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.

Tauer Perfumes Cologne du Maghreb

Posted on June 7, 2014 by Kafkaesque

Source: hqwallbase.com

Welcome to summer. Would you care for some lemonade? That is one facet of Cologne du Maghreb, a fragrance from Tauer Perfumes that begins as a brisk, chilled draught of citruses before turning much warmer and woodier.

As the name makes clear, Cologne du Maghreb is an eau de cologne. It originally debuted in 2011, and has just been re-released, primarily for the U.S. market, though it is also available at some European retailers. The fragrance is centered on botanical, natural, and absolute oils, but it also seeks to put a twist on the traditional, often European model for colognes by introducing some oriental elements as well. As the press release sent to me explains:

Source: Hypoluxe

The Cologne du Maghreb is hand crafted and created in the traditional way of cologne making: With all natural and all botanical raw materials only. Essential oils, absolutes and resins find their way into this Cologne. Not more, not less. […][¶]

With this Cologne, Andy reaches out to the origins of perfume making in Europe, with an oriental twist, adding a storyline that goes beyond classical cologne splashes. The Cologne du Maghreb is a light fragrance that bridges occident and orient, and is evidence that the lands of the orient sun bring us more tones than just oudh and dark woods.

Atlas cedar. Source: sodahead.com

Contrasting a bright citrus chord, cistus and ambreine add depth and a natural amber gris shade. An exotic melody with cedarwood from the Moroccan High Atlas and hints of Java vetiver oil lingers in its base and lasts longer than the classical cologne citrus chord.

Like all colognes, the Cologne du Maghreb is a refreshing joy for the moment, and its herbaceous citrus accord is composed to last a short while, bright and fresh like the morning sun rising over a citrus garden in Morocco. The Cologne du Maghreb builds on the finest grade of Bergamot and lemon essential oils, combined with other carefully selected citrus treasures, such as luxurious neroli oil, the steam distilled essential oil of orange blossoms.

Lavender and rosemary essential oils build a herbaceous contrast to the fresh airy citrus choir and join rose absolute, rose essential oil and clary sage, bringing in a green ambery floral line and adding depth and character.

Notes: Citrus accord, cistus [labdanum amber], ambreine, cedarwood, java vetiver oil, bergamot, lemon, neroli, orange blossom, lavender, rosemary, rose absolute, rose essential oil, clary sage.

Source: kitchendaily.com

Cologne du Maghreb opens on my skin with crisp lemon and lime, resembling a very tart, chilled lemonade. It is lightly infused with vetiver which always manifests a peppermint aspect on my skin. While that’s rather common for me with vetiver, it isn’t the norm for a lot of people. Still, you should expect some definite greenness to accompany the cool citrus notes.

For a brief moment, Cologne du Maghreb’s opening bouquet calls to mind Dior‘s famous Eau Sauvage in vintage form. Both fragrances have sparkling freshness, vetiver, and citruses, but there are also differences. Cologne du Maghreb’s opening is much more heavily citric in focus, with less woodiness and vetiver. Also, to my memory, Eau Sauvage did not have any lime which is a sharper, more bitter element than bergamot and lemon. In any event, the similarity is fleeting, and soon passes.

Other elements lurk in Cologne du Maghreb’s background. There are hints of ambered sweetness, woodiness and herbaceousness, creating a blend that is largely fresh and crisp, but also with peeks of warmth. The herbal elements are mostly abstract. I never detect lavender or rosemary on my skin, though a muted, quiet touch of soapy clary sage is noticeable for brief moments in the opening 10 minutes.

Cedar bark. Source: mlewallpapers.com

As it fades, it makes way for the cedar which generally smells very green and fresh. The odd thing is that there is a definite whiff of muskiness to the note. In fact, in the opening few minutes, I had detected a sweatiness that had a strange woody character. It didn’t last for long, but I’m pretty sure it is the cedar which is responsible. There is something else, too: pencil shavings. Once in a while, the cedar smells like lemon-drenched pencil shavings as well. All of this is brief, though, as the wood note recedes to the periphery 30 minutes into Cologne du Maghreb’s development. When it returns, it is largely an abstract woodiness on my skin, without any strong or clearly delineated cedar tonalities.

