beach because there is a clean, warmed muskiness to Sensual Orchid that feels like heated skin touched with a shimmering, floral, slightly tropical oil. It’s never animalic or sweaty, it’s not even a very prominent note, but it adds to the languid sensuality of the fragrance.

Model Isabeli Fonatana for Muse Magazine via trendhunter.com

Near the end of the fourth hour, Sensual Orchid hovers as a potent veil just above the skin. It’s a blend of ripe, blooming white florals infused by a dry woodiness, and the subtlest hint of booziness. The jasmine, ylang-ylang and orchid are fused together as one. The vanilla has now turned almost dry, thanks to the impact of the cedar and its quietly smoked character. The coconut is almost silent, and the almond has vanished. The mandarin which was never an integral part of Sensual Orchid on my skin is now merely a vague suggestion that pops up occasionally, but you have to sniff damn hard to really notice it. Finally, there is a tinge of synthetics in the base, whether from the “white woods” or from something else, but it’s muted, minor, and soon fades away.

Sensual Orchid remains that way until the middle of the seventh hour when it finally turns wholly abstract. It’s a soft, nebulous, indolic, musky floral sweetness that covers the skin like the finest silk lingerie. In its final hours, Sensual Orchid is merely a trace of sweetness, muskiness and abstract white flowers. All in all, it lasted just over 14 hours with very strong projection for the first 2 hours, then good to moderate sillage for a number of hours, before ending as a soft, unobtrusive veil for about 6 hours. It only became a true skin scent around the middle of eighth hour. I used about 3 small sprays. While aerosolisation definitely increases both longevity and projection, Sensual Orchid is generally a strong fragrance with a very soft weight that I think is intended to go from hardcore diva glam, down to an increasingly intimate scent, before ending as a “my skin but better” musky sweetness in its final stage.

At no time is Sensual Orchid an edgy or revolutionary scent, but it’s a very luxurious, opulent, and sexy one. It feels like the sort of perfume that a woman would to seduce, and consistently calls to mind the image of a woman in lingerie, lying languidly on a bed as she awaits her lover. It’s a scent that seems intentionally meant to intoxicate and captivate a romantic partner with its narcotic sensuality and brazenly diva-ish, dramatic headiness. Part of it is the sheer indolic nature of those lush, ripe, blooming white florals, and part of it is the quiet, golden muskiness of the scent combined with the creaminess of both the ylang-ylang and the vanilla.

Photo: Mert Alas & Marcus Piggott for Roberto Cavalli feat. Elisabetta Canalis. Source: CityinAds.com

I couldn’t find a single blog review for Sensual Orchid, either in-depth or otherwise. However, the fragrance does come up in two Basenotes discussions. One is a thread in the Men’s Fragrance Discussion section called “SUPERNICHE- Best Frag No One Has Heard Of,” and asks for suggestions. Sensual Orchid is the very first name given by a male poster called “Hednic.” Later, down below, another commentator adds: “This whole LM line has some real crackers – Sensual Orchid but hey guys we got Black Oud by LM too which is really well done! We gonna hear a lot more about LM I assure you.” Sensual Orchid gets mentioned again in a very short thread from August 2013 in the Female Fragrance Discussion section about LM Parfums in general. The original poster purchased a bottle from Italy for supposedly $190 and thought Sensual Orchid was “soooo gorgeous!”

You may wonder why I’m bringing up the location of the Basenotes threads. It’s because I think Sensual Orchid can work on a guy’s skin, and there are clearly men on Basenotes who agree and have no hesitation saying so in a discussion of Men’s Fragrances. Yes, Sensual Orchid is a very lush, floral scent that skews feminine, but I happen to think that a confident, assured man could rock this type of fragrance just as much as an Amouage oudh or Creed’s Aventus. Perhaps not every guy would feel comfortable with orchid and vanilla, but dammit, they should be! Sensual Orchid would smell unbelievably hot on a guy’s skin, and I’m not budging from that belief, all my photos of scantily clad women notwithstanding.

