Perfume Review – Amouage Fate (Woman)

Marion Cotillard photographed by Mert Alas and Marcus Piggott for the September 2010 issue of Vogue Paris. Source: Glamscheck.com

Marion Cotillard photographed by Mert Alas & Marcus Piggott for Paris Vogue, September 2010 issue. Source: Glamscheck.com

She stared at the rumpled bed which bore the traces of their scent. As the light streamed through the windows of their hotel room at the George V, she saw the trail of clothes leading to the scene of their final tryst. She recalled how crisp, aloof and controlled she had been at the start in her sleek, sculptured, black, couture dress, smelling of citruses, oakmoss and cool daffodils. The notes were as sparkling and cool as lemonade, or the champagne that chilled by the window nook, until he began kissing her neck…

She remembered how her limbs melted when he unzipped her dress, warming the daffodil scent until the roses and jasmine came out, infused by a musk that softly mimicked that of her own body. Flecks of rich, warm, smooth castoreum flickered like the flame of the candles that he had lit around their bed. Subtle touches of leather stirred like the trim on the expensive lingerie that he admired with a gleam in his eye — lingerie as black as the trails of sweetened incense that ran through her fragrance.

Marion Cotillard photographed by Mert Alas and Marcus Piggott for the September 2010 issue of Vogue Paris. Source: bkrw.com

Marion Cotillard photographed by Mert Alas and Marcus Piggott for the September 2010 issue of Vogue Paris. Source: bkrw.com

She thought of how he had gently placed soft, lush, velvety, pink roses around her body, framing her with their heady scent. He kissed her with all the spiciness of chili pepper and cinnamon, the scent of his soap mixing with their fire, with her musk, with the tendrils of incense and smoke, with the honey that he drizzled on her trembling stomach. She thought of their passion and how, when it was over, he had gently covered her body with the sheer, silky sheet that smelled of creamy vanilla and powder. She had been fated to meet him, she had been fated to succumb, she had been fated to have the affair end in the apex of passionate heat, and she was fated to forever remember him when she put on her fragrance. Fate.

Fate (Woman) is the latest release from the royal perfume house of Amouage and will be released worldwide in July. I received a sample thanks to one of my readers, “Dubaiscents,” who generously sent me a sample of both the men and women’s versions. Yesterday, I reviewed Fate for Men which is a very sophisticated, dry, woody fragrance centered on the immortelle flower. Fate for Women (hereinafter just “Fate” for the purposes of this review) is very different, but equally elegant and sophisticated. It is a chypre-oriental hybrid created by Dorothée Piot and which Amouage describes as follows: 

Amouage Fate Woman with BoxFate for Woman is a chypre oriental with a rich floral heart intensified by a dark and destructive accord resonating with the tumultuous unknown.

Top notes: bergamot, cinnamon, chilli, pepper.

Heart notes: rose, narcissus [daffodil], jasmine, frankincense, labdanum.

Base notes: vanilla bean, frankincense, benzoin, castoreum, patchouli, oakmoss, leather.

Field of NarcissusFate opens on my skin with a burst of yellow: fresh, crisp citrus notes, and the sunniest of daffodils. There is a momentary flicker of something sour that is soon replaced by spiciness, rose infused with patchouli, oakmoss, stirrings of a quiet, soft leather note, and a touch of musk. The oakmoss is a subtle swirl of nuances: fresh, green, slightly mineralized, and grey. The castoreum is smooth, warm, ever so slightly animalic, and sweet.

The true stars, however, are the yellow notes. The bergamot starts off crisply but, within minutes, turns softer, warmer and spicier, evoking the scent of lemonade that has been sweetened by the sun and by honey. At the same time, a subtle hint of vanillic powder at its base also makes me think of powdered lemonade crystals. Swirling all around it is the daffodil note that starts off being fresh and cool, but, like everything else in Fate, soon turns warmer, spicier, richer. In its footsteps is a delicate rose that is never as sweet as a tea rose, but also never as jammy, fruited, or liqueured as a dark damask rose. It feels like the headiest of pink roses, except it has the crisp, fresh zestiness of lemon. Both flowers are flecked by a mossy patchouli which works from the background to turn Fate into a very smooth, lush, velvety chypre fragrance.

Source: freehdwalls.net

Source: freehdwalls.net

Slowly, slowly, the base notes turn Fate into something warmer, richer, and spicier. As the rose note gains in strength, stepping on the center stage to share the spotlight with the daffodil, jasmine takes its place in the wings. Lurking further in the shadows is a subtle layer of soapiness. About twenty minutes in, like a brash understudy late to a rehearsal, chili stumbles in. Red, spicy, and adding a perfect touch of subtle heat, the red pepper bumps into the floral notes, warming them even further. In its wake is a shy incense note. It is far from the usual sharp, powerful frankincense so prevalent in many Amouage scents. Instead, the smoke is sweetened, soft, subtle, and verging on sunny.

Source: Kootation.com

Source: Kootation.com

Forty minutes in, Fate starts to slowly strip off its formal, crisp, citric-oakmoss, chypre veneer to bring out its oriental underwear. Like passionate kisses warming a lover’s body, the daffodil-rose bouquet turn more and more sensual, dancing on slightly musked skin. Infused by bergamot, trailed by jasmine, flecked by spicy chili pepper along with sweetened smoke and a shiver of vanilla, Fate is lushly heady, potent, incredibly elegant, and slightly haughty, but reeking of sensuous stirrings. The oakmoss and patchouli are still highly evident in the base, but the other notes feel alive with an oriental silkiness that evokes the most seductive of lingerie peeking out from underneath an elegant black dress. 

"Red Orange Rose Yellow Abstract" by LTPhotographs, Etsy Store. (Link to website embedded within, click on photo.)

“Red Orange Rose Yellow Abstract” by LTPhotographs, Etsy Store. (Link to website embedded within photo.)

At the two-hour mark, Fate shifts a little. The florals turn red with warmth and sweetness. Cinnamon replaces the chili on their velvety petals. But, to my slight disappointment, the underlying soapiness becomes much more pronounced. On a more positive note, Fate also begins to take on quite an ambered hue. The labdanum starts to rise to the surface, emitting a lightly honeyed aroma that mixes beautifully with the amber, the plushly sensuous castoreum, the musk, and the patchouli. The incense is still subtle, light and sweetened, and it still remains largely in the background.

Source: wallpaperswa.com

Source: wallpaperswa.com

Three and a half hours in, the base notes fully rise to the surface. Fate becomes a labdanum, oakmoss, and patchouli amber fragrance infused with rich, sweet, velvety, floral nuances, along with musk and a quiet tinge of soapiness. The labdanum’s honeyed characteristics have been largely replaced by a nutty, almost chestnut-like undertone that is a perfect counterpoint to the dry, but plush, oakmoss-patchouli.

Source: Superstock.com

Source: Superstock.com

Slowly, slowly, like a flower unfurling its petals over the span of hours in the sun, Fate turns softer, more ambered, more golden. The barely animalic musk underlying the scent melts even further into the skin, the labdanum glows like bronzed gold, and the vanillic benzoin adds a radiating shimmer to the now muted, very abstract, gauzy florals.  By the start of the ninth hour, the final stage has begun, and Fate is a sensuous skin veil of rich vanilla cream flecked with powder, golden amber, and a light, heated, sweetened muskiness.

All in all, Fate lasted an astronomical 13.25 hours on my perfume-consuming skin. The sillage was monstrous at first, wafting several feet across the room. It was heady, narcotic, sweet, but also very dry and crisp initially, before slowly turning more languorous, more sensuous, more oriental. Fate’s projection is powerful, even if it isn’t nuclear-tipped in the way of some Amouage floral scents (like Ubar, for example), but it did soften by the start of the third hour. My sample was a spray (and aerosolization adds to a fragrance’s power), but I think Fate would be forceful even if dabbed on. It didn’t become a skin scent on me until the start of the sixth hour, though it was still very noticeable when I brought my arm close to my nose. Fate only became hard to detect and somewhat abstract towards the end of the eighth hour, though it lingered on for almost another five hours in a very silken, muted, sheer form.

