Loree Rodkin Gothic I Eau de Parfum: Cozy Comfort

Posted on January 6, 2014 by Kafkaesque

Source: lewallpaper.com

Winter’s cold temperatures tend to bring out my appreciation for cozy scents. It is perhaps my second favorite category in general, after Orientals, but even more so in the dark gloom of December and January. There is something instinctive and biological about the tendency to hibernate that emerges in the cold, winter months, but I have a yearlong habit of curling up with simple, cozy scents at night. After a long day, there is nothing I love more than to toss on some comfortable clothing after a hot shower, put on perfume, and chill in front of the television. At those times, I reach for something that I will enjoy on an instinctive level, a scent that doesn’t require focus on all its details, but something simple, warm, soothing, and luxuriously deep.

Gothic I EDP original bottle on Luckyscent.

I think Gothic I definitely qualifies. It is an eau de parfum from the jewellery designer, Loree Rodkin, and I spent more than a few nights last month and in the recent freezing days enjoying its rich warmth. It’s all thanks to one of my readers, “CC,” who wrote to me during my patchouli series to inquire if I had ever tried Gothic I (as in the number “1”), and who generously insisted on sending me a small decant. She thought I might be interested because Gothic I (which I’ll just simply call “Gothic“) has two kinds of patchouli in it, though it also has vanilla.

It turns out that, on my skin, Gothic is almost entirely a vanilla scent, but it’s a lovely one! Vanilla is not a category of fragrances that I generally seek out, and I most definitely avoid gourmands for my own, personal use. Yet, deep down, but I have a huge appreciation for a certain kind of vanilla: the rich, Madagascar, Bourbon extract type that feels simultaneously deep, heavy, dark, and somewhat dry. That’s essentially the broad profile of Gothic, which also has the benefit of strongly resembling Profumum Roma‘s much more expensive Dulcis in Fundo, but with a touch of patchouli.

Gothic was released in 2013 as the eau de parfum version of Ms. Rodkin’s earlier oils, and is considered the signature fragrance of her line. Its notes are as simple as the fragrance itself, which Luckyscent describes (with an inexplicable touch of the romance novel, in my opinion) as follows:

A moody vanilla shrouded in a mist of light woods and patchouli. Sensuous and unrepentant. We picture long hair whipping in the wind, a search by candlelight and a man driven half mad by love. Still, for all of its gorgeous drama, we could wear this everyday. It has the luxuriant skin-caressing softness of a vintage silk velvet cape. Worn over nothing. Voluptuous and mesmerizing.

Notes: Vanilla pod, Madagascar vanilla, spice accord, Tunisian patchouli and Indian patchouli.

Picture of vanillin crystalizing out to surface of Bourbon vanilla beans. Source: amadeusvanillabeans.com

Picture of vanillin crystallizing out onto the surface of Bourbon vanilla beans. Source: amadeusvanillabeans.com

Gothic is far from “moody,” in my opinion, and definitely doesn’t evoke any man driven half mad with love, but it’s definitely a voluptuous, luxurious scent. It opens on my skin with the richest, most buttery vanilla imaginable, as thick as if pots of butter and custard had been poured into it. Seconds later, it is infused by a momentary boozy sweetness, then a breath of warm patchouli. There is the merest hint of abstract spices dancing all around, perhaps a dash of cinnamon, with the tiniest pinch of nutmeg, and something woody. As a whole, though, Gothic is 3-parts Bourbon vanilla extract, and one-part patchouli. Perhaps a more accurate set of numbers would be 80% vanilla, and 20% patchouli, at least for the opening 30 minutes.

Source: biofarmacia.ro

Gothic is extremely concentrated and dense in feel, but the sillage isn’t nuclear. It envelops you in a deep cloud about 3-4 inches above the skin at first. The smell is utterly delicious, but it is initially much drier and much less sweet than its very close relative, the Dulcis in Fundo. It lacks the waffle cones and caramelized sugar aspect of the Profumum fragrance, and somehow seems fractionally less gourmand in nature.

Ten minutes in, the perfume shifts a little. There is an odd, utterly unexpected touch of flour that creeps in. I have the strangest image of Gothic as a really rich, but dry, baked vanilla cake, dusted with patchouli, and with the faintest remnants of flour left in the buttered tin. Vanilla, patchouli, flour, and butter… none of it seems remotely “gothic” in nature, but the fragrance is also not as unctuous as those notes may suggest. There is nothing gooey or saccharine-like in the sweetness, nothing that makes me feel queasy by excess. One’s perceptions of “cloying” may depend on definition and on one’s personal yardstick, but, to me, Gothic isn’t cloying despite its richness because of the undercurrents of dry woodiness and spice created by the other elements. In any event, the flour, butter, patchouli and spice all retreat to the sidelines, less than 30 minutes into Gothic’s development.

Source: footage.shutterstock.com

They continue to impart a slight, indirect touch on the fragrance which is now almost entirely rich vanilla. And, there, Gothic remains until its very end. To my surprise, at the end of the 2nd hour, hints of caramelization and waffle cones creep in. They turn the perfume into a virtual clone of Dulcis in Fundo, only Gothic has that muted, muffled whisper of patchouli floating in the background. The incredibly smooth, rich, dense vanilla lies right on the skin, though it’s very strong when smelled up close. Once in a while, a delicious trail of richness in the air would catch me by surprise, and I’d realise it was a tendril of Gothic that had followed me. Generally, Gothic turns into a true skin scent somewhere between 5.5 and 6.5 hours, depending on the quantity you apply. With 3 medium-to-good sized sprays from the little atomizer, the perfume lasted almost 15 hours on my perfume consuming skin. With a lesser amount, it lasted around 12.5 hours.

Gothic I EDP in the new, vertical bottle.

Nothing about Gothic’s scent is complicated, but sometimes simplicity has its own charms. I think that’s especially true if you’re looking for a comfort scent to curl up with on a cold winter day. The only complication that tripped me up in terms of the perfume was figuring out the bottles, prices, and various options. I was used to seeing the square bottle offered by Luckyscent for $140, and the first time I looked at Loree Rodkin’s site back in December, that was also what was shown. This week, however, the perfume appears on her website in a tall, narrow bottle shape which threw me off because Ms. Rodkin confusingly offers an identical looking thing that is labelled as a “room spray.” The perfume I tested was the 50 ml Eau de Parfum, but the “Ambiance” room spray is an large 4 oz bottle described as Eau de Cologne (for the room??) and priced significantly lower at $75. (It’s $25 less on Amazon, via Loree Rodkin herself.) Either way, the Eau de Parfum seems to have changed in its bottle shape to look extremely close to that of the “Room Spray,” so if you’re looking into the fragrance make sure you get the right version.