Lastly, I have to talk about the price. Sensual Orchid costs $225 or €195. While that may seem a lot, it’s for 100 ml of extrait de parfum. When was the last time any of you saw that concentration being offered in a 100 ml size and for a price less than some smaller eau de parfums?! I never have. 15 ml for Rubj Parfum extrait is $325! 50 ml of Amouage’s Lyric Extrait costs $470, and it’s half the size of Sensual Orchid. Puredistance’s Opardu is also an extrait that comes in a 100 ml size, but it costs $590! My point is that Sensual Orchid is a gorgeous fragrance whose price may seem high, but it’s almost a steal for what it is, let alone as compared to the price of other niche extraits on the market.

Now, I realise it’s almost sadistic to bring up a fragrance that my American readers can’t sniff or test unless they live in New York. For that, I deeply apologise. As part of my penance, I’d like to offer one reader a small sample from my own decant. It won’t be much, just around 1 ml, but my own decant is very small and I’d like to have a bit of Sensual Orchid to wear when I go on holiday at the end of the month. So, in the comments below, leave a comment letting me know if you’re interested.

Given LM Parfums’ wide availability in Europe and New Yorkers’ access to it at Osswald, I’m afraid this mini-drawing will be limited to American readers who do not live in New York City’s Tri-State Area or have access to Osswald. You have until Friday, September 13th at 11:59 p.m. Central Standard Time (CST) in the U.S. to let me know if you’d like to be entered. I will select a name using Random.org at some point the next day, and will update the end of this review with the winner’s name. So, check back Saturday the 14th, and if you’re the winner, you have three days (until Tuesday, September 17th) to contact me at the blog email with your shipping address. (Failure to contact me in the appropriate time frame means I’ll give the sample to someone else.) If lush, floral Orientals are your cup of tea, and if you’re not bothered by sweetness or indolic headiness, then I think you may like Sensual Orchid.

[UPDATE: GIVEAWAY & General Samples: Random.org has chosen and the winner of a small sample is POODLE! Please contact me with your address, and I’ll send some Sensual Orchid off to you. ]

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: Sensual Orchid is an extrait de parfum (or pure parfum) in concentration. It comes in a 100 ml/3.4 oz bottle that costs $225, €195 or £195. In the U.S.: You can buy it from OsswaldNYC and Luckyscent. Outside the U.S.: In Europe, you can buy Sensual Orchid directly from LM Parfums for €195. Decant samples are also available for €19, and come in a good 5 ml size. Laurent Mazzone’s Premiere Avenue also sells the perfume and the 5 ml decant. In the UK, the line is carried exclusively at Harvey Nichols which sells Sensual Orchid for £195. In Paris, it’s sold at Jovoy. Germany’s First in Fragrance carries the full line and sells Sensual Orchid for €196, in addition to samples. You can also find Sensual Orchid at Essenza Nobile, Italy’s Vittoria Profumi, or Alla Violetta. In the Netherlands, you can find Sensual Orchid at Parfumaria. There are many Russian vendors for LM Parfums, but one site carrying Sensual Orchid is SpellSmell. For all other locations, you can find a vendor near you from Switzerland to Belgium, Lithuania, Russia, Romania, Croatia, Azerbaijan, and more, by using the LM Parfums Partner listing. Laurent Mazzone or LM Parfums fragrances are widely available throughout Europe, and many of those sites sell samples as well. Samples: OsswaldNYC has a Sample Program for domestic customers. You can also buy a sample from Luckyscent, and several of the European sites listed above.

David Jourquin Cuir Tabac: Cozy Patchouli, or “Where’s Waldo?”

Posted on September 2, 2013 by Kafkaesque

Source: womenworld.com.ua

According to legend and stories swirled in the mist of history, patchouli was introduced to the West by traders who used the plant’s oil or its dark, green leaves to protecting their precious cargo of silk. The plant’s naturally medicinal, sometimes mentholated or antiseptic notes would ward off insects and other marauders. When the silk hit the streets of Europe, fine ladies were enchanted by the lingering sweet smell of patchouli and demanded more of it. One version of the tale credits Napoleon with the introduction of the scent, by way of shawls that he’d brought back from Egypt and which were redolent of the plant’s sweet, earthy aroma. Today, however, the smell of true, dark patchouli has fallen into disrepute as a result of negative associations with the 1970s and “filthy hippies,” and it’s not widely used in perfumery. Yet, patchouli happens to be one my favorite notes (in its dark, chewy incarnation), so when I heard that Cuir Tabac from David Jourquin contained five different types of it, I sat up and ordered a sample right away.

Cuir Tabac via Luckyscent.