I think Fate Woman is an astoundingly beautiful, complex, refined fragrance — a sophisticated chypre-oriental which combines the best elements of both categories. It is perfectly balanced: never too sweet or too dry, never too indolent or spiced, never too charged by patchouli, musk, or castoreum. I was a little surprised by the softness of the frankincense smoke, especially as my skin normally tends to amplify the note, but I’m also glad that Amouage chose to mute its signature base accord. Fate doesn’t need it; the beauty of the fragrance lies, in part, in how pitch-perfect it is across the wide spectrum of its notes. (As a side note, the perfume stunned The Ultimate Perfume Snob, a.k.a my mother, who interrupted a conversation to ask “what is that smell?”, then shook her head and blinked in disbelief at Fate’s beauty, asked to smell it several more times, wanted to know where to buy it, and finally lost all reserved, British aloofness to become practically passionate in her raves. Trust me, it rarely happens.)

Something about Fate draws you in for another sniff, again and again, especially when its sensuous, warm heart starts to bloom. Yet, there is also a refined, cool sophistication in its opening which makes it very much one of those scents that feels like protective armor, if that makes any sense. Again and again, I have the vision of a cool, confident, wealthy woman, perfectly groomed and sophisticated in the elegantly cut, structured, designer black dress that is the uniform of choice for some Parisienne women. And I see her stripping off her armor to reveal the seductive satin and black lace lingerie below which she then peels off entirely to reveal her smooth, softly musked, lightly powdered, silky, amber skin. Control and abandon, French style.

Yet, for all that imagery and despite the gender classification in the perfume’s name, I happen to think Fate Woman is quite unisex in nature, and a scent which would be very seductive on a man as well. The same visual would apply to a man, only he’s cloaked in a dark Armani suit with a crisp white shirt, and looks a little like Hugh Jackman…. Regardless of gender, Fate is a very wearable fragrance, though I think its powerful projection may make it a little too much for the office unless you’re very careful with amount you spray. It would, however, be perfect to wear on a date or to seduce.

Lest any of this was even remotely ambiguous, let me put it plainly: you need to try Fate Woman. Like its male counterpart (Fate Man), it shows why Amouage is one of the leaders of the perfume pack. With its sophisticated, nuanced, complex, often innovative and intellectual, but always luxurious and opulent fragrances, Amouage is really one of the best perfume houses out there. And, under the deft, brilliant direction of Christopher Chong, I doubt that’s going to change any time soon. 

 

DETAILS:
Availability & Stores: Fate (Woman) is an eau de parfum and is available in two sizes: 1.7 oz/50 ml which costs $310 or €240; or 3.4 oz/100 ml eau de parfum which costs $375 or €290. As of the time of this post, the perfume is not yet officially released beyond the Amouage website and boutiques, but it will be widely available as of July 2013, according to CaFleureBon. At the present time, the perfume is unfortunately sold out on Amouage online, but I’m sure that will be remedied soon. I will update this post with retail links much later when the perfume is officially released and becomes widely available. 

Perfume Review – Amouage Fate (Man)

Corsica is usually associated with its rocky cliffs, Napoleon, and the Mediterranean sea, but I think Corsica has a special smell, especially inland: slightly dusty, dry, very woody, and sweetly floral. In parts (namely those where I was clambering up rocky mountains like a dying billy-goat), it smelled strongly of immortelle, a flower which is very common to the island, sweet woods, dried greens, and dustiness. So it is Corsica which comes to mind when I tried Fate (Man), the dry, woody, immortelle-based fragrance that is the latest release from the royal perfume house of Amouage.

Corsica. Photo by: Rolling Thunder. Source: Trailjournals.com http://www.trailjournals.com/entry.cfm?id=393192

Corsica. Photo by: Rolling Thunder. Source: Trailjournals.com
http://www.trailjournals.com/entry.cfm?id=393192

Fate — in a dual Men and Women’s versions — was launched just last week in Oman, and will be officially released worldwide in July. A reader of the blog, “Dubaiscents,” whose generosity is only surpassed by her thoughtfulness, sweetness and kindness sent me a sample of both fragrances. I thought I would start with Fate for Men (hereinafter just “Fate”) which was created by Karine Vinchon-Spehner, and which Amouage describes as follows: 

Fate for Man is a spicy and woody construction parodying the force and power of the inevitable.

Top notes: mandarin, saffron, absinth [wormwood], ginger, cumin.

Heart notes: everlasting flower [Immortelle], rose, frankincense, lavandin, cistus, copahu.

Base notes: labdanum, cedarwood, liquorice, tonka bean, sandalwood, musk.

Source: CaFleureBon

Source: CaFleureBon

There is a detailed backstory in the official description of the fragrance about how the “Book of Fate is opened by the mysterious puppetmaster and the carousel, symbolising the wheel of fortune, is set in motion.” There is also talk about how “’Fate’ for man and woman explores the uncertainty of the future and the universal principal [sic] by which the order of things is inescapably prescribed. In his latest conquest, Amouage Creative Director Christopher Chong proclaims a finale that parodies the force of the inevitable, veiled in the mysticism of the unknown.” It’s lovely prose, but it’s not what comes to mind when I wear the perfume. I simply see sunny Corsica.

I tested Fate twice and, while the openings were largely the same, the nuances were slightly different. The first time, Fate opened on my skin with a split second burst of citrus that was quickly replaces by loads of ginger and flickers of dry cumin powder. The scent was simultaneously sweet, pungent, sharp, and slightly dusty in a dried, herbal, powdered sort of way. Immortelle soon followed, and it was my favorite manifestation of the note: the dry, floral aspect where you can smell the flowers as well as the slightly herbal stem. Underlying the whole thing was an amorphous woody base that smelled sweet but dry. The focal point of the opening minutes, however, was the ginger which felt pungent, spicy, biting and a little sharp.

Immortelle, or Helichrysum in Corsica. Source: Wikicommons.

Immortelle, or Helichrysum in Corsica. Source: Wikicommons.

iStock photo via Wetpaint.com

Ginger. iStock photo via Wetpaint.com

The second time I tried Fate, it opened with that same fleeting citrus element, but the main thrust was immortelle. There were flickers of abstract woodiness, ginger, sweetness, and the same subtle hint of cumin powder, but it was the immortelle that really dominated the show. This time, it was beautifully infused with a honey nuance which I assume stemmed from the labdanum in the base. The ginger was much less powerful, and it had different undertones. It was simultaneously like sharp, fresh ginger, but also a little more like dry, ginger powder, and lightly sugared, crystallized ginger as well. This time, the herbal element was also different. Instead of some nebulous “dry green” note, I smelled something that was just like dried tarragon with its anise-like undertones. I know licorice is one of the elements in Fate, but, to me, that has the aroma of the chewy, black candy with its sharper, darker characteristics. What I smell in Fate in the opening hour is something much more like herbal anisic facets of dried tarragon.

Artemisia Absinthe or Wormwood. Source: Esacademic.com

Artemisia Absinthe or Wormwood. Source: Esacademic.com

Despite these subtle differences, the rest of the perfume’s development remained largely the same in both tests. Five minutes in, the wormwood (also known as absinthe or Artemisia absinthium) starts to rise to the surface. It’s sweet, but has a faintly medicinal nuance that smells a little rotten and that strongly evokes the “noble rot” of agarwood (oud). Flickering in the background is a light, muted incense. The cumin has completely vanished from sight — something that will undoubtedly be a relief to the many cumin-phobes out there. I’ve read a few accounts where people have said that they experienced quite a bit of cumin at the start, but the note seems to be a dry, powdered one on their skin, too, and nothing reminiscent of stale, fetid sweat or Indian curries.