The Gothic I Ambiance “Room Spray” bottle. Source: Amazon.

Then, there was the question of price. Gothic I is priced at $140 on Luckyscent, but numerous comments there talk about $250 a bottle. Obviously, the prices have dropped substantially, which is pretty unusual in the perfume world where things only go up and up. The pricing makes me even more intrigued by the Ambiance room spray. It can hardly be air freshener, and I assume that it is mere eau de cologne in strength, but $49.99 on Amazon for a huge 120 ml/4 oz (versus $150 for a 50 ml bottle of eau de parfum) seems like an excellent deal, even if one is getting the anorexic, Diet version.

Gothic I EDP original bottle shown on Fragrantica and Luckyscent.

Still, the best part of Gothic really is its enormous richness and depth. There is a great description of it on Fragrantica:

when I got my nose on this patchouli / vanilla bomb (sample from Luckyscent) I felt the earth move.

The vanilla here is not sickly, rather it is dark and seductive. The patchouli has been stripped of its crusty afghan coat and been given a good scrub up. It’s a delicious combination that purrs gently on the skin, but projects like a monster and lasts all day. It borders on gourmand but thankfully (I sold my Musc Ravageur as I didn’t want to smell like a cinnamon bun) stays out of the kitchen. If you find Serge Luten’s Un Bois Vanilla and its ilk just too sweet, this might be the one for you.

That review is from a man, and the only other review comes from a woman who had a very different experience:

I wish I could wax rhapsodic about this one, but its medicinal pungency overwhelms any vanilla tendencies. While retaining its earthiness, this is a less dank and more fresh and minty patchouli. The spices add to the medicinal quality that reminds me of old, plastic-y Band-Aid strips. I think this one might be too bright and sweet for those lovers of dark, brooding fragrances, but too earthy for those looking to graduate from cupcake vanilla scents.

I’m rather amazed by what skin chemistry can do. Clearly, she’s experiencing real, hardcore, genuine patchouli to a huge (and very green) degree, and she’s obviously not a fan. I am, but I experienced almost none of it in Gothic. It may have started at 20%, at best, but it quickly became a mere 5% on my skin, if even that.

I actually have to wonder if the commentator did not leave her review in the wrong place, because it sounds to me as though she’s really describing Gothic II. It is a scent which I’m now dying to try, and which seeks to really showcase the element in a strong, fierce way with notes that include:

cloves, incense, sandalwood, frangipani, indian patchouli, Tunisian patchouli, and madagascar vanilla.

The more typical descriptions of Gothic (#1) talk about how the scent is dominated by vanilla. Consider this review on Australian Perfume Junkies, where the guest blogger, “Kymme CV,” writes:

Gothic I opens with an enormous sweet vanilla slap in the face, just like a vanilla custard-pie but more! This ‘vanilla’ is an exotic, deep, rich and velvety vanilla. But it’s really not that simple a fragrance. There’s a real depth to the Madagascan vanilla that comes alive once the spice starts to come through. Now we’ve got nutmeg on our vanilla pudding! The spice accords mixed with the vanilla give the fragrance a dramatic nuance.

When I first wore Gothic I hours passed before I started sensing the patchouli notes coming through. However, each time my body temperature rose a little the patchouli blend came storming through. At first I didn’t even realise it was me that I could smell! As soon as my body cooled again, back came the vanillas.

Skin chemistry is obviously responsible for how much patchouli you experience, and the posts on MakeupAlley seem to support that view. There, the assessments for Gothic are mixed, primarily because of the price of the Gothic oil, but also because of the degree of patchouli. Apparently, not everyone shares my love of actual, original true patchouli. I’m crushed…. Facetiousness and joking aside, here is a glimpse of the range of perspectives:

I adore complex scents – especially woods, incense, spice, but sometimes I simply crave something sweet…like wanting a fudge brownie on occasion, but not daily. This is one of my fragrance equivalents to a fudge brownie. It’s an incredibly sultry, rich, sweet vanilla intensified with patchouli and woods. It layers gorgeously with other fragrances, softening all sharp edges. It’s in the same vein as Des Filles a la Vanille’s Vanille, but much longer lasting and deeper.

I adore this fragrance. It’s the nicest patchouli fragrance I ever smelled. I am also a big fan of Les Nereides Patchouli Antique. I love Gothic I more.

While this one is pretty expensive, it’s also a lovely, warm, rich, Oriental vanilla with incredible lasting power. A dab on the back of a wrist lasts me well past 7 hours and then some. Sometimes a strong patchouli gives me difficulty, but this one is blended beautifully and gives the fragrance just enough backbone without being over-powering. Mostly I smell a sweet vanilla with amber/patchouli undertones and a good dose of sweet wood and benzoin. Heavenly!

A pleasant patchouli/vanilla oil that smells somewhat “chocolaty” and is unpleasantly overpriced and over-hyped about. Voleur de Roses smells patchy and gothic, this smells like a sweet girly girl with ponytails and a bar of chocolate candy in her hand –and NOT Gothic.

All those reviews date from 2005-2007, and the reference to an “oil” makes it clear that they are not talking about Gothic I Eau de Parfum at all, but the very expensive oil which predates it by about 8 years. For all I know, it may be quite different in smell, and with more patchouli essence.

I agree with them that the oil seems very over-priced at $110 for 7 ml, but the new 2013 eau de parfum might be worth it for those who love extremely rich vanillas with a dash of dry patchouli woodiness, and a microscopic sliver of spices. It’s $140 for 50 ml, and a little goes a long way. The Profumum may be cheaper per milliliter at $240 for 100 ml, but they’re both excellent fragrances. I personally like the Rodkin version more than the Profumum, because some patchouli is always preferable to none. Plus, Gothic is much less gourmand — relative as that may be for a fragrance devoted to the richest vanilla imaginable. It’s a dry, almost woody vanilla, not an unctuous, gooey one that drips sugar. And it’s fantastic on a cold winter’s night or as a bedtime scent.