Source: pximagez.com

For the most part, Cologne du Maghreb’s opening bouquet in the first hour is primarily that of sparkling, very zesty, chilled lemonade made up of lemons and limes, with peppermint vetiver, a dash of the oils from the fruits’ bitter peel, and the occasional suggestion of woodiness in the background. The herbaceousness soon fades away, as does the clary sage’s brief, muted touch of soapiness. At no time did I experience any orange blossom, though the rose appeared later for a short period.

To my surprise, the scent doesn’t feel like a thin cologne at all. Initially, it falls midway between a strong eau de toilette and a very airy, light, sheer eau de parfum. Botanicals can be very concentrated and potent, and it feels as though Mr. Tauer used very rich ones here. I have to say, I’m relieved, as I was rather dreading a Jo Malone-style of scent or a watery cologne. I have intense loathing and contempt for both.

Nonetheless, Cologne du Maghreb is not a potent scent when taken as a whole over the span of its entire development. The sillage is initially 2 inches with the use of 2 good sprays from a small vial. The number was pushed up by a fraction when I applied more, amounting to 2 large sprays from an actual perfume bottle, but Cologne du Maghreb is generally a soft fragrance. The projection dropped roughly 40 minutes into the perfume’s development to an inch. By the 90 minute mark, Cologne du Maghreb hovered just above the skin. It became a true skin scent on me at the end of the 2nd hour, and required me putting my nose actually on the skin to detect it.

Country Time powdered lemonade mix. Source: Soap.com

At the start of the 2nd hour, Cologne du Maghreb begins to shift. A sweet, sherbet powder aroma takes over that smells exactly like Country Time yellow lemonade in its powdered form inside the box. I suspect those of you who are Americans with children know the precise scent in question. That does not mean that Cologne du Maghreb is powdery; it is not. But it smells like Country Time lemonade before you’ve added in the water. In addition, there is almost a fizzy quality to the scent as well. Cologne du Maghreb no longer feels as chilled or as brisk. Its bouquet is becoming deeper, warmer, and sweeter, even as the fragrance itself turns thinner, sheerer, and lighter. The lime and its slight bitterness has faded away. So has the cedar in any clear, distinct form.

Slowly, very slowly, Cologne du Maghreb turns deeper as a faint suggestion of something golden hovers at the edges. It is too nebulous on my skin to translate to actual labdanum, but it is clearly working indirectly to turn the fragrance warmer, darker, and more rounded now. By the middle of the 2nd hour, the citruses feel sun-sweetened and ripe, instead of sparkling, cool, or tart. The woodiness has returned, but it is largely abstract now instead of fresh, green, or musky cedar. Accompanying it is the subtle suggestion of something earthy. It does not smell of actual dirt or soil, and is extremely muted, but there is a sweet earthiness. I suspect it may stem from the labdanum amber this time, not the cedar.

“Lemon Tree” poster by Leah Saulnier, The Painting Maniac at pixels.com. (Website link embedded within.)

The note made me realise that Cologne du Maghreb is slowly transitioning away from lemonade powder and into something else: the scent of a full citrus tree. The main element continues to be the ripe lemons hanging heavily from the branch, but there is now also the vague sense of the wood and of the earth in which the tree is planted. There are even tiny splotches of greenness, like the leaves, from the lingering traces of vetiver in the background. It’s a symbolic, olfactory representation of a lemon tree in summer, from its fruits all the way down.

Cologne du Maghreb doesn’t change enormously after this point. The rose suddenly arrives on the scene about 3.25 hours into the perfume’s development. It is quite strong for about 15 minutes, before it retreats and joins the secondary elements that trail behind the lemon. For a short time, Cologne du Maghreb is a soft, sweet, lemon fragrance lightly flecked with roses, abstract woodiness, warmth, and a touch of minty vetiver. It’s all very gauzy and discreet on the skin.

