Serge Lutens Un Bois Vanille

Posted on June 17, 2014 by Kafkaesque

Crème brûlée vanilla infused with the darkness of smoky woods. That’s the essence of Serge Lutens‘ Un Bois Vanille, which seeks to turn the gourmand category on its head through the contrast of devilish woods. To quote Uncle Serge, “both the devil and vanilla like black.”

Source: Luckyscent.

Un Bois Vanille is an eau de parfum that was created with Lutens’ favorite perfumer, Christopher Sheldrake, and released in 2003. On his website, Monsieur Lutens speaks about the perfume’s character in allegorical terms:

To paraphrase Freud, it’s not the evil who are full of regrets, but the good. Both the devil and vanilla like black.

No sentimentality here!
Within each of us, this mellowness grows stronger and more refined thanks to contrasting wood notes. Continue reading →

Le Labo Vetiver 46

Posted on June 10, 2014 by Kafkaesque

Source: wmj.ru

Incense and aldehydic myrrh are not what you’d expect from a fragrance called Vetiver 46, but Le Labo‘s perfume names are rarely accurate representations of the scent you’ll experience. In my case, incense is a large part of Vetiver 46’s story, along with soapiness, cloves, and ambered warmth. For some, however, Vetiver 46 is a primarily a woody incense fragrance with campfire notes, spiciness, or labdanum amber. For others, vetiver actually does seem to dominate. In short, with Le Labo, one doesn’t always know what will shows up.

Vetiver 46 is an eau de parfum that was created by Mark Buxton and released in 2006. For those unfamiliar with the house, the number in the title — in this case, 46 — refers to the number of ingredients in the perfume. However, Le Labo fragrances frequently don’t smell like the note that they single out. Making matters a little more complicated is the fact that Le Labo’s note lists often do not include all the elements in question.

In the case of Vetiver 46, only 10 of its 46 notes are mentioned. According to Fragrantica and Luckyscent, they include:

Bergamot, black pepper, clove, cedar, vetiver, labdanum [amber], olibanum [frankincense], gaiac wood, amber, and vanilla.

ISO E Super. Source: Fragrantica

Vetiver 46 opens on my skin with ISO E Super, more ISO E Super, then smokiness, leather, cloves, cedar, sweet spiciness, earthy vetiver, and labdanum amber. The fragrance has a musky chewiness that smells almost fetid, but also nutty and spiced. I can’t decide if it stems from the cedar or the labdanum, but I suspect it’s a mixture of the two combined with the cloves.

To my relief, the ISO Supercrappy fades to the sidelines after a few minutes, and other notes grow stronger. The cloves, pepper, incense, cedar, and amber all jockey for dominance, and frequently take turns leading the pack. The incense is delicate, but its black tendrils generally seem to tie everything together in a smoky, spicy, woody bouquet. At no time is the vetiver dominant on my skin. When it does appear, I like the fact that it doesn’t smell of peppermints, as vetiver is frequently wont to do.

#101 ‘Rendezvous’, by
Artist Tierney M. Miller. Source: ostyn-newman.com (Website link embedded within.)

Vetiver 46 feels almost chewy and meaty in its heavily cloved, cedar woodiness and dark smokiness; and that makes the emergence of a strange cleanliness and soapiness feel very jarring. Less than 5 minutes in, the latter two elements become extremely prominent. I have to wonder if Vetiver 46 contains a lot of myrrh (a type of incense) and/or aldehydes to go along with the frankincense, as both elements can turn extremely soapy. In fact, Vetiver 46 repeatedly made me think of Serge Lutens‘ La Myrrhe, which also turned into an avalanche of lather at one point.

Whatever the actual notes, the overall result on my skin feels like hamster cage bedding, heavily doused with soap suds, followed by meaty cloves, black pepper, earthy vetiver, ambered warmth, smokiness, a hint of sour guaiac wood, and a lot of clean, white musk. I don’t enjoy it. At all. It doesn’t help that the sillage is initially strong, radiating 3-4 inches with the use of 3 smears, though there is slightly less projection when I apply a smaller quantity.

“Smoke and Fire.” Photo: “PR Imagery” on Deviantart.com (Website link embedded within.)