I’ve always said that I have the best and kindest readers around, but “CC” went out of her way to seek me out with her generous offer. All because she knew of my passion for patchouli! Thanks to her, I’m definitely tempted to buy a bottle of Gothic, but the only thing stopping me is the possibility of a version that may have three times the patchouli, along with incense and spice. Unfortunately, Gothic II is not offered at Surrender to Chance, but I am on the hunt, and quite determined now. In the meantime, I shall treasure my little decant of Gothic I, and the sign of friendship that went along with it.

As for all of you, if you love rich, woody vanillas, and have some tolerance for real patchouli, do try Gothic I. Don’t expect a patchouli scent, or you’ll be sorely disappointed. In terms of vanilla fragrances, though, this is a lovely one.

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: Gothic I is an eau de parfum that comes in a 50 ml bottle that costs $137 or $140. The fragrance is also available as a perfume oil in a 7 ml roll-on bottle, as well as a room fragrance called Ambiance Eau de Cologne in a 4 oz/118 ml bottle. Loree Rodkin website: Loree Rodkin sells Gothic I EDP in a tall 50 ml bottle for $137. She sells the Ambiance Eau de Cologne — which she describes as a “room spray” — for $75 for a 4 oz bottle. However, the Loree Rodkin Amazon page sells that same fragrance (which it says originally retails for $175) for $49.99. For readers in Japan, there is also a Rodkin Japan website. Other vendors: Luckyscent also sells Gothic I EDP in the original square box for $140, along with the 7 ml concentrated Gothic oil for $110. You can also buy it from Net-a-Porter. Outside the U.S.: I’ve had difficulty finding Gothic I sold at any stores outside the U.S., even though Loree Rodkin’s stuff is carried in a number of countries, from the UK to Switzerland, Greece, Austria, Taiwan, the UAE, and others. From what I’ve seen of the UK and French sites, they don’t carry her fragrances, only her jewellery. You can find the full list at her Locations page. Samples: Luckyscent sells samples, as does Surrender to Chance which offers Gothic I EDP starting at $7.99 for a 1 ml vial.

État Libre d’Orange Nombril Immense: Baby Soft Patchouli

Posted on January 5, 2014 by Kafkaesque

Source: 123rf.com

“Baby-soft creaminess” might be one way to sum up Nombril Immense from État Libre d’Orange (hereinafter just “État Libre“). In French, “Nombril” means belly button, so the perfume’s name translates to “Immense Belly Button,” or “Enormous Navel.” It’s a name wholly in keeping with the whimsical, playfully avant-garde, often satirical, always provocative style of the French perfume house. I’ve frequently found that their attempts to shock or titillate don’t match up to the actual scent in question, and Nombril Immense is no exception.

Source: Lenoma.ru

Nombril Immense is a unisex, patchouli eau de parfum that was created by Nathalie Feisthauer, and released in 2006. État Libre describes the scent and its notes as follows:

With ‘Nombril Immense’, the accent is on the exceptional quality of the patchouli. Exotic and precious, this fragrant wood from India literally captivates. ‘Nombril Immense’ is an invitation to introspection, to discover new emotions and open the mind to a new spirituality. Patchouli is a sacred wood in Hindu temples; it inspires meditation and leads the way to the shedding of one’s mortal coil in the effort to access timelessness. ‘Nombril Immense’ is an authentic piece of nirvana and it smells like bliss.

Composition: Patchouli, balm of Peru, vetiver, black pepper absolute, opoponax [Sweet Myrrh], bergamot, seed of carrot, kernels of ambrette absolute…

Source: howbenefitstea.com

Nombril Immense opens on my skin with crisp, fresh bergamot and patchouli, followed by a gentle dose of sweet, nutty myrrh, all ensconced in a creamy, warm, slightly musky embrace. It’s very smooth, and is an extremely close copy of the drydown in Guerlain‘s L’Instant de Guerlain Pour Homme (which is a wholly unisex fragrance no matter what its name may say). Both fragrances have the same lemony, patchouli, creamy Chai tea accord, though Nombril Immense’s thinness and lightness renders it closer to L’Instant eau de toilette (or LIDG) than to L’Instant Eau Extreme (LIDGE).

Source: Obsessivision Etsy Store. (Website link embedded within photo.)

Nombril Immense feels extremely sheer, gauzy, and weak. This is no dense, chewy, molten patchouli with dark smoke, serious spiciness, leathered or toffee’d nuances. There is no cognac booziness, no earthiness, and no intensity either. A hardcore patchouli lover like myself might uncharitably call it an anorexic, socially tamed, submissive, and demure patchouli that is more suitable for a dainty tea on the Upper East Side. It certainly isn’t the rollicking, boozy patchouli of Jovoy‘s Psychedelique or Oriza‘s Horizon. However, I’m sure that those who despise actual patchouli would find Nombril Immense to be an extremely refined take on the note, and they wouldn’t be wrong. This is a baby-soft patchouli whose true, defining characteristics have been stripped out and replaced by creaminess. So much creaminess that, later on, the fragrance almost verges on the milky with the feel of a baby’s lightly musky sweetness.

Ten minutes in, new notes emerge on the scene, albeit in the most muted, muffled form imaginable. There are microscopic hints of toasted nuts, stemming in part from the sweet myrrh and the peru balsam, along with a stronger element of something vegetal that vaguely resembles carrots once in a while. The light touch of citrus remains, but there is no black pepper, vetiver, or spice. As a whole, the main bouquet is of creamy, milky patchouli with a touch of lemon in a bed of musky sweetness.

That’s really it for Nombril Immense. The perfume never veers from its core essence in any dramatic way, and the only substantial change is in sillage. Nombril Immense seemed to evaporate off my skin almost within minutes, with the weakest sillage imaginable after a mere 20 minutes. It feels like a baby scent, not only in terms of its cloud-like softness and milkiness, but also in terms of that sweet muskiness that hovers all around. Something about it really calls to mind a baby for me.