David Jourquin is a French perfumer, though I’m unclear on what his exact background may be or if he was in fashion before. He has two fragrances, both riffs on the same overall theme and with slightly similar notes, but one is intended to be a “day” scent and one is meant for “night.” Cuir Tabac is the “evening” scent, while Cuir Mandarine is the day one. Both fragrances were released in 2011, are eau de parfum in concentration, and are packaged quite solidly in leather, stitched with the David Jourquin signature. As First in Fragrance puts it, “[a] chiseled jewel, sealed with wood from the walnut tree, sheathed in finely sewn Spanish leather, with a window that reveals the rare, golden hewed liquid.”

The Jourquin fragrances are inspired, in part, by the olfactory memories of his mother with her leather jacket, his visits to Guadeloupe with his father, and the impact of trips to Morocco with his step-father. Luckyscent explains a little more about the specific inspiration and scent for Cuir Tabac:

For Cuir Tabac, the nighttime version of his pair of Cuir fragrances, David Jourquin drew heavily on his childhood memories of visiting the bustling marketplace of Pointe-à-Pitre, Guadeloupe with his father. By blending the sweet and pungent scents of the market with his powerfully evocative signature leather and tobacco notes, Jourquin has created something remarkable: an enveloping, warm, and edgeless fragrance that truly feels like a memory.

The Pointe-à-Pitre market. Source: guadeloupetraditions.free.fr

The David Jourquin website describes Cuir Tabac and its notes as follows:

The heady and insolent patchouli heightens the deep and profound tobacco, cigar and musk notes overturning the senses in a soft murmur of fine eternal lavenders.

Mixed with fine lavenders as top notes.
Brown tobacco, cigar and musk as middle notes.
Five patchoulis from five Indian regions as bottom notes.

“Black Widow v1”
by *smokin-nucleus. Source: DeviantArt. (Website link embedded within photo.)

Cuir Tabac opens on my skin with every possible manifestation of patchouli imaginable. It’s dark, chewy, resinous, sweet, musky, earthy, and smoky. It’s black, but it’s also got green bits to it which result in a brief, 15-minute period of mentholated, slightly medicinal, bitter tonalities. At the same time, the patchouli is also extremely golden and pale, manifesting an incredibly creamy touch that smells a lot like milky café au lait. There are nutty undertones that are a little like roasted almonds, but there is also a faint whisper of chocolate lurking about. The whole thing is neatly wrapped up in a very quiet, subdued smokiness. It’s far from being as black as I’d like, and it lacks the weight or rich, baroque depths of the note in Profumum‘s Patchouly. Instead, it’s a lot closer to the patchouli in Serge Lutens‘ Borneo 1834 in the opening moments, mixed in with some of the creaminess of Chanel‘s Coromandel.

Artist: adrymeijer on DeviantArt. (Website link embedded within photo.)

In less than a minute, other elements appear. First, and most prominent, is lavender which feels dry, pungent, herbaceous, and exactly like that in dried lavender sachets from Provence that I loathe so much. Thankfully, its abrasive sharpness is quickly mellowed out by the infusion of the patchouli, but it still has an edge to it that this lavender-phobe finds a little off-putting. Frankly, I’m not sure I can recall the last time I smelled a lavender-patchouli pairing, let alone one that is quite so singular and unadulterated in its focus. It’s an odd duo, and, yet, not wholly unappealing. What actually bothers me significantly more is the lurking, whip-sawing, crocodile’s tail of something synthetic that flickers around the dark waters of the base. I don’t know what it is, but it burns my nose with its razor sharpness, and continues to bother me throughout much of Cuir Tabac’s lifespan.

The third guest at the party is amber. Cuir Tabac’s perfume notes may not list amber, but there is a definite golden haze in the base that is sweet, musky, and resinous. Perhaps it’s merely another facet to the patchouli, but it seems much more resinous than just that. The whole fragrance sits atop a somewhat molten base that, at this point, is lightly tinged with a hint of creamy, almost vanillic, sweetness.

Source: www.hispanicallyspeakingnews.com -

Source: hispanicallyspeakingnews.com –

Five minutes in, the first glimmer of tobacco appears, smelling just like a fresh, unlit, Cuban cigar. If you’ve ever walked into a humidifier cigar room, you know the aroma here, though it’s very muted and subtle at first. The note also has sweet, golden, almost leathered, and floral underpinnings, and they don’t stem from the other accords so much as from the tobacco itself. Lurking about is a subtle smokiness that feels more like incense than tobacco smoke, but it may be a by-product of one of those five patchouli types.