As time passes, several accords vie for top billing, though they are not the ones which initially dominated Vetiver 46. For the most part, the perfume shifts wildly between two, very different, distinct bouquets on my skin. First, very clean soapiness and black incense, lightly flecked with cloves and amber. Second, clean, soapy hamster cage cedar with cloves, smoke, amber, and a touch of earthy vetiver. An intense, clean wave of synthetic white musk is woven throughout both versions. The whole thing feels airy but incredibly strong on my skin, thanks to the synthetics which my chemistry tends to amplify.

Source: Dreamstime.com Royalty Free stock photos

By the start of the 2nd hour, I’m utterly miserable. The white musk and soapiness that I hate so much grow stronger. Adding insult to injury, the ISO E Supercrappy makes a comeback, though it is muted as compared to the blast in the opening minutes. Vetiver 46 is now primarily a blend of soapiness, white musk, black incense, cedar, and ISO E crap, with the cloves popping in and out once in a while. The whole thing gives me a constant headache every time I smell the perfume up close for too long. My skin may amplify synthetics more than most, but the white musk and soap combination feels particularly brutal here. I suppose I should feel grateful that Vetiver 46 turns into a skin scent on me at the start of the 3rd hour, but I don’t.

Roughly 4.5 hours into its development, Vetiver 46 shifts again. The amber and smoke return, bringing with them a wave of warmth, as well as spicy sweetness. Vetiver 46 is now a blend of hamster cage bedding, ambered warmth, clove spiciness and incense, all blanketed with soap suds and white musk. The muted vetiver note has disappeared entirely. Taking its place is a rather sickly sweetness which I find rather cloying.

It’s all far, far too much for me, and I’ve consistently had to scrub off Vetiver 46. I’ve tried it 3 times, but I’ve never lasted more than 6.5 hours. There is something about the contrasts which I find unpalatable, even if the perfume were not so synthetic. The mix of the almost meaty, chewy cloves and the cool, dark smokiness with the blanket of soap, dry woods, and the strange nuance of the sweet, vaguely cloying amber is really strange to me. And I don’t enjoy feeling like a hamster. I can’t think of another cedar scent that I’ve tried that evoked that parallel in my mind, but this one definitely does.

Source: wall4all.me/

When I’m not feeling like a rodent, terrorized by the synthetics, or experiencing a headache, I’m left feeling incredibly bored. Vetiver 46 feels very linear to me, despite the occasional, sometimes fractional nuances. I suppose it’s vaguely interesting from a technical perspective how certain elements weave in and out, or how it can veer wildly between two distinct bouquets at one point, but both of those versions contain an avalanche of soap suds and white musk. When the linearity finally ends with the addition of the strangely cloying amber sweetness, it becomes more than I can take.

Source: wallpaperup.com

On Fragrantica, people seem to really like Vetiver 46, though many commentators find that the fragrance bears a strong similarity to Comme des Garcons 2 Homme which was also created by Mark Buxton and which is a much cheaper scent. I haven’t tried it to know how close the similarities may be, but I’ve heard it contains aldehydes and myrrh incense. The repeated comparison suggests to me that more people are experiencing soapiness than what they’re explicitly describing, but I might well be mistaken. Another fragrance which is sometimes mentioned is Encre Noire, a vetiver soliflore that contains a walloping amount of ISO E Super. You can draw your own conclusions about Vetiver 46 from that comparison.

Source: My Story in Recipes blogspot. (Website link embedded within.)

For some Fragrantica posters, Vetiver 46 is all about smoky incense and spiciness. Others talk about campfire smoke with a leathery nuance. One person said it reminded them of church, which seems to point to myrrh again as that is often a key ingredient in “High Church” scents. For someone else, Vetiver 46 was almost a transcendental fragrance that transported them to Tibet. No-one talks about soapiness, synthetics, or cleanness, so my experience was clearly very anomalous.

“Javascapes 3” by Photographer Daniel G. Walczyk. Source: http://devidsketchbook.com (Website link embedded within.)