As time passes, Fate settles down into its primary essence in this first stage: a dry floral arrangement of immortelle with ginger, sweetened but slightly medicinal wormwood, and frankincense. In the background, there are muted, ghostly flickers of a dry vanilla and warm, sweet muskiness that pop up every now and then. The interesting thing about the scent is the wormwood. It has a slightly oud-like nuance, but it is also sweetened and honeyed. The primary notes fluctuate in intensity, but the overall bouquet remains largely unchanged.

The odd thing about Fate was that the dominant facet seemed to depend largely on temperature. Given where I live, I have the air-conditioning set at very chilly temperatures, and the wormwood in Fate seemed to take on a slightly biting, sharp, bracing tone in the opening hours. However, whenever I went outside into the warm, humid air, the note immediately turned soft, rounded, smooth, almost creamy, and definitely sweet. All medicinal elements retreated, until I re-entered the house and was exposed again to the arctic air. I tried it a few times to see and, each and every time, Fate bloomed in the humid, night air to become significantly more floral and with a sweeter, less oud-like version of wormwood.  

Incense stick. Source: Stock footage and Shutterstock.com.

Incense stick. Source: Stock footage and Shutterstock.com.

Two hours into Fate’s development, the whole thing changes quite dramatically. Indoors or outdoors, Fate has suddenly become a very ambered, sandalwood fragrance that is smoother, warmer, and better rounded. The wormwood’s medicinal veneer has been replaced by a lovely coating of honey from the labdanum, while a lightly peppered cedar stirs in the base. My favorite part, however, is the sandalwood which is rich, creamy, and warmly spiced. It’s absolutely beautiful. Furthermore, to my surprise, the immortelle has remained as a floral element, and hasn’t turned into the maple syrup that I dread so much. The dried, green, anisic herbal note still lurks underneath, but now, it is also joined by black licorice that is lightly salted and sweet. A hint of creamy, slightly vanillic lavender wafts daintily about, while a sweet muskiness dances at the edges like a golden light. The entire thing is intertwined by tendrils of frankincense smoke which tie the elements together like a ribbon does a bouquet.

Fate remains that way for many more hours. The bouquet of notes softens and becomes a skin scent around the start of the fourth hour, but the scent lingers for much longer. Around the sixth hour, Fate turns quite abstract and nebulous: it’s now simply immortelle woodiness infused by a light, sweet muskiness. It’s so sheer, you may think it’s gone, but Fate hangs on tenaciously. In its dying moment, a little over 10.25 hours from its start, Fate is nothing more than a vague, sweet woodiness. Both the middle phase with its beautiful sandalwood amber and the abstract drydown stage are absolutely lovely. Fate’s longevity was good on my voracious skin, but the sillage was moderate to soft. I sprayed, not dabbed, so I actually expected something much more powerful from Fate (especially given Amouage’s usual full-throttled nature), but the furthest it projected was in its first hour when it wafted about 3 inches above the skin.

Fate is a phenomenally complex, extremely unusual, refined, sophisticated scent that initially takes a little adjustment, but which definitely grows on you. The first time, I was very intrigued, but not wowed. I have a tendency to prefer the Women’s versions of Amouage fragrances as they are generally sweeter and not as dry, but the second time I tried Fate, I definitely sat up a little straighter. There is something fascinating about the notes, and the heat definitely improved the scent, in my opinion, by smoothing out some of the more bracing elements of the opening. It also rendered the perfume slightly sweeter which is something you may want to consider when testing Fate.

I think men will go quite crazy for Fate (Man), but I think a number of women will, too. Even though women will have their own version of the scent, Fate (Man) has such perfectly balanced sweetness in its undertones that it renders the fragrance quite unisex, in my opinion. If you like dry, spiced, woody fragrances or oud ones, and if you’re intrigued by the thought of Amouage’s signature frankincense combined with an unusual floral like immortelle, then I think you should definitely seek out a sample.

Fate Man with box.

Fate Man with box.

With Fate, Amouage continues its distinction of being at the forefront of original fragrances that abound with depth, nuance, layers and complexity. Honestly, this is not a perfume that you may adore at first sniff, but it will keep you thinking, sniffing, and trying to pull apart all those beautifully crafted, well-blended layers. And the more you sniff it, the more it seems to sink its elegant, little floral-woody-smoky talons into you. By the time you’re finished, and you set eyes on that simply spectacular iridescent bottle, I fear you may be quite hooked. Even if, at the end, it turns out that you’re not fated for true love, I think you’ll concede that it’s a perfume worthy of huge respect. Try it, and see what your Fate will be.

 

DETAILS:
Availability & Stores: Fate (Man) is an eau de parfum and is available in two sizes: 1.7 oz/50 ml which costs $280 or €220; or 3.4 oz/100 ml eau de parfum which costs $340 or €270. As of the time of this post, the perfume is not yet officially released beyond the Amouage website and boutiques, but it will be widely available as of July 2013. Unfortunately, the perfume is currently sold out on Amouage online, but I’m sure that will be remedied soon. I will update this post with retail links much later when the perfume is officially released and becomes widely available. 

Perfume Review – Amouage Opus VII: The Heart of Animal Darkness

Amouage Opus VIIIn 2010, the royal Omani perfume house, Amouage, launched a new line entitled The Library Collection which was meant to be a “poetic homage to the art of living” and inspired by the concept of memories as treasured books in a library. Just a month ago, in mid-April 2013, Amouage added a seventh “book” to its line, this one created by Alberto Morillas and Pierre Negrin. Opus VII is described as “a green, woody and leather fragrance evoking the juxtaposition of harmony with the intensity of recklessness.” It is a difficult, complex, assertive and very masculine scent that takes you to the heart of darkness in a smoky oud jungle populated by ferocious big cats. 

According to the Amouage press release quoted by CaFleureBon:

Opus VII literally stands out from the previous six editions as it is the first to use a black flacon with gold criss cross lines; an allegory of the mind when thoughts are subjected and diverted. The use of galbumum and violet in Opus VII are integral to the composition and Christopher [Chong]’s vision.

Amouage-Opus-VII-Library-CollectionI don’t see violet listed as one of Opus VII’s notes which — according to both Amouage‘s website and Fragrantica — consist of:

top: Galbanum, Pink Pepper, Cardamom, Nutmeg, Fenugreek
heart: Agarwood Smoke, Patchouli, Ambrox [synthetic amber], Leather, Ambergris
base: Costus Root, Muscone [synthetic musk], Sandalwood, Olibanum [Frankincense], Cypriol [a woody note with earthy and spicy nuances]

Source: herbalveda.co.uk

Source: herbalveda.co.uk

As always with Amouage, understanding what the perfume smells like requires understanding the more unusual ingredients that the house likes to use. In this case, one of the most important would be the Costus Root. In a long article on animalic notes, The Perfume Shrine describes costus root as “reminiscent of unwashed hair, in more intimate places than just head” and says that it is one of the elements for the trademarked perfumer’s base called “Animalis,” produced by Synarome. In a post on Animalis itself, The Perfume Shrine describes costus root as

a plant essence that has an uncanny resemblence to a mix of unwashed human hair, goat smell and dirty socks. […] It’s also part of the mysterious urinous & musky allure of Kouros by Yves Saint Laurent (which indeed features a healthy dose of costus under phenyl acetate paracresol).

Though the Perfume Shrine says that modern perfume restrictions have limited or “axed” the use of costus, it is a huge part of Opus VII on my skin.