If you’re wondering where is the leather in all this, you’re not alone. For a fragrance that is called Tobacco Leather, Cuir Tabac doesn’t actually feel like a leather fragrance at all. At no time do I ever get “leather” as a singularly dominant, individual, powerful force, at least not the leather that I’m used to. Instead, the fragrance sometimes carries the subtle feel of leather as a subset of the patchouli and resins, a manifestation of their characteristics, if you will. There are moments, much later on, when faint flickers of leather dance around the periphery, but if you’re expecting the sort of leather note that you’d find in Chanel‘s Cuir de Russie, Puredistance‘s M, Serge Lutens‘ Cuir Mauresque, Parfum d’Empire‘s Cuir Ottoman, or Montale‘s Aoud Cuir d’Arabie, then you’ll be sorely disappointed. Cuir Tabac is not a true or hardcore leather fragrance by any means, no matter what the name may say. Given that the leather is mostly more of an implied suggestion, I think a more accurate name for the fragrance might be Patchouli Tabac….

Fifteen minutes in, Cuir Tabac starts to shift a little. The patchouli’s medicinal undertones have faded, while its other features have grown stronger. Now, the patchouli has a far greater whiff of something that is slightly green and herbaceousness. Even more noticeable is the dancing, wafting aroma of nuts and cream. The patchouli has a strong element of toasted nuts, and it’s no longer just a subtle impression of almonds, but toasted hazelnuts as well. There is also a growing creaminess to the patchouli that we’ll get to momentarily. The patchouli isn’t the only one to change, however. The lavender starts to turn sweeter; it feels creamy, fluffy, and a little like lavender ice-cream.

“Caramel Kaleidoscope” by Toni Jackson on Fineartamerica.com

Near the close of the first hour, I’ve become convinced that Cuir Tabac’s list of notes is incomplete. The fragrance’s undertones are smoky at times, nutty at other times, and always resinous in feel. There is an increasingly vanillic aspect to the foundation, as if Siam Benzoin and/or Tonka Bean were used to add that creamy sweetness. It becomes more prominent as time goes on, especially once the lavender recedes in strength around the 50-minute mark. Cuir Tabac is now a lovely, multi-faced patchouli fragrance with nutty, creamy, sweet, musky, dark, and vanillic touches, followed by touches of lavender and the faintest hint of fresh cigars. Unfortunately, the base continues to have that synthetic note that feels as sharp as broken glass. I tested Cuir Tabac twice, just to be sure, and the aromachemical was there each time in differing degrees of prominence. At this point, I’m chalking it up to either an amber and/or musk synthetic accord.

I still don’t smell any dominant, hardcore leather, per se, but there is a growing impression of its feel flittering about the edges. At first, there was the subtle, muted whiff of something resembling new car seats in an extremely expensive vehicle, but the smell soon gave way to an impression of an old, comfy, sweetened leather, armchair.

St. James Hotel’s Library Bar, Paris.
Source: Oyster.com

Honestly, I think it’s probably the power of suggestion due to the fragrance’s overall feel. Cuir Tabac has definitely started to evoke the reading room and library in an old Mayfair gentlemen’s club with its wall of books, its comfy, well-worn, dark leather armchairs, and a warm fire. There is a butler passing around cognac snifters, accompanied by the finest Belgian chocolates, and a humidor of the most expensive Monte-Cristo cigars from Havana. For those who don’t feel like drinking, there is creamy café au lait, dusted by white cocoa powder and toasted nuts. And, somewhere in the background, someone is burning a tiny, itsy-bitsy bit of black incense.

It’s all very lovely, but, alas, it’s also an increasingly soft scent. With the exception of that sharp synthetic accord, the rest of Cuir Tabac starts to feel like a very well-blended blur. Less than 75-minutes in, the notes lose a lot of their edges and shape, and the sillage drops. Cuir Tabac is a warm, slightly nebulous glow of patchouli that is creamy, sweet, a little bit smoky, slightly leathered, very nutty, and just barely infused with lavender atop a musky, ambered base. The tobacco pops up once in a while to make itself noticeable, but it generally hovers at the periphery. The “leather” impression is similarly muted. Everything feels so swirled into the patchouli that it’s really hard to pull the other notes from the cloud which hovers an inch or two above my skin.