In short, the general consensus on Fragrantica regarding Vetiver 46 seems to be along the lines of this review from “kxnaiades”:

Gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous leathery, smoking woods scent. It has nothing to do with a smoky BBQ type of smell, think of roasting posh woods emnating the most glorious, almost incense type of smoke. The smokiness in this must come from the guaiac wood and the earthiness from the vetivier. Vanilla lends an ever so slightly sweet tinge to the composition but only a dab. I can see that ladies who like feminine scents will possibly not warm towards this, to me it is very much unisex. I could well imagine Katharine Hepburn wearing this in “Woman of the Year”. I think it’s wonderful and for anyone wanting a respite from the day’s toil or trouble. SnS was transported to Tibet and ladykarl to a sanctuary. I agree with both of them. Spray this on and take a deep breath, it’s almost purifying! My first Le Labo purchase but definitely not my last.

CDG 2 Man. Source: 99perfume.com

On Luckyscent, not everyone is as enthused. A few people think Vetiver 46 is too close to the much cheaper Comme des Garcons 2 Man scent: “Le Labo has greater ‘fizz’ and smells greener, but I don’t think I’ll purchase it because I can get 2 Man for half the price.” For another, it was the Catholic church resemblance which was the problem, as well as a synthetic, plastic “band aid” note:

I’m the biggest fan of Le Labo on Luckyscent, I’ve worn every unisex, and masculine Le Labo Perfume, this one missed the spot, for one thing, the dry down is very austere, and not smooth at all, the Oud note seems really out of place to me, it smells like band aids, plastic, very odd. The scent reminded me of Catholic school in Venezuela…not a good memory.

Band-aids also comes up in the Now Smell This review from Robin, though she seems to have liked the scent as a whole:

It opens on the smell of peppered band-aids, slightly singed, brightened by the bergamot and given a generous dusting of dried clove. The medicinal undertones calm for the most part as it dries down to dusky woods, very deep and warm, with a murky quality that calls to mind Yves Saint Laurent M7. The amber and vanilla lend some sweetness without tempering the intensity of the woods; and while it is quite earthy, I would have guessed patchouli rather than vetiver.

It is a considerably stronger and probably less “wearable” fragrance than the Vetiver de Java [from Il Profumo], and while both are masculine, the Vetiver de Java, which smells almost clean in comparison, might be easier for a woman to pull off. All the same I prefer the Le Labo.

For Ayala Moriel, the perfumer, Vetiver 46 was all about the incense and labdanum. Her review on Smelly Blog reads, in part, as follows:

In the case of Vetiver 46, I can smell the other 45 ingredients far more than building block that gave its name. To be more precise, I smell labdanum and incense. The Le Labo website describes Vetiver 46 as the most masculine of the line, and themed around Haitian vetiver. I find this quite surprising, given the woody, incensey, at times almost smoky quality of the perfume that pervades most of its life on the skin.

Opening with labdanum, cistus oil, olibanum (AKA frankincense) and smoky notes of guiacwood and burning cedarwood, the scent gradually softens but remains rather linear and unchanging. Its aroma is rich, nevertheless; yet while I find the combination of notes appealing on its own, I find the persistence of the labdanum and oakmoss here to be leaving more to be desired. [¶][…]

… If you are looking for a vetiver scent, you won’t find it here. If incense is what your heart desires, look no further, it’s here in a juice form. Not a joss stick as pictured, but the resins thrown on a hot charcoal in a censer.

Source: journeytoorthodoxy.com

The Non-Blonde agrees, and, in fact, points to that exact review as a good summation for Vetiver 46.

As you can see, my experience was an anomaly and cannot be taken as representative of what you will probably experience with Vetiver 46. I will caution only those people who have serious problems with ISO E Super to take care. For everyone else, if you’re looking for a dark, woody fragrance that is strongly incensed, with campfire notes, spicy cloves, labdanum amber, and minor quantities of vetiver, give Le Labo’s 46 a sniff.