Dried fenugreek leaves via Suhana.co.in

Dried fenugreek leaves via Suhana.co.in

Another big element is Fenugreek, a plant whose dried leaves or seeds are often used in Middle Eastern or Indian cuisine. In fact, I have a large bottle of it in my pantry right now. Fenugreek has an extremely difficult scent to describe; if you’ve ever smelled it, you’ll know it right away, but otherwise, it’s a little complicated. Basically, it’s a very green aroma that is simultaneously sweet, herbaceous and extremely pungent. Though Wikipedia says that it’s called Methi in India and is a key component of some Indian dishes, to me it evokes Middle Eastern or Ethiopian food much more. It is a key ingredient in Persian Ghormeh Sabzi which Wikipedia says is considered to be one of Iran’s national dishes. Whatever its uses, fenugreek is one of those ingredients that, after you eat it, will ooze and seep out of your pores for days in a slightly sour, stale smell. As the Perfume Shrine explains,

An opaque, rather bitter smell with a nutty undertone, it traverses the urinary track to scent a person’s urine as well as their sweat and intimate juices. Its seeds’ odour is comparable to thick maple suryp. Fenugreek is featured in many fragrances which have rippled the waters of niche perfumery with pre-eminent examples Sables by Annick Goutal and Eau Noire by Christian Dior (composed by nose Francis Kurkdjian). Everytime I smell them I am reminded of the intense flavour that this spice gives them. [Bold font emphasis added.]

If all this talk of ingredients with sharp, bitter, animalic and/or urinous aromas is giving you pause, well, I’m sorry to say that both notes are key to understanding Opus VII. I could simply mention “fenugreek” and “costus root” all day long to you but, unless you know what that really entails, you won’t be prepared for the complicated, difficult scent that is Opus VII. 

Source: all-hd-wallpapers.com

Source: all-hd-wallpapers.com

The perfume opens on my skin with an immediate burst of oud backed with something lemony that has a strong nuance of urine, along with the darkest of green notes and leather. Woods that are deeply smoky and dark sit atop pungently herbaceous sharp fenugreek with slightly intimate animalic musk, earthy, spicy elements, and sweetly bright, green patchouli. It is a vision of darkness, black and green, the innermost recesses of a forest where a golden jungle cat slithers, slinks and prowls in the shadows before releasing a guttural “rowwwwwwrrrr.” In the footsteps of that opening burst, there are other notes which quickly appear. There is brightly green galbanum that feels almost citric-like in its surprising freshness but which has a dark, liqueured undertone. Pink peppercorns and sharp smoke — black, acrid, and burning like a forest on fire — also join the dance. 

Source: Facebook

Source: Facebook

Few of the notes besides the smoky oud have a chance of competing against the raw animalism of Opus VII’s opening minutes. If you’ve ever been to the wild cat enclosure of a zoo, you’ll know the smell. And, to detect it here, even in a less concentrated, milder form, is a complete shock to the system. It truly feels like a panther or cheetah’s ferocious growl: urinous, like animal droppings, but also musky with a faint tinge of dirty hair underneath. It’s lemon-tinged and sharply evokes YSL‘s vintage Kouros for me, albeit in a significantly softer, milder, tamer manner in Opus VII’s early stage. I lack the guts to be able to wear Kouros myself, but I absolutely adore it on a man and think it’s an incredibly sexy scent. However, that sharply animalic note — often described by some as resembling “urinal cakes” — makes vintage Kouros a deeply polarizing fragrance. I suspect the same will be true of Opus VII.

Despite the sudden shock, I found Opus VII’s opening to be completely mesmerizing, captivating and fascinating. Perhaps much like a scorpion’s victim would watch its slow, ominous walk forward. Opus VII is, on the one hand, exactly like a jungle on fire with its earthy, rooty, dark floor kicked up by panicked animals in full flight, leaving behind leathered, slightly urinous droppings in their wake. On the other hand, it is a deeply woody-leathery fragrance that feels quite smooth, with a savagely sensuous heart at its base and something that seems almost like a velvety floral. Opus VII is such a jungle scent in its opening stage: primal, elemental, ferocious, pungent, fetid, earthy, leathered and sharp — but, also, lushly green in the darkest way possible. Baudelaire would have fully approved of it and would have undoubtedly written a companion piece to Les Fleurs du Mal, entitled perhaps as La Forêt de TerreurI approve, too, in some way that is almost partially terrified. I struggle with galbanum but, here, it’s not the brutal galbanum of Bandit or other famous leather scents. It’s not so green that it might as well be black; instead, it is smooth, spiced, warm and animalic. It’s a leathered, ambered jungle cat’s galbanum, and it actually makes me want to spray on some more. 

Source: Tumblr

Source: Tumblr

Thirty minutes in, Opus VII starts to shift a little. The smokiness that evoked a burning jungle recedes just a hair; the perfume turns slightly more sour and urinous; the pepper notes seem blacker and far less like pink peppercorns; the leather feels darker and muskier; and the subtle spices flicker with a little more fire in the background. Much more importantly, however, the earthy elements intensify. It’s as if the jungle’s humidity hit the blackest soil at the very base of an oud/agarwood tree, turning the earth almost rooty and musky.

Bearded iris via scenicreflections.com

Bearded iris via scenicreflections.com

And, to my surprise, there is a definite impression of iris. A number of bloggers detected it, and they’re right. Though there is no iris or orris root listed in Opus VII, I’m guessing that some combination of the muscone, the earthy-woody cypriol, and the earthy elements of galbanum have created the distinct smell of iris. (Technically, “iris” as a note is impossible to create solely from the flower’s petals; it is replicated by taking rhizomes from the root, and/or often using other notes to lend to an overall impression of the flower’s scent.) I suspect that another thing that helps is ISO E Super.

ISO E Super. Source: Fragrantica

ISO E Super. Source: Fragrantica

Yes, Opus VII starts with a flicker of my most dreaded, hated note on earth: ISO E Super. A flicker that starts to slowly increase in volume until, eventually, it completely ruins the entire fragrance for me. A perfumer once astutely noted that ISO E Super was my “kryptonite” and, sadly, it’s true. For those unfamiliar with the aroma-chemical, you can read my full description of its pros and cons here. In a nutshell, though, it is used most frequently for two reasons: 1) as a super-floralizer which is added to expand and magnify many floral notes, along with their longevity; and 2) to amplify woody notes and add a velvety touch to the base. It seems to be particularly used in fragrances that have vetiver, with Lalique‘s Encre Noire being just one of the many examples. It is also used in a large number of Montale Aoud fragrances, to amplify the wood note to that high-decibel shrieking volume. And it is the sole focus of Geza Schoen’s notorious Molecule 01 fragrance. ISO E Super always smells extremely peppery and, in large doses, has an undertone that is like that of rubbing alcohol, is medicinal, and/or antiseptic. Some people are completely anosmic to the synthetic, while others get searing, vicious headaches from it. It is a constant base in most Ormonde Jayne perfumes, so if you get a headache from those, blame the ISO E Super. I’m not afflicted in that manner, but I cannot stand the smell in large quantities and, my God, it is strong in Opus VII’s second stage.

At the end of the first hour, Opus VII shifts in hue, turning mossily green. Visually, it is no longer the black-green of the jungle’s shadow, seeming almost ebony-like in its darkness. Instead, the perfume now reflects slightly lighter green notes, sweeter, warmer, rounder and backed by amber. The patchouli blooms, feeling as bright as emerald moss, and it helps soften the sharp edges of the urinous leather and the aggressive oud smoke. At the same time, both the iris and the fenugreek note rise in prominence. Though I’m not one to usually rave about iris, here it’s truly lovely and feels like the lushest, most buttery, velvety suede. Creamy and delicate, it has a sturdy woody-rooty undertone that prevents it from feeling gauzy, ethereal and cold. It feels like taupe-brown suede, not grey-white, if that makes any sense. Opus VII starts to turn into warmer, ambered scent where the animalic notes are softened, less sharp, dirty or urinous, the smoke is less aggressive, and the whole thing is more velvety, mossy and earthy.