Source: vimeo.com

Less than 90 minutes in, Nombril Immense is a skin scent, and I felt sure it had vanished an hour later. To my surprise, however, extremely intense sniffs with my nose plastered right on the skin turned up a tenacious smear of scent. I essentially spent the next few hours looking like a crazed bloodhound as I attacked my arm to detect it, and I was consistently taken aback to find Nombril Immense was still there, chugging away as a wisp of milky patchouli with weirdly vegetal, warm muskiness. All in all, Nombril Immense lasted just a hair over 7 hours on my skin with 4 gigantic smears, but only 4.25 hours with a more normal application.

On Fragrantica, others report similar trouble with Nombril Immense’s sillage and longevity, but a few people really adored the fragrance. Let’s start with the numbers:

The votes for Sillage are: 11 for Soft (no skin trail at all); 6 for Moderate; 1 for Heavy; and 1 for Enormous.
The votes for how long Nombril Immense lasts on the skin break down to: 3 for Poor (30 min-1 hr); 5 for Weak (1-2 hrs); 3 for Moderate (3-6 hrs); and 5 for Long-Lasting (7-12 hrs).

I think the absolutely terrible sillage is partially responsible for some people thinking Nombril Immense has only 30 minutes to 2 hours of longevity. It takes a hell of a lot of work to detect it after the 2nd hour. Is it worth it? Not in my opinion.

Yet, a number of people on Fragrantica seem to really like Nombril Immense. Amidst all the talk about its total lack of sillage, a few people found the fragrance to be “soft, feminine and very comfortable,” or a “[v]ery sexy, decadent patchouli[.]” One person wrote that Nombril Immense was “patchouli, patchouli, and more patchouli,” which is correct as there really isn’t much to the scent besides that one core note. Another found Nombril Immense to be the essence of innocence:

so unique, simply innocence. A baby. That’s what I have in mind. It just so motherly to me and it reminds me a lot of my childhood, I smell like this!! LOL. A bit of baby talcum powder and a hint of sun and sweat from playing outside for 5 hours and power nap time. LOL. I love this smell, I’m wearing it mostly night time though.

Source: funylool.com

Others weren’t so excited. One commentator thought that Nombril Immense was pleasant, but had “that Etat drydown that IMO a number of their scents have that doesn’t thrill me – something too powdery about it (and ‘dirty’ at the same time).” A few others mentioned experiencing a baby powder note in the drydown as well. For one man, Nombril Immense took refined patchouli too far: “While some softness in a patchouli frag is appreciated by those of us who don’t want to smell like we slept in the woods for a few days, I do want some earthly edge.” In the eyes of one female commentator, Nombril Immense was a “more expensive version of Jessica Simpson‘s ‘Fancy Nights‘,” which hardly seems to be a positive endorsement.

I think how people react to Nombril Immense will depend largely on how much they love or hate hardcore patchouli. I find it hard to imagine that a true patch head will actually approve of Nombril Immense, though they may like it as a creamy, woody musk. In contrast, those who associate patchouli with dirty, sweaty, earthy hippies reeking of a head-shop aroma will probably think Etat Libre has created the best version ever. In my opinion, the average person nowadays doesn’t actually like patchouli in its true, original form, so this sort of denuded, de-fanged, baby patchouli is a much more approachable construct. However, that softness might also make the scent a little feminine in some men’s eyes, as it lacks any sort of edge.

At the end of the day, Nombril Immense is an affordable scent that’s pleasant, but has a lot of flaws. If you’re looking for a more complex version of creamy patchouli Chai Tea, I’d suggest the Guerlain L’Instant Pour Homme in eau de toilette. It has a light floral (jasmine) component which makes it wholly unisex; it’s an equally refined, creamy patchouli with discreet sillage; and you can find it for much less than Nombril Immense. If you want a more intense, serious, spicy, smoky version, then there is the superior L’Instant Eau Extreme eau de parfum version (which is also covered in that same Guerlain review). On the other hand, if you’re looking for something creamy and feminine, with a baby sweetness, milkiness, and softness, then Nombril Immense might be your comforting cup of tea.

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: Nombril Immense is an eau de parfum that only comes in a 1.7 ml/50 ml size and is priced at $80, €69, or £59.50. In the U.S.: Nombril Immense can be purchased from LuckyScent for $80 for a 50 ml/1.7 oz bottle, with samples for $3. It is also available from The Twisted Lily, and from MinNY. Outside the U.S.: You can purchase Nombril Immense directly from Etat Libre’s website where it costs €69.00, with samples available for €3.00. (There is also a Discovery Set or Coffret of 18 Etat Libre fragrances, all in 1.5 ml vials, sold for €39. However, Nombril Immense is not included.) The perfume is also available from Etat Libre’s London store at 61 Redchurch Street, as well as from its Paris one located at 69, rue des Archives, 75004. Elsewhere in the UK, I found Nombril Immense at London’s Les Senteurs for £59.50, with samples also available for purchase. In Germany, the perfume is available at First in Fragrance for €69. The site ships worldwide. In the Netherlands, I found Nombril Immense at ParfuMaria for €64. In Italy, it’s available at ScentBar, and in Russia, I think it’s sold at iPerfume, but I can’t read Cyrillic to see if it’s available for online purchase. For all other locations or vendors from Canada to the Lithuania and Sweden, you can use the Store Locator listing on the company’s website. Samples: you can order a sample of Nombril Immense from Surrender to Chance where prices start at $4.75 for a 1 ml vial. Samples are also available at a number of the vendors listed above.

Jovoy Paris Psychédélique: A Fantastic Trip

Posted on December 29, 2013 by Kafkaesque

Source: standout-fireplace-designs.com

A man in a library before a crackling fire, sipping cognac on a leather sofa, as the air around him swirls with a phantasmagoric stream of colours. Burnt umber, raw ocher, dusty terracotta, dark tobacco, golden caramel, nutty toffee, and a touch of blackened green. There are hints of spice and smoke in the air, along with a musky earthiness, but it is a scene of endless warmth, coziness, and richness.

Then, as if a magician waved his hand, the swirling coloured mists dissolve, and the scene changes. The man has been transported outdoors to a land filled with dark, mentholated greens, touched by earthy browns, and a hint of reddened dust. It’s muddy at times, and a muted chanting sound in the background momentarily conjures up the Summer of Love in 1968. It’s only a brief trip, though, and soon, he finds himself in his bed, surrounded by the finest, gauzy, silky sheets made of soft red, ambered caramel gold, and creamy vanilla. Did it actually happen, or was it a trip most Psychédélique?