“Coffee and cream” Art Print by Shalisa Photography/ Sharon Lisa Clarke on FineartAmerica.com

As time passes, Cuir Tabac continues to change. At first, it’s turns into a creamy café au lait with patchouli fragrance that has a subtle whiff of lavender, synthetics, and tobacco. Then, at the start of the third hour, the tobacco returns to the fold and starts to tango with the patchouli. Now, it’s no longer uncut Cuban cigars, but sweetened pipe tobacco infused with patchouli. The latter is still simultaneously creamy and dark, but all the subtle leathered, nutty, and incense undertones have vanished.

The fragrance sits right on the skin, and feels increasingly thin, gauzy, and discreet. It’s frustrating trying to pull the notes out of the air, especially as some of them keep coming and going like ghosts. Just like the tobacco did earlier, it’s now the vanilla’s turn to play hide and go seek. The same story applies to the creamy and milky café au lait tonality. Clearly, the fragrance is very well-blended and reflects different facets on different occasions, but I wish it had more body, depth, and structure. Both times I wore it, the results were slightly different in terms of the small details, as well as in the order and prominence of all the notes except for the patchouli, but the nebulous feel of the fragrance was the same.

Source: de.123rf.com

About 4 hours in Cuir Tabac’s development, the fragrance settles down for its final stage. It is now a creamy, vanilla patchouli fragrance with subtle whiffs of sweetened, unlit pipe tobacco, along with the tiniest speck of smoke and musk. It is also now a complete skin scent, as sheer as gauze. Cuir Tabac remains unchanged until its final moments, a little under 11 hours from its start.

In some ways, it seems that Cuir Tabac dissolves in on itself, but you can also argue that it’s meant to be a soft glow that discreetly envelops you before it turns into something more personal. The latter interpretation seems to be supported by David Jourquin’s somewhat abstract attempts at philosophical, poetic stylings on his website, both in the section about him and the one devoted to his philosophy. The references to dark shyness, “a secret wake like a promise,” and “firm determination enveloped in infinite softness and warmth” seem to be as much about his fragrances as they are about him. Then, too, there is the part about how “[h]e is like his fragrance, sensitive, secret, calm and yet bubbling over, motivated by an intense passion.”

So, if Cuir Tabac is intentionally meant to be this secret, quiet, shy whisper of softness and warmth, then I can hardly criticize the perfumer for achieving his goal. I know a number of people who prefer wispy, gauzy, soft scents that remain close to the skin and are just a private message to themselves. If they like dark patchouli, then Cuir Tabac is tailor-made for them. However, even they might not think the perfume was worth it for the price and accessibility issue. Cuir Tabac is an eau de parfum that costs $235 or €168 for a 100 ml/ 3.4 oz bottle, and has only limited distribution. In the U.S., only Luckyscent carries it. I couldn’t find any vendors in Canada, the U.K., Oceania, and vast swathes of Europe, though it is carried by Germany’s First in Fragrance, and there are plenty of vendors in France and Russia. My point is, would someone want to risk a wispy, unobtrusive blur of a scent that is quite expensive and, for many perfumistas in different parts of the world, not easy to test out first?

Judging by the handful of reviews for Cuir Tabac on Fragrantica, the answer would be “no.” In fact, almost all the reviews say the same thing: that the fragrance is too discreet, “puny,” and sheer for the price tag. To wit:

God bless the individual that’s willing to spend hundreds of dollars on this fragrance. The problem with Cuir Tabac isn’t the scent. The bigger issue is that you’re gonna be playing the olfactory version of “Where’s Waldo”. This is more like a thin scent rather than a skin scent. The tobacco smells like a walk-on instead of the star in this concoction. The rest of the notes are puny and shows no interest in fighting back the tyranny of fleetingness. Definitely not a fragrance built for the playoffs.

Starts out with almost only dry strong patchouli and a hint of pipe tobacco, soon to transform into more like the smell of a warm – unlit – cigarette and a more subtle spicy note. [¶] Two hours later what’s left is a discrete patchouli note and a warm very present, yet not aggressive, amber-like touch. [¶] Beautiful scent but less isn’t always more and maybe this one would’ve been better off with more potency.