Source: Sodahead.com

Source: Sodahead.com

Unfortunately, the start of the second hour marks an abrupt right turn in Opus VII’s development. From that fascinating start as olfactory ode to the heart of darkness in a smoky oud forest inhabited by the most powerful of leathery, ambered jungle cats alongside velvety iris and mossy green, the perfume suddenly becomes a fenugreek-oud scent — much like a dark forest through which shines the fluorescent light of ISO E Super. Sure, there are still elements of animalic musk, leather, iris, spices (cardamom, in particular) and amber, but the oud really goes into high gear here. It is always infused with the pungent, herbal fenugreek, the slightly urinous feline musk, and the sharply medicinal, astringent ISO E — and the combination just gets stronger with every minute. By the middle of the third hour, Opus VII is an oud-fenugreek-musk combination above gallons of medicinal, antiseptic ISO E Super. By the end of the fourth hour, it’s predominantly, painfully, and primarily pure ISO E Super and oud, backed by animalic, sour musk over light amber. Honestly, I preferred smelling like a panther just peed on me.

Opus VII’s drydown begins at the fifth hour. The perfume is primarily dark, peppered, woody notes headed by oud, followed thereafter by light, synthetic sandalwood (which has suddenly made its first appearance), the endless ISO E Super, a miniscule pinch of spices, and a lot of sour musk over vague, muted amber. In some odd way that I can’t explain, the whole thing feels generalized and somewhat abstract. Opus VII is also a much softer scent now in terms of sillage, becoming very close to the skin where it lingers on for another few hours. At the end, 8.5 hours in, all that really remains is a musky, spiced oud note, though tiny pockets of scent still pop up occasionally on random patches of arm for another few hours. For the most part, however, Opus VII lasted in full form about 8.5 hours on me. Its sillage was much more moderate than some of Amouage’s floral scents, never projecting in tidal waves, though the scent was still extremely powerful within its small cloud a few inches above my skin.

As you can tell, Opus VII was ultimately not for me but I do think many people will be fascinated by its dichotomy, especially men. I think the perfume will be disconcerting for others and, for women used to mainstream fragrances, it will scream “masculine” in a very negative way. Opus VII is a fragrance for people who like very aggressive leathers, ouds, sharp smoke and animalic notes — all in one — as well as those who don’t get raging headaches from ISO E Super.

I think one of the best reviews for Opus VII comes from Lucas at Chemist in a Bottle. In fact, it was Lucas who so kindly and thoughtfully sent me a small sample of the perfume as a surprise gift. In his review, entitled Black Ink, he wrote:

With the first day of sampling Amouage Opus VII I noticed that it is a perfume of two different natures. The “outer” stratum of the scent is a hard shell. The smell is dense and oily with cypriol oil. When I smell it I get a feeling like I could drown in this scent. It’s mysterious and dark suspension, a black ink that covers everything permanently, making it impossible to return to the previous state. In this kettle particles of warm and spicy cardamom float, blended with a resinous smell of galbanum.

In no time the dark tincture smell gets enriched by the aroma of sandalwood. It’s raw, dirty, not smooth but full of splinters that can hurt your hands when you want to touch it and feel the structure of the wood. Neither musk is soft here. In Opus VII musky tones are animalic, wild and untamed which is additionally pronounced by the earthy, almost rotten patchouli. Maybe it’s just my nose (not used to smelling scents like this one) but so far this Amouage is a beasty creature on me.

Once you survive through the “outer” stratum of Amouage Opus VII the different story begins. After the hard shell is broken, the softer core of the scent is revealed. To me it is still dark, but now it’s more gentle and chic like a black silk scarf. Amber creates warm and sensual aura around the wearer and olibanum adds the restrained mineral quality with a slightly salty touch. Of course oud had to find its place in the composition. Luckily it’s not very powerful. Accompannied by the leathery chords it creates this a little bit mischievous smell of tanner workshop. The smell of raw leather, pigments… it’s all in here.

In the rest of the review, which I recommend reading in full, he notes the presence of the iris note and how the final stage of Opus VII on his skin was spicy and dry. He concludes with a very apt warning: “Bear in mind – this is not an easy to wear perfume. In my opinion one has to be really self-confident and needs to have a strong personality to rock it.”

I agree very much with that last part as well as with his overall impressions of the perfume, though the details of our individual experiences with Opus VII differed. For one thing, I detected very little sandalwood on my skin until the very end. For another, Lucas has often noted that oud notes manifest themselves very softly on his skin. My skin, in contrast, amplifies certain base notes, I think, which may explain the vociferous roar of the oud. But we thoroughly unite on the issue of the raw leather and those prominent animalic notes which, as he put it so well, are “untamed” and completely “beasty” — in the full sense of that word. And, despite having perfume tastes at the opposite ends of the perfume spectrum, we both would run away from wearing Opus VII ourselves.

African lion spraying to mark his territory. Photo: Charles G. Summers, Jr. Source: WildImages on Flickr http://www.flickriver.com/photos/wild_images/2236584479/

African lion spraying to mark his territory. Photo: Charles G. Summers, Jr. Source: WildImages on Flickr http://www.flickriver.com/photos/wild_images/2236584479/

Opus VII is a difficult, thorny scent for a variety of reasons, and it is not one which I would recommend to the vast majority of people. Though there are fascinating, intriguing and, at times, mesmerizing parts, at the end of the day, I think it’s a very masculine scent with extremely assertive edges that border on the abrasive. Some of the notes are wildly aggressive but, taken by themselves, they would be manageable. Even a jungle cat peeing on your arm can be handled, in small doses. But Amouage rarely does anything in moderation, and Opus VII is no exception. The combination of difficult, raw, beastly notes at such supersonic volume (and atop such vast lakes of ISO E Super) made much of Opus VII simply unbearable for me. If Opus VII had been a projection beast — which, thankfully, it is not — then it would have been a complete scrubber right off the bat. As it was, I tried it twice and the second time, I gave up after 6.5 hours. The second time round, the animalic notes were so prominent, I felt as if I’d been chained in a wild cat enclosure and been peed on by a vast legion of feral, growly animals who had been fed a steady diet of antiseptic oud. At $325 or €275 a bottle, Opus VII is a very expensive wildlife experience but, if you enjoy the woody heart of darkness, then give it a try.

 

DETAILS:
U.S. availability & Stores: Opus VII comes only in a 3.4 oz/100 ml eau de parfum that retails for $325. It is available from Parfums Raffy, the authorized US retailer for Amouage, who offers free domestic shipping and Amouage samples with each order. Parfums Raffy also sells a 2.5 ml sample of Opus VII for $6. Elsewhere, Opus VII is available at Luckyscent and MinNY.
Outside the US: In the UK, Opus VII is not yet available at Les Senteurs which normally carries the full Amouage line. I also don’t see it amongst the Amouage listings at Harrods. However, there is an Amouage boutique in London. In Paris, Opus VII is available via Jovoy for €275 with shipping available throughout the rest of Europe. First in Fragrance usually carries the Amouage line but doesn’t have Opus VII listed on its website for some reason. Of course, the perfume is also available on Amouage’s own website, along with a Library Sampler Set for €50 of the other 6 perfumes in the collection. The website also has a “Store Finder” for about 20 countries which should, hopefully, help you find Opus VI somewhere close to you.
Samples: Samples of Opus VII are available at Surrender to Chance starting at $3.99 for a 1/2 ml vial. The site also sells a Sampler Set for the other 6 of the Library line which starts at $19.99 for 1/2 ml vials.