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: Vetiver 46 is an eau de parfum, though it is also offered as a perfume oil. The perfume comes in two sizes: 1.7 oz/50 ml for $160, €125, or £105; and 3.4 oz/100 ml for $240, €185, or £150. Cheaper minis or decants are also available directly from the company. Le Labo Website Options: Vetiver 46 is available from Le Labo in numerous forms, from perfume to Discovery Sets, 10 ml “travel tubes,” body lotions, massage oil, and shower gels. The company will personally make up and customize each perfume bottle for a customer. Le Labo has a variety of different country options for its website, from North America to U.K. to France to International. On its North American page, Vetiver 46 is priced as listed above: 50 ml for $160, and 100 ml for $240. Cheaper minis are $70 or $140. I’m assuming they ship to Canada, too, given the website name. Outside the U.S., Vetiver 46 is offered on Le Labo’s U.K., International, or French websites. Lastly, Le Labo has several Sample Programs, from sets to an individual vial for $6. The link above goes to their US sample site, but you can change it to the country best for you using the arrow at the top of the page. Le Labo World Boutiques: Le Labo has store locations from New York to London and Tokyo, as well as retailers in a ton of countries from Australia to Italy to Korea. You can find a full list of its locations and vendors here. In the U.S.: Vetiver 46 is also available from Luckyscent in both sizes (along with many of the accompanying products), and from Barney’s in the big $220 size. Outside the US: In Canada, Le Labo is carried by Toronto’s 6 by Gee Beauty, but not on their online website for direct purchase. Call to order by phone. In the U.K., Le Labo is sold at Harrods’ Designer Department on the First Floor, and at Liberty which offers Vetiver 46 in a variety of different sizes and forms. In Paris, you can find Le Labo at Colette. In the Netherlands, the line is sold at Skins Cosmetics. In Australia, you can find it at Mecca Cosmetics. Samples: Surrender to Chance sells Vetiver 46 starting at $4.25 for a 1 ml vial.

Le Labo Santal 33

Posted on June 9, 2014 by Kafkaesque

Source: Fragrantica

It’s always a bit of an adventure to try a Le Labo fragrance because one frequently doesn’t know what will show up, and Santal 33 is no exception. It is an eau de parfum created by Frank Voelkl and released in 2011. For those unfamiliar with the house, the number in the title — in this case, 33 — refers to the number of ingredients in the perfume. However, Le Labo fragrances frequently don’t smell like the note that they single out.

As Now Smell This once explained:

the number in the fragrance name refers to the number of notes that make up the scent’s composition, and the name is taken from the ingredient in the highest concentration; to take one example, Jasmin 17 has 17 ingredients, with jasmine being in the highest concentration. The names are thus not necessarily related to what the fragrance is meant to smell like.

Making matters a little more complicated is the fact that Le Labo’s note lists often do not include all the elements in question. In the case of Santal 33, only 8 of the 33 notes are mentioned. According to Fragrantica and Luckyscent, they include:

Australian sandalwood, papyrus, cedarwood, cardamom, iris, violet, ambroxan and leather accord.

Source: eatingwell.com

Santal 33 opens on my skin with… cucumbers. Yes, I said cucumbers. If I remember correctly, the very first time I tried Santal 33 many months ago, there were pickles as well. I cannot tell you how disconcerting that is; watery vegetables are not what one expects in one’s perfume in general, but especially not in a fragrance ostensibly centered on woody elements. However, as you will later see, it’s not an uncommon experience with Santal 33.

Santal 33’s burst of liquidy greenness almost suggests calone, a possibility that seems underscored by the aquatic, fresh, and clean elements which ensue. Infused within them all are creamy, white woods with a milky nuance that is almost fig-like, followed by white musk and a touch of iris. A dewy, floral wateriness hovers about, but it is too hijacked by the other notes to ever smell like pure, distinct violets on my skin. Within minutes, the iris grows stronger, smelling primarily like the bulbous roots, but it is also flecked by a subtle whisper of boiled, sweet carrots. In the background, a green cedar note pops up briefly, as does a tiny dab of cardamom, though the latter does not stay for long.

Source: hdw.eweb4.com

As a whole, Santal 33’s opening bouquet smells of creamy, milky woods, thoroughly infused with watery cucumbers, watery florals, rooty iris, and cleanness. It’s an airy cloud with great lightness and moderate projection at first. Three big smears created 2-3 inches of projection at first, but that number dropped after less than 30 minutes.

Unripe Figs via Giverecipe.com. (For recipe on Unripe Fig Jam, click on photo. Link embedded within.)