Source: Bloom Perfumery.

Psychédélique is a fragrance from Jovoy Paris, an utterly glorious patchouli scent in all its best, truest, spicy-sweet-smoky red-brown incarnations. The fragrance (which I shall spell here on out without the warranted accents, for ease and speed) is really close to my ideal patchouli, though it doesn’t have the best projection after its opening stage. But what an opening it is!

Psychedelique is an eau de parfum, created by Jacques Flori of Robertet and released in 2011. Jovoy’s owner and creative director, Francois Hénin, describes the scent and its notes as follows:

“Psychedelic: my great patchouli fragrance, dark and smoky, ambered, generous and opulent… Even the rain and mud of Woodstock won’t wash it away.”

Head notes: fresh hesperidium [citrus]

Heart notes: floral rose, geranium, ambered, woody (patchouli, cistus, gum cistus)

Base notes: vanilla, musk

Psychedelique with its box. Source: Roullier White.

Luckyscent has rather a wonderful description of Psychedelique:

Psychédélique, Jovoy’s magnificent ambered patchouli, largely stays in the shadows, meditating on the synergies between a cocoa-like amber and an inky-dark patchouli, although rose and geranium offer a touch of freshness to its earthy sexiness.

The synaesthete might say that on the olfactory color wheel, patchouli resides somewhere between black and chocolate brown, with a bit of iridescent chartreuse green shimmering in between. Camphory, inky, aromatic, and even darkly refreshing, the elegant patchouli in Psychédélique […] is like an olfactory Mark Rothko painting that explores the gradations between dark colors — in this case, patchouli, amber, and musk.

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

Luckyscent finds the name unfortunate, as do I, because it tends to create the impression that Psychedelique is a dirty, filthy, head-shop, incense-y fragrance best suited to hippies. It’s not. It’s extremely refined, elegant and well-done. For me, the image which came to mind again and again was primarily that of a traditional men’s club or a rich library, filled with dark, studded, stuffed Chesterfield leather sofas, a crackling fire, aged cognac, a hint of smoke in the air, and a plate of caramels. Yes, there is a mentholated, camphorous stage redolent of green patchouli, but it’s not significant on my skin, and really far from the core essence of the fragrance. In fact, most of the time, the green undertone translates as wonderful peppermint.

Source: porjati.ru

Psychedelique opens on my skin with strong labdanum amber and patchouli, infused by a huge amount of boozy cognac. The patchouli has all its true nuances: leathery, spicy, smoky, sweet, dry, woody, and with a hint of something almost resembling tobacco. Psychedelique even carries the faintest whiff of a fruited element that smells like cinnamon-studded oranges. A definite blast of chilly peppermint follows, arm in arm with chewy, dark chocolate. Patchouli’s camphorous, green side lurks underneath, along with a tinge of black, almost “head-shop” like incense, but they’re only the subtlest of suggestions on my skin. Much more significant is the utterly glorious toffee and caramel amber, just lightly flecked by creamy vanilla.

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

It’s a very potent brew in the opening hour, especially when sniffed up close, but Psychedelique has a soft quality about it. It feels a lot denser and more concentrated than it actually is, and is only truly intense within its small 3 inch bubble. To me, the opening has the best aspects of Oriza L. Legrand‘s Horizon and of Reminiscence‘s Elixir de Patchouli, but with none of the latter’s swampy, smoked cedar and sharp vetiver. When smelled from afar, Psychedelique is a beautiful swirl of ambered caramel gold and reddened, spicy patchouli, infused with cognac, toffee, peppermint, dry cocoa, sweetness, and a hint of fruitiness.

Source: urlm.co

Within 5 minutes, Psychedelique starts to morph. At first, there is a dusty, dry earthiness that smells like damp, wet soil. To my regret, it cuts through some of the aged, boozy cognac which I love so much. At the same time, the rich amber in which all the notes are nestled turns slightly musky. There is also an increasing whiff of the salty-sweet aspect of the ambergris, mixed with the labdanum’s nutty, toffee’d caramel aroma. Chocolate and peppermint continue to be laced throughout, and there is the faintest stirrings of vanilla in the base, but there is nary a hint of a citrus, rose or geranium note in Psychedelique, regardless of what the ingredient list may say.

“Green and Maroon,” by Mark Rothko. Source: ArtTribune.com

It takes 25 minutes for Psychedelique’s greener side to become apparent. The fragrance becomes much more mentholated and camphorous; at the same time, the amber’s lovely caramel, vanilla, and toffee tonalities weaken. The boozy cognac retreats almost completely to the sidelines, and eventually vanishes before the hour is over. Psychedelique feels simultaneously softer, sharper, and dirtier. The dusty cocoa powder and chewy chocolate remain, but both are significantly more muted. Psychedelique is now very green-black in visual huge, instead of the red-brown-golds of the opening.

Source: rgbstock.com

I should point out, however, that the degree of greenness in this stage varied depending on the amount of perfume that I applied, and that the note was not a huge part of the scent in a few of my tests. The more Psychedelique you spray, the more the green phase seems to come out around the 30 minute mark. A number of times, the main duo of golden caramel and patchouli remained as the dominant focus alongside with the mentholated, green-black note. In other words, if you don’t spray on a lot of Psychedelique, the greenness doesn’t take over the scent.

In all cases, however, the stage is pretty short-lived, and lasts under an hour or so. Generally, it begins to recede 90 minutes into Psychedelique’s development. At that point, the fragrance begins its slow transformation back to its original stage, minus that wonderful cognac booziness and heavy richness. At the end of the second hour, Psychedelique is a soft, smooth blend of patchouli with amber and sweetness, and only vestigial traces of the greenness lurking to the side. The sillage is low, unfortunately, and Psychedelique hovers an inch above the skin.

Via hdwpapers.com

About 3.5 hours in, Psychedelique is a soft, spiced patchouli sweetened with creamy vanilla, and flecked by nutty, toffee’d labdanum. There are hints of cocoa powder, smokiness, and earthiness, but the whole thing is beautifully balanced. It’s neither too sweet, nor too spicy, smoky, chewy, or earthy. There is almost a dry woodiness to the plant, but Psychedelique never feels truly woody like some of its kin in the genre, many of whom are heavily infused with cedar and/or vetiver.