For the first hour, you get hints of sweet pipe tobacco, quickly overshadowed by a medicinal tone (probably the mix of lavender & patchouli). I typically enjoy both lav & patch, but something is awry with this particular mix. After the lav & patch fade, you get the sweet pipe tobacco that I remember my grand uncle (mother’s uncle) smoking, for hours to come. Is this stuff good? In a word, yes. Do I wanna smell like my 70+ year-old uncle? No. And I really don’t wanna pay $235 USD to 🙂

Where’s Waldo, via The Telegraph.

The “Where’s Waldo?” comment is brilliant, and my hat is off to “Roge” who used it! I think the reference definitely applies not because of the scent itself, on my skin at least, but because of how many of its notes just vanish like a ghost, only to occasionally reappear later, or how hard they are to pull out of the nebulous patchouli cloud. Lord knows, if one expects a true leather fragrance, Cuir Tabac will be “Where’s Waldo” indeed! If you will note, not a single one of those comments (or the remaining few on Fragrantica) mentions leather at all. Odd for a purported “Cuir” fragrance, wouldn’t you say? I’m relieved that it’s not just me. As for the tobacco, judging by those comments, it seems to have played hide-and-go seek with a few other people as well, since the reports are quite split on its prominence.

One thing that needs some elaboration, however, is the issue of Cuir Tabac’s longevity. The thin, unobtrusive nature of the scent and its low sillage clearly was a problem for two of the commentators quoted up above. However, if you look at the votes on Fragrantica, the majority voted for “very long lasting” (12+ hrs), followed by “long lasting” (7-12 hrs) in second place. In short, don’t let the fragrance’s wispy nature and weak sillage fool you.

An unrelated topic brought up by Fragrantica is the issue of similar scents. One commentator found absolutely no difference between Cuir Tabac and its sibling for the day, Cuir Mandarine. Another thought Cuir Tabac was too similar to the more affordable Thierry Mugler fragrance, A* Men Pure Havane. I haven’t tried the latter, but I’ve read that it’s a very honey-dominated fragrance, not a patchouli one. Still, if the similarities are true, then it makes Cuir Tabac seem even more pricy.

Ultimately, I think that Cuir Tabac is a very mixed bag. The creamy bits are lovely, as is the café au lait undertone that sometimes vaguely mimics a similar nuance in Chanel‘s Coromandel, and I always enjoy dark patchouli, even when mixed with lavender. Unfortunately, I had enough problems with the scent that, at that price range, I would far prefer to get Profumum’s glorious, smoky Patchouly soliflore with its incredible concentration, baroque richness, salty ambergris, and lack of razor-sharp synthetics. Still, if money is no object, if you prefer your patchouli to be gauzy, lightweight, and discreet, and if you also enjoy lavender, but don’t like leather or dominant tobacco notes, then Cuir Tabac may be for you. It’s an extremely narrow category of perfumista, but I’m sure you’re out there!

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: Cuir Tabac is an eau de parfum that is available only in a 100 ml bottle and which costs $235 or €168. David Jourquin: you can purchase Cuir Tabac directly from David Jourquin for €168. Samples are also available for €3,50. In the U.S.: Cuir Tabac is sold at Luckyscent, along with a sample. Luckyscent seems to be the only U.S. distributor or vendor for the Jourquin line. Outside the U.S.: I can’t find Canadian or UK vendors for David Jourquin. In France, there seem to be many, especially in Paris. There, Cuir Tabac is sold at Jovoy, the Ritz hotel, and The Different Company, among others. Germany’s First in Fragrance also sells the perfume and ships worldwide. In Belgium, David Jourquin is apparently carried at Brussel’s Absolut’ly, but I can’t find the line on the store’s website. For all other locations, you can turn to the David Jourquin Store Locator which lists vendors from Russia and Saudi Arabia to Spain and the Ukraine. As a side note, the brand has a lot of vendors in France and Russia, but it seems to have a very limited European presence and even less so elsewhere. Your best bet may be with companies like Luckyscent, Jovoy, or First in Fragrance who ship worldwide. Samples: I obtained my sample from Surrender to Chance which sells Cuir Tabac starting at $3.59 for a 1/2 ml vial. You can also order a sample from Luckyscent.