Perfume Review – Amouage Ubar: The White (Floral) Stallion

Have you ever seen an Arabian horse running? It’s an object of awe and grandeur, from its tiny, delicately chiseled head with those vividly intelligent eyes, to its hugely curved, muscular neck, its perfect, lithe body, and its perpetual grace that puts all prima ballerinas to shame. My sister had a massive Arabian stallion called Sheytan, black as night, with a temper to match, and that half-wild, murderous devil was the terror of our stable boys (and many grown men). I had a Palomino, a handsome golden beauty of great age with a plodding nature. It was the only horse my parents would trust for a tiny four-year old and, though I loved him, I always wanted a black Arabian. I would console myself on sleepless nights by dreaming of riding a stallion like Sheytan in the desert, letting only the wind accompany the steady roar of his hoofbeats.

Arabian Horse tumblr_m7dtkdCrFl1rwt5gqo1_500

Source: dahabhorseridingclub.com

For some indescribable reason, I feel as though I’ve found a white Arabian in perfume form, and it’s Ubar from the royal perfume house of Amouage. Ubar isn’t a pure white steed but one flecked with yellow and gold, a larger-than-life, 3D, floral-oriental powerhouse whose mighty body also has a head of surprising delicacy. It is not a mere thoroughbred race horse; Ubar is too Oriental for that. It is definitely a mighty Arabian, and now I just need a desert in which to set it free. 

Source: Friendfeed.com

Source: Friendfeed.com

Ubar is an eau de parfum that was released in 1995 to celebrate Oman’s Silver Jubilee year, and which made for Oman’s royal perfume house by Créations Aromatics. As First in Fragrance explains, the inspiration was the eponymous legendary city:

Ubar, also known as The City of a Thousand Pillars, existed from ca. 2,800 B.C. to ca. 300 A.D. According to legend the city amassed fabulous wealth from trading between the coastal regions of the Arabian peninsular and the population centres of the Middle East and Europe. Modern historians regarded Ubar as a figment of mythical Arabian tales and never thought that it really existed.

Ubar is mentioned in the fabulous tales from One Thousand and One Nights. According to legend God, enraged by its decadence and profligacy, smote the city, driving it into the sands, never to be seen again.

Ubar.

Ubar.

For some inexplicable reason, Amouage discontinued Ubar, before suddenly deciding to bring it back in 2009. Now Smell This has the details, along with the fabulous historical tidbit that the legendary city of Ubar was re-discovered in 1992 with the aid of satellite imaging. (Yes, I really do love history, even more than perfumery!) 

Ubar has been relaunched this year (20091). It has new packaging (see image above), a new concentration (the original was an Eau de Toilette; now it’s an Eau de Parfum) and a new price (much higher). The notes (bergamot, lemon, lily of the valley, Damascena rose, Bulgarian rose, jasmine, sandalwood, synthetic civet and vanilla) are reportedly the same. […]

[H]ow does the new Ubar compare with the old? Well, first, I thought it was gorgeous in 2005, and it’s still gorgeous in 2009, but the change in concentration (and obviously, the reformulation) is significant: the new Ubar is a much heavier scent, with considerably more emphasis on the floral notes in the heart and correspondingly less emphasis on the base. The original Ubar was, to me, a sandalwood fragrance decorated with a few flowers; the new Ubar is a floral fragrance, first and foremost, with a woody oriental base[.]

The complete set of notes — as compiled from the official list on the Amouage website and from Fragrantica — are as follows:

top: lemon, bergamot, lily of the valley, tangerine, orange, litsea cubeba and violet leaf
heart: jasmine, damascene rose, orange blossom, ylang-ylang, tuberose, freesia, and palisander rosewood
base: civet, vanilla, sandalwood, patchouli, vetiver, copahu balm and black amber

According to my research on Fragrantica, Litsea Cubeba is an evergreen shrub native to China whose aroma is “lemon-like, sharp, tangy, with sweet undertone.” As for Black Amber, Fragrantica says it is the lowest, cheapest grade of ambergris. Copahu balm, for those who have never encountered it, is simply another type of very rich, spiced amber resin. Interestingly, if you examine that list of ingredients, the usual Amouage mainstay of frankincense is missing.

Damascena roseUbar opens on my skin with a burst of ruby-red, velvety, heavy, meaty rose. If this were meat, it would be a heaping slab of prime rib. It drips its hearty juices and jammy nectar atop a base of patchouli that almost feels infused with oakmoss. The mossy note feels midway between fresh and green, and dried, pungent and robust. Co-mingled with that rich damask rose is a subtle touch of orange blossom and big chunks of orange that feels both pulpy and infused with spice. The juicy flesh of the fruit adds another layer of richness to the jamminess of the rose, but any truly fruity aspects are alleviated by the lurking hints of delicate, dainty, sweet freesia and green, spring-like lily-of-the-valley.

In that opening blast, perhaps my favorite part are the subtle, spicy nuances in Ubar. It has to be the indirect effect of the Copahu resin which subtly adds a rich, thick, almost honeyed, but definitely spicy amber touch to the base. There is almost a boozy effect in those opening minutes — not like rum but, rather, like extremely expensive, aged cognac. There is a profoundly liqueur-like feel that smells wonderfully ostentatious, plush, hedonistically decadent and luxurious. At first, it is quite a separate, distinct note, but quickly, it melts into the perfume to become significantly muted, adding only an indirect touch of depth to that beefy, jammy, Damascus rose.

Lily of the ValleyTen minutes in, green notes rise to the surface. It is not precisely like lily-of-the-valley because there is a heavy milky aspect to the floral greenness. In fact, it actually smells like a dead-on replication of extremely concentrated green tea, infused by a huge amount of cream. After another five minutes, the lactonic (and green tea) element fades, replaced by the clear, unquestionable note of lily-of-the-valley. It is infused with lemon and has a miniscule amount of spiciness underneath, thereby preventing it from ever being heavily soapy in nature. I assume that spicy-lemon nuance comes from the litsea cubeba. (As a side note, no other perfume house so consistently uses ingredients that I have never, ever heard of in all my life. It’s always a voyage of discovery with Amouage, and I find that enormously appealing.)

The famous, "Sun Drop" yellow diamond.

The famous, “Sun Drop” yellow diamond.

While the lemony lily-of-the-valley quietly makes its presence known, so too does the jasmine and, my word, is it stunning. It has the feel of night-blooming jasmine in full narcotic headiness with a sensuous aroma that feels almost tactile, reaching its floral tendrils across a warm summer’s night as if the floral fingers were waving at you in the air. It is so rich and strong, the note almost seems visually solid. In conjunction with that beefy, meaty, prime-rib of a rose, the overall effect feels like the perfume has turned into a floral holograph right before your eyes, shimmering in 3D effect like a revolving yellow diamond. (Jasmine always feels “yellow” to me, if that makes any sense, and I always have to remind myself that it is, in fact, a white flower. But, dammit, its richness feels so yellow, especially here!)

Amidst that heady blast of jasmine-rose, touched by lemony lily-of-the-valley, the other notes become much less individually distinct. Ubar’s patchouli can always be felt in the background, but the ambery, boozy note from the copahu resin receded long ago. And there is almost no strong feel of smoke and frankincense which is the usual signature for an Amouage fragrance. There feels like there are some flickers of frankincense, muted and almost indecipherable, but every time I think I’ve got a hold of the note, it vanishes. And I’m not the only one who wonder about its presence in Ubar. Now Smell This also struggled to decide whether or not it was there. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if the subtle traces of some amorphous smokiness stemmed from the Copahu resin instead.