The whole thing is absolutely lovely, but it’s also a sheer, discrete skin scent — too much so for my personal preference. Unobtrusiveness seems to be the Jovoy style and signature, as all the other fragrances that I’ve tried from the line have been similar. They start with a bang that eventually fades to sheerness in a polite whimper. Here, I feel almost cheated. I’ve been looking for a great patchouli for ages, so to find one with a truly lovely opening and drydown, only to have to sniff my wrist with determination by the 4th hour is incredibly frustrating.

Mark Rothko, Untitled (Violet, Black, Orange, Yellow on White and Red), 1949. Source: The Guggenheim Museum.

On the plus side, however, Psychedelique lasts and lasts. It may take some determined whiffs to detect it at the end, but that end phase frequently lasts over 14 hours on my perfume-consuming skin. No, seriously, it does. The smallest quantity of Psychedelique will yield 12 hours at a minimum, with minuscule traces lasting up to the 14th hour. With a larger amount, the perfume’s longevity is well over-night. Just 3 small sprays from my tiny atomizer sample, amounting to 2 sprays from a regular bottle, made Psychedelique last 19.5 hours on me. I couldn’t believe it. Again, it did take some determined sniffing to detect, with my nose fully on the skin, but Psychedelique was definitely pulsating away in a few quarters on my arm.

In all cases, the drydown was a perfect, slightly spiced patchouli with vanilla and amber. Up until the 9th hour, the golden haze was flecked with a hint of chilly mentholated peppermint and a touch of cocoa powder. In its very final moments, Psychedelique was just a smear of golden sweetness.

On Fragrantica, Psychedelique has very positive reviews. A number of people compare the scent to Reminiscence’s take on the note, and one mentions Montale‘s Patchouli Leaves. On my skin, the Montale was very different and quite gourmand, while both Reminiscence fragrances were significantly woodier in nature. I think a much closer comparison would be to Oriza‘s Horizon, except the Psychedelique has greater heft, depth, and body. It’s also got better projection and longevity, as Horizon was painfully diaphanous on my skin. The Psychedelique feels much chewier as a whole, more ambered. It has more cocoa, and substantially more greenness than Horizon, too. If only it didn’t drop in projection after 2.5 hours!

In terms of helpful commentary, I think the reviews on Luckyscent are more useful than the Fragrantica ones in showing how Psychedelique may turn out on some skins. The two comments there read as follows:

Psychedelique starts out on the sharp, dry end of the patchouli spectrum — not at all unpleasant, and rather similar to L’Artisan’s Patchouli Patch. But an hour later, the sharp notes have dropped back into place and the fragrance becomes warmer, more rounded and much more nuanced. There’s a really nice play between the drier and warmer elements of the fragrance. I totally agree that the name Psychedelique, and its connotations with dirty hippies and cheap patchouli, is rather unfortunate, because this is a sophisticated, very wearable patchouli-based scent.

It’s funny, this one – I have almost a love/hate with it. If you’re patient and can wait for the drydown 30-60 minutes later, you’ll be thrilled. The [Luckyscent] description is as good one, but it takes awhile to get intoxicating. Initial blast is super sharp, but with time, your skin is left with a beautiful woodsy, ambered patchouli. My patience is good though and I bought a FB.

As a side note, a number of people in the blogosphere have been talking lately about Von Eusersdorff‘s Patchouli scent, and I got to try that while at Jovoy too. It was a brief, cursory test in the midst of a lot of other sniffing, so my perceptions may be a little skewed, but I thought Psychedelique was much better. It struck me as richer, deeper, chewier, darker, boozier, and significantly more intense. I remembering telling the manager at the time, “Ah, this is a proper patchouli.”

I’m seriously considering getting a full bottle of Psychedelique, but I keep hesitating. The perfume costs $180 for 100 ml, and the cheap-skate side of me is saying that $180 is quite a lot for what is essentially a patchouli-amber soliflore with sillage issues. At $180 with fantastic projection for the first 5-6 hours, I would have no problem whatsoever. At $140 with soft sillage, I probably would not hesitate, especially as 100 ml gives me the opportunity to reapply frequently. But something about the $180 figure with the sillage gives me pause. There is a cheaper option with a 50 ml bottle, but that seems to be limited to international, EU vendors like London’s Bloom Perfumery and Jovoy itself. Besides, I loved Psychedelique enough to want a full 100 ml.

At the end of the day, however, pricing is a personal determination, so if you are looking for a great, traditional patchouli, you should at least give Psychedelique a sniff. It’s definitely unisex, it’s not at all difficult (especially after the brief, muted 40-minute green stage), and might be appropriate at the office (if you spray it 2 hours before you leave for work). It’s a perfect winter scent, but I have no doubt that true patchouli lovers would enjoy it all year round.

Disclosure: I obtained my sample from Jovoy itself, but it was while I was in the store, browsing as a customer. My sample was not given to me for the purposes of a review. I do not do paid reviews, and my opinions are my own.

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: Psychedelique is an eau de parfum that comes in a 100 ml/3.4 oz bottle that costs $180, €120, or £100. It is available directly from Jovoy Paris which also offers a smaller 1.7 oz/50 ml bottle for €80. Some British vendors also sell Psychedelique in the smaller 50 ml size for £70. In the U.S.: Psychedelique is available at MinNY, Luckyscent, and Aedes. The line is usually carried at NY’s Aaron’s Apothecary but the site had malware on it, so I didn’t risk getting a link. Outside the U.S.: In Canada, Psychedelique is available at The Perfume Shoppe for US $180, but you may want to email them to ask for the CAD price. In the UK, Psychedelique is available in both sizes from Bloom Perfumery, with the smaller 1.7 oz bottle retailing for £70. Samples are also available for purchase. The larger 100 ml size is also sold at Roullier White for £100, with a sample similarly available for purchase. Other retailers include Harvey Nichols and Liberty London. In France, the perfume is obviously available from Jovoy, but you can also buy Jovoy fragrances from Soleil d’Or. In the Netherlands, all the Jovoy line of perfumes are sold at ParfumMaria. In Italy, you can find them at Vittoria Profumi and Sacro Cuoro Profumi for €120. For Germany and the rest of Europe, the entire Jovoy line is available at First in Fragrance in Germany (which also ships worldwide and sells samples), but the price is €5 higher at €125 a bottle. Same story with Germany’s Meinduft, though the latter does offer the smaller bottles at €85. In Croatia, Jovoy is sold at Flores in Zagreb, but their website is currently undergoing construction. In Romania, Jovoy fragrances, including Psychedelique, are available at Createur5. In Russia, Jovoy is sold at iPerfume, and in Greece, the line is available at Rosina Parfumery, though the site doesn’t have an e-store. Samples: I obtained my sample while at Jovoy itself, but a number of the retailers listed above also offer vials of the fragrance for purchase.