Santal 33 doesn’t change significantly for a few hours. At the end of the first hour, there is a growing sense of woody dryness as the cedar starts to emit peppery and dry undertones at the edges. It impacts the watery accords, sometimes making the cucumber feel much more muted and demure. For much of the first few hours, however, the cucumber continues to be a powerful part of the Australian sandalwood on my skin, keeping it green and fresh. The strength of the iris and the milky, fig-like undertones to the wood also fluctuate, but only to small degrees.

At the end of the 2nd hour, Santal 33 is a skin scent that feels very clean and almost translucent. It continues to be a blend of milky woods with iris, cleanness, and liquidy, green wateriness, though it is not always pure cucumber as it was at the start. The iris has lost a large part of its rooty or bulbous qualities, and now feels more floral in nature.

Source: merlyimpressions.co.uk

Santal 33 is an incredibly linear scent, and doesn’t change its broad parameters throughout its short lifetime on my skin. At the start of the 4th hour, the white musk synthetic grows stronger. The green milkiness is still there, but the overall scent is a little too synthetically clean for my personal tastes. Around the same time, a tiny whiff of vetiver pops up in the background, but it is very muted and muffled.

In its final moments, Santal 33 is merely an abstract woody musk with soft, beige woods, some greenness, a touch of indeterminate florals, and great cleanness. It lasts 5.75 hours on my skin. As a general rule, Le Labo fragrances don’t have great longevity on me, unless they contain a lot of ISO E Super, which a good number of them do, unfortunately. Santal 33 does not, so it falls within the category of more fleeting Le Labo scents on my skin.

I found Santal 33 vaguely enjoyable at times as a clean, creamy, woody scent, thanks to the prettiness of the milky streak running through the fragrance. So long as I didn’t think of actual sandalwood (let alone, Mysore), I thought the woods were nice and the scent much better than Kilian‘s recent attempt at a “sandalwood” creation with his Sacred Wood. In the case of Santal 33, I wasn’t enthused by the synthetic musk’s growing role during the drydown, but it wasn’t a terrible fragrance as a whole. There were moments where it was almost pleasant, in fact — cucumber or no cucumber.

I realise, however, that is rather damning it with faint praise. I’m afraid Le Labo fragrances don’t impress me very much with their gauzy wispiness, frequent use of synthetics, linearity, lack of layers, and often indeterminate character. For the most part, they simply don’t feel luxurious, opulent, special, or distinctive to me.

Source: scenicreflections.com

Santal 33 seems to be a rather polarizing scent. On Fragrantica, the fragrance receives sharply mixed reviews, though the majority are negative. A significant number of people talk about a cucumber note, pickles, or the fragrance’s wateriness. A handful compare the scent to hamster cages, due to the cedar, while a few detected an animalic note instead. There are so many negative reviews in fact that one person wondered why there was such hate for such “casual scent.” Well, the detractors are certainly very forceful in their feelings. One chap said he finally understood what it meant to “hate” something passionately:

Now, I know what it means to dislike a fragrance so much, that it actually RUINS other fragrances for you when you detect any similarities between them and it. I hate Santal 33. This may be a first for me. It damn near made me turn my back on every cardamom fragrance I own, which would have been serious b.s.. There are many watery cheap unremarkable fragrances out there which I don’t like, but I also don’t respect them. I respect Santal 33 enough to hate it. There is something about the sheer potency of the opaque SUGAR encrusted sandalwood, cardamom, and leather, that I find to be sickeningly cloying and nauseating. This fragrance is a sillage/longevity beast, so it’s definitely worth the investment if you love it, but for me, it’s a nightmare on wheels. I got it on my mouse and keyboard at work and now I am trying to change jobs. That’s how much I hate this juice.

Source: rgbstock.com

Other commentators smelled extremely different elements from coconut or “a figgy milky note,” to earthy vetiver, leathery smoke, violets, or, in the case of one woman’s husband, harsh, pungent, pine tree air freshener. One chap is even certain that he smelt mango!

Despite the varying notes that people experienced, Santal 33 does have fans who adore its creamy sandalwood and the fragrance’s greenness, calling it beautiful or meditative. The bottom line, however, is there isn’t a uniform consensus on Santal 33 or what it smells like. Absolutely none whatsoever. The only thing one can say is that the majority of commentators seem to smell either pickles, cucumbers, or cedar hamster cage bedding, and that a lot of people on Fragrantica seem to dislike Santal 33.