Source: 123rf.com

Over the next hour, the other elements slowly fade away, until only the lemon is left standing in a cocoon of golden warmth with a hint of woodiness. In its final hour, the fragrance is a mere wisp of something warm and citrusy. All in all, Cologne du Maghreb lasted between 5 and 6.5 hours, depending on the quantity that I applied.

In the press materials that I was sent by Tauer Perfume’s U.S. distributor, Jeffrey Dame of Hypoluxe emphasized that true colognes are intended to be something refreshing and light for a hot, steamy day, and are meant to have intimate sillage. He also argues that true European colognes don’t last.

I disagree with him on that last issue, but, to be frank, I don’t understand the point of colognes as a general rule. My baseline for fragrances stemming back to my childhood is such that the scents considered to be powerhouses today are my “norm,” while eau de toilettes are my equivalent of a “cologne.” Actual colognes simply don’t register or compute for me with their 3-5 hours in average duration, watery thinness, intimate sillage, and need for endless reapplication. The point of spending money on such things eludes me entirely.

In all fairness, and to be as clear as possible, a number of those problems are not an issue here. Cologne du Maghreb is not like one of Jo Malone’s watery, ephemeral, banal, and utterly lifeless exercises in futility, but I’m still the wrong person to make any objective assessment of Cologne du Maghreb except in terms of how it smells. And it smells nice for a citrus fragrance. I can see how it may be very appealing on a hot summer’s day to go along with a cold glass of lemonade. I don’t wear citrus fragrances, but I appreciated how this one had a surprising woodiness and depth to it. In short, it wasn’t a squirt of thin lemon, and nothing else. It also lasted longer than I had expected.

A young cedar tree trunk.

There are already some reviews available for Cologne du Maghreb, and you may find them interesting as a comparative assessment. On Indiescents, one of Tauer’s Canadian retailers, the three comments range from “surprisingly pleasant” to “surprisingly woodsy.” All are positive:

From the description, I was bracing myself for a face full of citrus, but I think the cedar note is the real star here, the central pillar that the dry botanicals and the bright citrus dance around. It smells ancient, sacred, dry, but alive, like a secret oasis in the desert or a temple on a mountaintop with offerings of fruit and dried flowers arranged on the altar. […]

… Although nothing “sticks out” to me about this fragrance, it is definitely a true citrus, and one who has a trained nose can tell it is authentic in quality. Well done!

I LOVE realistic citrus fragrances,with a good herbal twist..NO mens aftershave here,or lemon pledge aroma! This cologne is not very long lived..but its not made to be. It is the best new fragrance from this line I have tried so far:) […]

“Young Atlantic White Cedar Swamp” by Jason Howell at Motivepicture.com. (Website link embedded within.)

On Fragrantica, the one comment posted thus far is a rave review that talks about the “breathtaking” quality of the materials used in Cologne du Maghreb, and says it is one of the best colognes the poster has ever tried. I found the comment interesting because of a reference to “fetid” woodiness that echoes what I experienced with the cedar as well. “Karlovonamesti” writes:

A beautifully assembled cologne that dwells strongly on the fetid woodiness of cedar, lending it a duskier quality than your average EDC. There are complex top notes of orange, lemon, lime, bergamot, and neroli, with a significant labdanum heart, and plenty of wood in the base, which actually goes on for a while despite its cologne strength. Expect at least three hours out of this one, with a decent throw. Andy offers us the rarity of a complex cologne, and the experience of wearing it is unremittingly pleasurable. I admit that I’m not a fan of cedar in general, but the quality of materials and compositional skill on display here is breathtaking. This is one of the best colognes I’ve ever worn.