Source: Mearas.net

Source: Mearas.net

Around the forty minute mark, Ubar settles into its paces like an Arabian once it is in a full, comfortable gallop that it can maintain for hours. It is a perfectly blended, harmonious, monstrously big sum-total of: heady, exuberant flowers; lemony lily-of-the-valley; muskiness tinged with smoke; velvety, mossy patchouli; and subtle, almost minute flickers of spiced, pulpy orange. Like an Arab stallion racing in the desert, its footsteps kick out small traces of other notes, like pebbles or dust in the wind. There is civet which comes out from time to time like a teasing ghost. It’s never urinous, skanky, dirty or raunchy on my skin, but just another layer of muskiness that is added to the narcotic flowers. There are also subtle suggestions of sandalwood lurking at the edges but, at in the early hours, it never feels like real Mysore sandalwood. I honestly think it’s either synthetic or a variant, because it lacks the truly spicy, deeply complex, rich, layered feel of Mysore sandalwood. Still, it’s creamy and adds a subtle depth to very strong patchouli base. Hints of amber are also apparent at times but, like the other tertiary notes, it’s muted in the face of those powerful florals. Lastly, about two hours in, a quiet touch of soapiness arrives, underlying that lily-of-the valley note, but it soon fades away.

In its middle phase, Ubar becomes, primarily, a musky rose-jasmine fragrance whose other notes sing very softly in the shadows. At times, the whole thing feels like one extremely powerful, abstract burst of flowers backed by musk and patchouli. Yes, there is still some lemon nuances, but the fresh, spring, green Lily of the Valley element (that was never huge to begin with) disappeared around the middle of the third hour. The civet is noticeable, though it isn’t a profoundly distinct note beyond general muskiness at this stage. The sandalwood still feels very synthetic, muted, and vague. And, finally, on my skin, the amber effect is extremely indirect.

However, starting around the sixth hour, Ubar starts to shift a little. The jasmine-rose duet is joined by stronger animalic civet, followed by a touch of vanilla. The civet never smells urinous to me or like “cat-butt” as some of its detractors call it, but the note is strong, more than just general “muskiness,” and even a little sharp at times. Since it’s a synthetic ingredient for animal cruelty reasons, I’m not surprised that it burns my nose. As time passes, that softens a little, as does Ubar itself. It’s finally less voluminous in feel and projection, finally a little closer to the skin, and much more softly golden. Vanilla becomes more significant around the 8th hour, creating a warm, musky sweetness on the skin that remains until the very end.

I truly can’t say that the amber in the base or drydown is very profound, and I certainly don’t detect ambergris with its almost grey, sweaty, richly heavy, salty feel. The ambergris used in Ubar is the lowest grade called “Black Amber”; reading the Fragrantica which I linked to above, it seems to be an extremely soft form and I get the sense that it smells far from the real, hardcore whale ambergris. Furthermore, I’ve never read any accounts of Ubar where the reviewer thought amber (never mind ambergris) was a huge part of Ubar. There is a golden feel to the base in Ubar’s final stage, but it stems more from the lingering effect of the Copahu resin, mixed with the musky civet and vanilla than anything that smells “ambery.” When Ubar finally starts to fade away, all that’s left is some vanilla musk.

All in all, Ubar feels almost exactly as Luca Turin describes it. Yes, for once, I actually agree with the famed, prickly critic. In his gushing five-star review of Ubar in Perfumes: The A-Z Guide, he wrote:

I remember years ago seeing an iMax movie at the Air and Space Museum in DC: it started out with a grainy black and white film of a biplane taking off, and just when you thought you were beginning to wonder why you’d shelled out twenty bucks, the screen turned to colour, widened to a huge hollow sphere and you were flying above a forest in turning-leaf colors above a Pitts S2 painted in shiny red and white. Even the sound was gorgeous. Everyone went “aaaah” and I shed 40 years of age in 10 milliseconds. After smelling several dozen pigeon-toed, rickety modern fragrances designed by depressive accountants, encountering Ubar is a similarly joyful experience. This thing is so huge, gleaming, overengineered and chock-full of counterrotating planetary gears that you feel all you can do is let it tower over you while you walk around it and kick the huge tires. Ubar is technically a floral-oriental but the flowers are 3XL in size and the Orient has been scaled accordingly. If the old Dioressence had an illegitimate child with the first Rush, it would smell like this: a huge, purple romantic rose in the manner of the lamented Nombre Noir, a ton of creamy lactones, a whale’s worth of animalic amber. Ubar joins the small club of nuclear-tipped fragrances: Poison, Giorgio, Angel, Amarige. Use it carefully, for once you spray it on there’s no going back.

I can’t believe it, I actually agree with “His Majesty” in almost every respect! I only quibble on the “whale’s worth of animalic amber” since, on my skin, it is quite a subtle, indirect background thing. Notwithstanding that minor difference of opinion, I think the rest of Mr. Turin’s assessment is absolutely perfect, right down to how the “oriental” aspect has been scaled down to a small size.

He’s certainly right about Ubar being “nuclear-tipped.” This is one extremely powerful fragrance. Do not spray it with reckless abandon! Two to three small, dabbed smears gave me monstrously strong sillage at first but, after the first hour, it drops by a little. It doesn’t radiate out across a room at that point, but it does create a small, soft cloud around you, wafting about a 6 inches above your skin for hours and hours on end. You can definitely smell it on yourself, though I don’t think you’d overwhelm a co-worker across the room. (As a general rule, I would not recommend Ubar for a conservative office, no matter what the quantity.) Ubar only becomes a skin scent about 6.5 hours into its development and it lasts about 11.5 hours on my perfume-consuming skin. None of that applies, however, if you spray on a lot. More than 2-3 small sprays all over (remember that spraying amplifies a perfume due to aerosolization), and those around you will definitely notice. From a distance.

Though there is a lot of love for Ubar out there (even amongst those for whom lily-of-the-valley becomes a scrubber note), not everyone can handle it. The opinions on Fragrantica range from outright love, to occasional horror (due to the civet note), to those who admire it but find it far too big to wear:

  • This is one of the ‘richest’, most luxurious perfumes I have ever tried. I don’t usually like civet, but in this composition, it was not unpleasant to me. It is an extremely smooth and long-lasting floral perfume.
  • The only Amouage I dislike. It is so strong it gives me instant nausea. I think I am getting that “Mongoose” strongly”.
  • Ubar is an extraordinary flowery fragrance, done on the Arab way. I smell something very close to agar wood note and some animal notes as well which I do not see listed here, but that is how it feels- untamed flowers, mostly violet leaves, greenish tuberose and jasmine.
  • Love the topnotes, REALLY LOVE the drydown. I struggled a bit with the heart…For about 30 minutes, this beautiful creation smelled like celery and urine, though I don’t know which notes listed above would lend to the urine-like smell.
  • Ubar by Amouage is all about flowers, it recalls many good big floral vintage perfumes I’ve already tried before, so if you love a good, bold and in your face floral you might want to give this a try. [¶] It opened with a big bucket of flowers, the smell itself is sharp, almost animalistic and very strong, it fills up a room and is not for pleasing a bus full with people :). [¶] The heart part on me is full with rich ylang-ylang, almost buttery, still going extremely strong and stays like this all trough the drydown – a rich, expensive smelling bomb of flowers – warm, elegant and inviting. [¶] Unfortunately like in many cases with Amouage – I find this to be too much, on the other hand – they do try to give what their customers paid for – a full and rich fragrance that simply screams “royal and expensive”.
  • [From a male commentator]: I knew this was supposed to be floral, but it’s way too floral for my taste. I think the main culprit is the lily-of-the-valley, which is so strong that it overpowers the roses and jasmine, which I generally find pleasant. I can smell a little rose in the mix, but it’s not strong enough to balance the sharper white florals. I cannot smell the base at all due to the LOTV, which dominates everything throughout the entire development of the scent. [¶] I was hoping that at some point the base would make its way through, but the next morning I can still smell LOTV on my wrists. I have to say that this is a wearable LOTV, not a scrubber as many of them are for me, and it’s one I might choose if, for some unknown reason, I wanted a LOTV scent. The perfume is well-made, so I think anyone who loves pure florals of this type would enjoy Ubar.