Dior Patchouli Imperial (La Collection Privée)

Posted on December 13, 2013 by Kafkaesque

Patchouli Imperial is a crisp, aromatic, desiccated, very woody men’s cologne that is far from the patchouli soliflore that its name would imply. It starts off as a men’s fougère, before turning into a scent with faint ties to Guerlain‘s L’Instant Pour Homme and, to a much lesser extent, Habit Rouge. Eventually, it ends up as a dry woody fragrance with an ambered touch, but little character.

Source: Dior

Patchouli Imperial is part of Dior’s prestige line of fragrances called La Collection Privée. (The line 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 released in 2011, the creation of François Demarchy, the artistic director and nose for Parfums Dior. Dior describes the scent as follows:

Potent and sensual, Patchouli is an essential House of Dior ingredient that took up its place at the beginning of the New Look revolution in 1947.

Full of elegance, François Demachy’s composition, Patchouli Impérial, is a celebration of this legendary oriental ingredient with notes as sultry as they are sophisticated. “Patchouli is a major note, the most animal of all the plant notes. It is refined, revealing unprecedented elegance.”

Dior’s very limited — and I would argue, very incomplete — list of notes only mentions:

Russian Coriander, Indonesian Patchouli, Indian and New Caledonian sandalwood.

Source: Dior

Fragrantica voters add in cedar, Sicilian mandarin, and Calabrian bergamot. I agree with them, but would also include some other things. What I smell is:

Lavender, Bergamot, Lime, Virginia Cedar, Russian Coriander, Indonesian Patchouli, Cocoa, Indian and New Caledonian/Australian sandalwood, and something ambered.

Source: 123rf.com

Patchouli Imperial opens on my skin with cologne and fougère traits of lavender, bitter lime, bitter dried orange peel, bergamot, lemony peppered coriander, and dust. It is followed by a sour wood note that is simultaneously green, unripe, and desiccated. Dustiness infuses everything, especially the coriander which smells old, stale, and sharp. It’s not the dustiness of patchouli, but rather, of a dirt road or a crypt.

The wood note isn’t appealing either, as it is slightly off, almost like rancid “sandalwood.” A few months ago, I received a concentrated Australian sandalwood oil, and it smells extremely close to the aroma in Patchouli Imperial. The oil had an oddly medicinal, mentholated edge which isn’t apparent here, but it had the same “off,” green tonality that eventually turned a bit creamy like sour buttermilk.

Photo: D&M Canon. dmcanon.blogspot.com

The dustiness is quite something. It leaves an itchiness at the back of my throat, but more than that, it creates a staleness around the notes that robs the citric elements of all their brightness and zestiness. It also amplifies the definite herbaceous quality in Patchouli Imperial, especially the lavender which has all the dried, pungent, sharp characteristics that I loathe so much. The overall effect is to a create a fragrance that is as much a dry woody scent as it is an aromatic, fougère cologne.

Source: vfxdude.com

Other notes soon arrive to join the bitter citruses, pungent lavender, sour green woods, and dried tonalities. At first, it is cedar which is equally dry and musty. Then, there is a hint of creamy sweetness that cuts through the stale, bitter, and arid accords, but it is very muted. More noticeable is a sour medicinal element that appears after about five minutes. It is sharp and pungent, but it doesn’t smell like the camphorated, leafy darkness of patchouli. Instead, it has an almost leathered greenness that feels like a distant cousin to galbanum.

Patchouli Imperial is such an odd mix of sourness, greenness, dark brown desiccation and aridity, dust, staleness, and pungency. Dried lavender, dried bitter orange peel, bitter lemon, heaping amounts of peppered coriander, dust, dry cedar, unripe sour buttermilk “sandalwood,” and more dust — it’s really unpleasant to my nose. I’ve tried Patchouli Imperial a few times over the last 6 months, and most recently again in Paris’ Charles de Gaulle airport in October, and each time, I’ve recoiled at its opening. People sometimes use the term “old lady” as a derogatory way to describe fragrances; I dislike the term as something that is both sexist and not particularly useful as a descriptor, but I’ve often wondered why no-one describes fragrances as being “old man” in nature.

Well, let me use it here. Patchouli Imperial has a sour, stale, musty “old man” aroma. It reminds me distinctly of an old Greek man I once knew whose old-fashioned fougère cologne mixed with a definite dustiness from his old books, as well as a subtle whisper of sour staleness from his unshaven face and his ancient, brown cardigan. He was a very sweet chap, but I wouldn’t want to smell like him.

Light, natural, cocoa powder.

Fifteen minutes in, a creamy cocoa powder pops up in the sidelines, adding to the discordant jangle. The stale coriander powder grows sharper, as do the lemon and lime. The sour green sandalwood darts in and out, toying with the musty woodiness of the cedar. Thankfully, the pungency of the lavender softens a little, and that brief flicker of leathered greenness vanishes. The desiccated woodiness in the base remains, however, and my throat feels scratchier than ever. It has to be something synthetic, especially as there is something distinctly sharp in Patchouli Imperial when smelled up close.