It’s a completely different story on Luckyscent where 8 of the 10 reviews rate Santal 33 as a 5-star fragrance. One person thought the fragrance should be called Violet 33, as that was the dominant note on their skin. For another, the fragrance was: “Soft leather and definately wearble [sic] by a woman as well. Light and green like cucumber with a soft saddle grease mixed with rosewood on me. Not amazing lasting power, but good enough.”

Source: raymichemin.canalblog.com

For The Non-Blonde, Santal 33 is a “wild ride” with violets, leather and woods that she thoroughly enjoys, even if she smells dill pickles at first:

The opening of Santal 33 is spicy with some of the weird but inviting pickle note. Sometimes I encounter pickles in the opening of high quality ambers, other times it’s attached to certain woods, which I’d guess it’s the case in this Le Labo perfume. I don’t mind it as the dill is short-lived and actually smells almost comforting (blame my mom who used to can and pickle all through the years I lived at home). Once we get that out the way I start smelling the cedar, scorched sandalwood and loads of violet.

This is where the journey begins. Santal 33 changes and expands on my skin in various directions. It’s sweet and it’s not. It’s rough and sharp but also snuggly. There’s something metallic and cold thrown into the pile of aromatic woods that keeps my senses alert to any coming dangers. Sometimes it smells like a girl on a camping trip [….]

It’s the blend of violet, camphor, leather and top quality wood that gets me in its grip. This wild ride last and lasts (and lasts) on my skin, becomes more musky and sweet, and just works magic for me.

The deeply divisive reactions and the incredibly wide range of experiences (including very differing assessments regarding longevity) make it hard to come to any predictive conclusions as to how Santal 33 will smell on you. My guess is that it will be some version of a clean, watery, green “sandalwood” scent, but who knows? It could end up as anything. If you enjoy woody fragrances, then Santal 33 is one of those things that you need to test for yourself.

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: Santal 33 is an eau de parfum, though it is also offered as a perfume oil. The perfume comes in two sizes: 1.7 oz/50 ml for $160, €125, or £105; and 3.4 oz/100 ml for $240, €185, or £150. Cheaper minis or decants are also available directly from the company. Le Labo Website Options: Santal 33 is available from Le Labo in numerous forms, from perfume to 15 ml of pure parfum, Discovery Sets, 10 ml “travel tubes,” body lotions, massage oil, shower gels, and even detergent. The company will personally make up and customize each perfume bottle for a customer. Le Labo has a variety of different country options for its website, from North America to U.K. to France to International. On its North American page, Santal 33 is priced as listed above: 50 ml for $160, and 100 ml for $240. Cheaper minis are $70 or $145. I’m assuming they ship to Canada, too, given the website name. Outside the U.S., Santal 33 is offered on Le Labo’s U.K., International, or French websites. Lastly, Le Labo also has several Sample Programs, offering both sets and an individual vial for $6. The link above goes to their US sample site, but you can change it to the country best for you using the arrow at the top of the page. Le Labo World Boutiques: Le Labo has store locations from New York to London and Tokyo, as well as retailers in a ton of countries from Australia to Italy to Korea. You can find a full list of its locations and vendors here. In the U.S.: Santal 33 is also available from Luckyscent in both sizes (along with many of the accompanying products), and from Barney’s in the big $220 size. Outside the US: In Canada, Le Labo is carried by Toronto’s 6 by Gee Beauty, but not on their online website for direct purchase. Call to order by phone. In the U.K., Le Labo is sold at Harrods’ Designer Department on the First Floor, and at Liberty which offers Santal 33 in a variety of different sizes and forms. In the Netherlands, you can find Le Labo at Skins Cosmetics. In Australia, Le Labo is sold at Mecca Cosmetics. Samples: I obtained my sample from Surrender to Chance which sells Santal 33 starting at $4.25 for a 1 ml vial.

Oriza L. Legrand Vetiver Royal Bourbon

Posted on May 24, 2014 by Kafkaesque

Source: Source: hdwallsource.com

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

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

Source: Oriza L. Legrand.

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

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

Source: hdwallsource.com

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

Source: wallpoper.com

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Photo: My own.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Source: wallpapervortex.com

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

Source: Source: hqwide.com

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

DETAILS:

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