I didn’t experience a particularly strong Lily-of-the-Valley note and certainly no “mongoose”-like or urinous civet, but I do agree with the general feel of many of the comments. Ubar is a total flowerbomb explosion that does scream out wealth, luxury, and opulence. It is absolutely over-the-top. And I completely share the opinion about how Ubar feels like a lot of vintage floral fragrances.

Source: Wallpapersget.com

Source: Wallpapersget.com

In fact, in my notes, I wrote a long bit about Ubar’s retro and 1980s diva character because it is nothing short of a rearing, white Arab stallion. It is a perfume that feels incredibly classique, in a timeless, high-class, elegant, luxurious way. It’s so opulent, it’s retro, as if this were a 1970s or 1980s, big, diva perfume — only without the screeching element that some of those perfumes had. (Poison, I’m staring straight at you!) I think Ubar’s edges are softer, more well-rounded and creamy, but it’s all a very relative matter. Someone who likes “fresh, clean” fragrances would go into a coma with Ubar; those who can’t handle powerful, narcotically heady fragrances would probably pass out; and those who struggle with indolic, big, white florals would probably be completely overwhelmed. Ubar is stronger than (vintage) Fracas, and it reaches (vintage, 1970s) Opium levels of power.

I wouldn’t recommend Ubar to a lot of people. Those with the aforementioned perfume taste should stay far, far away. Those who are looking for an unobtrusive, versatile, office-friendly, and/or day fragrance — don’t even bother. Young women may also have problems with Ubar, as I’ve read a few people comment that it feels “old lady.” Yes, it definitely is for a more mature woman who wants something extremely sophisticated. And, lastly, in total honesty, I don’t think a lot of men would be comfortable wearing Ubar. It definitely tips heavily to the feminine side of things with all those powerful white florals. However, if you’re a man whose tastes aren’t limited to aromatic fougères, citrusy, gourmand, or oud-based fragrances, and if you enjoy big florals with powerful sillage and longevity, I would strongly urge you to sniff out Ubar.

As for me, I really enjoyed the heady splendour of Ubar with its enormous white beauty, but I prefer my Arabian horses to be Blacks, Bays, and Chestnuts with a little more of unisex smoke and spiciness in their nature. I would certainly wear Ubar if a bottle were ever to fall into my lap but, to my surprise, it is Amouage‘s Lyric that tempts me the most. It feels like a darker stallion with its spicy undertones, even though Lyric was primarily a ylang-ylang fragrance on my skin with hardly any rose. In fact, if I were to do a blind smell-test, based only on what I had heard of each fragrance, I’m sure I would have picked Ubar to be “Lyric” and Lyric to be “Ubar.” Ubar’s heavy, beefy, bloody, red rose presence is exactly what I had thought Lyric would be like (but wasn’t). On my skin, Lyric turned out to have very little rose but, instead, mostly bucketfuls of bewitchingly creamy, buttery, velvety ylang-ylang atop smoke, spices, and custardy vanilla. It just feels like it would fit better with Ubar’s golden bottle and image in my mind. Yet, even apart from the unexpected twist that it took on my skin, I much prefer Lyric because I think it has greater depth, complexity, and range than the primarily white floral aspects of Ubar.      

If you’re tempted by Ubar, but put off by the brand’s steep prices, please know that there are ways around that; Amouage fragrances are often found at a huge discount at various, reputable, discount perfume retailers like LilyDirect. Ubar, in specific, is currently available for around $156 for a large 3.4 oz/100 ml bottle. (See, Details section, below.) For an Amouage, for the size, and for such a powerful eau de parfum, it’s truly an excellent deal. That large bottle will last you decades, unless you plan on spraying on more than 2-3 small spritzes over your entire body each time — in which case, the astronauts on the space station may sit up and wonder.  

So give it a sniff if you’re looking for a sophisticated, seductive, diva, evening floral scent, and ride with the stallions to the ancient city of Ubar in the desert. 

DETAILS:
Cost, Availability, Sales & Sets: Ubar is an eau de parfum that comes in two sizes: a large 3.4 oz/100 ml eau de parfum that costs $285, £170.00 or €215, or a small 50 ml/1.7 oz bottle that retails for $250, €185 or £150.00. Very few retailers carry the small size. LilyDirect, a very reputable online perfume retailer that frequently gives large discounts on Amouage, is selling a large 3.4 oz bottle of Ubar for only $156.08 instead of $285!!! That is an unbelievable price, especially given the free domestic shipping on orders over $100. (For Canadian readers, I’ve heard that LilyDirect will begin shipping to your country in June, so you may want to check with them then.) Ubar in the small 1.7 oz size is also on sale at Beauty Encounter for $163.49 with free domestic shipping and international shipping for a fee. (Obviously, you get more for cheaper from LilyDirect.) I’ve ordered from BeautyEncounter in the past with no problem, as have many of my friends, and they too are a very reputable dealer. Amazon seems to be selling Ubar via PlentyCosas and via FragranceNet with discounted prices of $163.54 for the small and $221 for the large bottle. If you were to go directly to FragranceNet the price is higher, depending on whether you want it boxed or not, at $200.19 for the small or $227.19 for the large. Otherwise, your first stop for purchase might be the Amouage website which sells Ubar in the small 50 ml/1.7 oz size for $250 as well as the larger size.
In the U.S., the authorized Amouage dealer is Parfums Raffy which sells Ubar in both sizes, including the smaller $250 bottle. There is free domestic shipping, and free Amouage samples with any order. Luckyscent carries only the large 3.4 oz/100 ml bottle of Ubar for $285. Ubar in the 3.4 oz/100 ml bottle can also be purchased online at Parfum1MinNY, or the Four Seasons. Finally, Parfums Raffy sells a Mini Parfum Set of 6 Amouage fragrances (Ubar, Jubilation 25, Lyric, Gold, Dia, Reflection) in 7.5 ml crystal bottles for $280. MinNY sells the same Mini Set for $265.
Outside the US: OzCosmetics sells Ubar from Hong Kong (with free world shipping, it seems) and offers Ubar in the small 50 ml bottle for US$216.90 and in the large 3.4 oz bottle for US$246.90. In Canada, The Perfume Shoppe offers Ubar for USD$285 in the large 3.4 oz/100 ml bottle size. I think there is free worldwide shipping. Since CAD prices are usually higher, so you may want to drop them an email to inquire as to the Canadian rate. In the UK, Ubar is available at Les Senteurs where it costs £150.00 or £170.00, depending on size. Samples are available for purchase. There is also an Amouage boutique in London, and I’ve read that some people have purchased Ubar at Harrods (probably in the Roja Dove speciality boutique). In France, Ubar is sold at Jovoy Paris for €210 for the large 3.4 oz/100 ml bottle. For the rest of Europe, Premiere Avenue in France carries the full line of Amouage products, from perfumes to candles to body products. Like everything else it carries, Premiere Avenue will ship worldwide. (Send an email to info@eurl3.com for shipping costs.) In Germany, Ubar is available at First in Fragrance where it costs €190 or €270.00 (which is much higher than the €215 listed on the Amouage website) with free shipping within the EU and shipping elsewhere for a fee. In Australia, Au.StrawberryNet sells the small 1.7 oz/50 ml bottle of Ubar for AUD$223.50. For other countries, the Amouage website has a “Store Finder” which should, hopefully, help you find the perfume somewhere close to you.
Samples: Surrender to Chance sells Ubar at prices start at $3.99 for a 1/2 ml vial. Samples are also available at a few of the retailers listed above, where mentioned.