“Dusty Woods” by Brenejohn on DeviantArt. brenejohn.deviantart.com

It takes about 25 minutes for Patchouli Imperial to soften, and for those sharp, pungent edges to get smoothed out. The fragrance’s sillage drops to a few inches above the skin, and turns mellower. It’s still incredibly dry, however, with a bouquet that is primarily woody lavender cologne with various dusty bits, an abstract patchouli, lemon, peppered coriander, and cedar. The patchouli that is starting to appear isn’t spicy, sweet, ambered, or mellow. It’s merely another form of dry woods with a dusty, herbal facet. The subtle whispers of cocoa and that green, unripe “sandalwood” in the base give Patchouli Imperial a very distant kinship with Guerlain‘s L’Instant Pour Homme Eau de Toilette (“LIDG”). Yet, the Dior has none of the latter’s black tea, its floral tonalities, or its creamy sweetness. At times, the dry citric and fougère elements remind me of Habit Rouge’s opening, but that fragrance was never sour, stale, or musty either.

Patchouli Imperial eventually loses its unpleasant start. The citric aromatics and lavender recede to the sidelines at the end of the first hour, but it takes a while longer for the creamy undertone and cocoa to fully emerge and to turn the fragrance into something less stale. The notes blur into each other, and Patchouli Imperial becomes a soft, gauzy, sheer haze of citric aromatics, dry woods, dry patchouli, dry cocoa powder, and some abstract creaminess. Tiny whispers of lavender and peppered coriander lurk underneath, but they’re muffled. Patchouli Imperial is a skin scent after 90 minutes, though the fragrance is still strong when sniffed up close.

“Golden Brown” by Emily Faulkner. Source: redbubble.com

Around 2.25 hours into Patchouli Imperial’s development, the fragrance takes on the characteristic that will remain for a while: a blurry soft, citrus, patchouli, woody scent. The amount of cocoa powder waxes and wanes, but the note feels increasingly nebulous and abstract as the hours pass. The best way I can describe it is as something that smells like dry sweetness, instead of actual chocolate. The patchouli also feels abstract, verging more an a generalized dry woodiness that has a hint of some sweetness than any actual, distinct “patchouli” in its own right. The citrus element finally fades away around the middle of the fourth hour, and an abstract “ambery” quality takes its place. In its final drydown, Patchouli Imperial is a nebulous, gauzy whisper of dry woods just lightly flecked with some ambered sweetness and a hint of powder.

Source: wallsave.com

Like all its Dior Privé siblings, Patchouli Imperial has moderate sillage and good longevity. At first, the fragrance is quite potent and strong, but the projection drops after 90 minutes, and Patchouli Imperial wears close to the skin for the rest of its duration. Dior intentionally wants its fragrances to be refined, unobtrusive, discreet, but strong and long-lasting, and Patchouli Imperial is no exception. All in all, it lasted a little over 9 hours on me. On people with normal skin, the more oriental or ambered Privé fragrances can last much longer.

I’m not at all enthusiastic about Patchouli Imperial. I’m not judging it as a patchouli fragrance, because, by and large, it isn’t one in my opinion. I’m judging it as a men’s cologne, and I think there are better takes on this particular profile than Patchouli Imperial. Its opening is horrid and incredibly unpleasant. While the fragrance subsequently improves and loses that discordant, jangling, dry, sour staleness, it merely devolves into a generic citric, dry woody scent before ending up as a slightly less dry, ambered, woody blur. I should probably repeat the word “dry” a few more times, but I think you’ve gotten the point by now.

You might argue that Patchouli Imperial is a refined take on patchouli, but it wasn’t on my skin. It felt uninteresting, average, and unoriginal more than anything else. For patchouli-mixed scents, I think you’d do far better with Guerlain’s L’Instant Pour Homme in either concentration (as there are olfactory differences between the two) or Chanel‘s Coromandel. For fragrances that primarily focused on patchouli, there are a host of options that I would recommend before this one, starting with Profumum‘s Patchouly. On the other hand, I think men who hate patchouli may enjoy Patchouli Imperial. By their standards, the note may seem very clean, fresh, and refined.

On Fragrantica, reviewers are more enthusiastic than I am about Patchouli Imperial. Some seem to have experienced much more actual patchouli than I did. Others compare the scent to Givenchy Gentleman or Nasomatto’s Absinth. I haven’t tried either to be able to compare. A number of people mention both amber and powder in the drydown, while a few bring up mentholated notes in the start. The comment that amused me the most came from a poster who said he got the most bizarre unsolicited comments whenever he wore Patchouli Imperial from friends who “associate it with along the lines of Caveman, Mummy’s Tomb, DOM, Closet filled of mothballs etc.” I suspect that is the crypt-like dust that dominates Patchouli Imperial’s start.

I generally really like the Dior Privée line, but Patchouli Imperial is a complete pass for me. I don’t enjoy it as a cologne, and it’s definitely not my idea of a beautiful patchouli.

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: Patchouli Imperial is an eau de parfum that is available exclusively at Dior boutiques, at Dior online, and a few select, high-end department stores. Dior Privée perfumes come in two sizes: the 4.25 fl oz/125 ml costs $170 with the new Dior price increase, while the 8.5 fl oz/250 ml costs $250. (There is a third option which is so enormous, I can’t imagine anyone buying it.)

In the U.S.: Patchouli Imperial is found at Dior’s NYC boutique, and at the main Las Vegas store [call (702) 369-6072]. Ordering from the store is best as they will give you a free 5 ml mini bottle of the Dior perfume of your choice, along with 3-4 small 1 ml dab vial sample bottles, to go with your purchase. Even better, you will get free shipping and pay no tax. U.S. Department Stores: New York’s Bergdorf Goodman, San Francisco’s Neiman Marcus, and the Saks Fifth Avenue in Chevy Chase, Maryland also carry the Dior Privée line collection of perfumes.

Outside of the US: The Dior International page offers all their Privée fragrances for you to order online. This is the listing for Patchouli Imperial, but there doesn’t seem to be an e-store from which to purchase it. In addition, you can use the Points of Sale page on the Dior website to find a location for a Dior store near you. You can also navigate the Dior website’s International section to buy the perfume online. The problem is that the site is not very straight-forward. If you go to this page, look at the very far right to the bottom where it will say, in black, “International Version” and click on that. You should see options for Europe, Asia-Oceana, and South America. Within Europe, there are different sub-sites divided by country. The one closest to you should have the perfume available for sale.

Samples: If you want to give Patchouli Imperial a sniff, samples are available at Surrender to Chance where prices start at $3.00 for a 1 ml vial. If you’re interested in trying the whole Privée line (minus the discontinued Vetiver), Surrender to Chance sells all 13 fragrances in a sampler set for $35.99.