Source: fonepics.net

Luckyscent also has only one review listed thus far, and it is from someone who says Cologne du Maghreb is the first Tauer that they have ever fallen for:

The first of Tauer’s frangrances I have fallen deeply in love with. Many of his fragrances have a creosote note in them, which I recognized because I live in the desert and creosote bushes give off the smell before rain. Great for a preview of rain, not great for fragrance. But this one doesn’t have that creosote base. It is a perfect summer splash for hot summers. The blending is lovely, I get lime peel and then the herbaceous, cooling, dry (but not scratchy), refreshing scent. Not long lasting on me, but priced well enough to refresh during the day, which I like doing. Perfect if you work closely with people, it’s no sillage monster, or even aggressive. Lovely.

Speaking of pricing, Cologne du Maghreb costs $85 or €56 for a 50 ml bottle. As for availability, this is technically not a limited-issue fragrance. According to Hypoluxe, vendors will simply stock less of the cologne in winter, but it seems that its release this summer is largely aimed at the American market. As a side note, Cologne du Maghreb is the exact same formula as the original scent issued back in 2011.

Finally, Mr. Tauer has apparently decided to release a new cologne every summer, and the packaging will change as well. This year, Cologne du Maghreb came out in its original bottle which was a rectangular glass flacon, but the upcoming 2015 cologne (a woody vetiver scent) will be in the traditional Tauer pentagonal bottle. Cologne du Maghreb will change over to that packaging, too, next year. So, if you’re reading this review in a year from now and worry that Cologne du Maghreb may have been reformulated due to the differences in bottle, you have no cause for concern. It will be the same scent.

All in all, if you are looking for a refreshing fragrance for the summer that is more than mere citrus, give Cologne du Maghreb a sniff.

Disclosure: Perfume courtesy of Hypoluxe, the U.S. distributor for Tauer Perfumes. That did not influence this review, I do not do paid reviews, and my opinions are my own.

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: Cologne du Maghreb only comes in 50 ml bottle and costs $85 or €56. At the time of this post, it is not available on the Tauer website. In the U.S.: Cologne du Maghreb is available at Luckyscent, MinNY, Twisted Lily, The Perfume Shoppe, Tiger Lily in San Francisco, Cleveland’s Indigo Perfumery, and Portland’s Perfume House. Outside the U.S.: In Canada, you can find Cologne du Maghreb at Indiescents, and The Perfume Shoppe. In Europe, it is available at First in Fragrance and Essenza Nobile. Both ship worldwide. In the U.K., Scent & Sensibility is the exclusive retailer for Tauer Perfumes, but they do not have Cologne du Maghreb on their website and I don’t know if they will be getting it in the future. Samples: Most of the sites listed above offer samples for sale. You can also try The Perfumed Court which sells Cologne du Maghreb starting at $4.96 for a 1 ml vial.

État Libre d’Orange Putain des Palaces

Posted on June 6, 2014 by Kafkaesque

Putain des Palaces from État Libre d’Orange seeks to be a boudoir fantasy involving a high-class courtesan. In French, the perfume’s name essentially translates to “palace whore,” which is quite in keeping with the whimsical, often satirical, and always provocative style of the French perfume house. I’ve usually found that their attempts to shock or titillate don’t match up to the actual scent in question, and Putain des Palaces is no exception.

Source: Luckyscent.

Putain des Palaces is a feminine, powdery floral eau de parfum with animalic streaks that was created by Nathalie Feisthauer, and released in 2006. État Libre describes the scent and its notes as follows:

In this fantasy of the boudoir, the powdered top note evokes the sophisticated woman who dresses for seduction, and undresses for profit. She is the temptress who awaits her prey in the hotel bar, and leads her lucky victim to unimaginable delights…

Composition : Rose absolute, violet, leather, lily of the valley, tangerine, ginger, rice powder, amber, animal notes…

Source: Allposters.com

Putain des Palaces opens on my skin with the floral, powdery scent of a lipstick infused with a lightly fruited rose and a metallic violet accord. It is following immediately by the very distinct whiff of sweat and musky body odor. It reminds me of underarm aroma when a floral powder deodorant is struggling to keep the sweat in check, but has not yet failed. The rose note fluctuates in strength on my arm, appearing more noticeably in a distinct, individual, powerful way if I apply a larger quantity of the scent. At a lower dosage, the florals are much more abstract, especially the violet, and they all swirl into one overall, generalized “floral” accord that is heavily dusted with powder. Interestingly, the latter tends towards baby powder or talcum powder at a smaller dose, but is more akin to makeup powder at a higher one. In both instances, however, there is a lot of powder.

“Powder Palace” painting, ARTbyKristen on Etsy. (Website link to her Etsy shop embedded within.)

There isn’t a lot more to Putain des Palaces on my skin than floral makeup powder with fluctuating degrees of body odor. A subtle fruitiness appears after 10 minutes, but lurks on the edges and never translates to “tangerine” on my skin. For the most part, it feels merely like a subset to the rose, providing a certain, nebulous jamminess at first, before the note fades away completely after 20 minutes. There is no ginger or leather whatsoever on my skin.

The musky underarm aroma waxes and wanes, depending on the how much of the fragrance I apply, but it generally recedes into the background after 10 minutes. There, it continues to pop up once in a blue moon, but it’s not a major or substantial element on my skin. Still, subtle or not, fleeting or not, I’m not keen on even its momentary appearance. I don’t mind animalic notes or things redolent of sex, but armpit sweat and sweaty muskiness are most definitely not my cup of tea.

George Seurat: “Young Woman Powdering Herself.”

Everything feels incredibly abstract and nebulous after a mere 15 minutes. It actually astonishes me how quickly Putain des Palaces turns into a hazy, blurry, indistinct blur of florals and powder. Even the jammy rose, the most dominant of the notes, loses its shape, while the violet vanishes entirely by the end of the first hour. Putain de Palaces turns more and more faceless, gauzy, soft, innocuous, and bland. By the 90-minute mark, there is absolutely nothing to the scent, but clean, sweet, floral makeup powder. That’s it. After a few hours, there is a subtle impression of warmth that hovers about, but it’s not amber in any recognizable form. I almost wish for the underarm muskiness to reappear, simply to add some interest to the scent. Almost, but not quite. In its final moments, Putain de Palaces is a mere wisp of makeup powderiness infused with a vaguely floral aspect.

All in all, Putain de Palaces lasts between 7 and 8 hours on me, depending on how much I apply. It is always a light, airy, thin scent with initially moderate sillage that soon turns quite soft. Using 3 big smears amounting to 2 good sprays from an actual bottle, I had roughly 2-3 inches in projection. A smaller quantity with 2 small dabs gave me 2 inches. However, in both cases, the sillage dropped after 90 minutes and the perfume hovered just an inch above the skin. Putain de Palaces consistently became a skin scent on me by the middle of the 3rd hour.

Source: onekingslane.com

I thought Putain de Palaces was a disappointment, but I fully recognize that I’m not its target audience. I dislike powder, while amorphous, indistinct, hazy florals do nothing for me. Combining the two together into boring floral powder is even less likely to appeal to me, especially when the scent in question lacks nuance, complexity, or body. When you throw in musky body odor — minor or not — the final result is almost guaranteed to be negative. The best thing I can say about Putain des Palaces is that it is vaguely pretty, I suppose. It wasn’t the synthetic bomb of Frederic Malle‘s Lipstick Rose, it didn’t give me a migraine, and I wasn’t compelled to scrub it off. Putain des Palaces is simply too innocuous, banal, and tame to arouse any strong feelings whatsoever.

That said, I think the perfume will appeal to those who love both extremely powdery, feminine florals and, in addition, don’t mind a touch of skankiness. Both things have to apply, because some people seem to experience quite a sexual fragrance. If you have a lot of experience with civet or animalic scents, I highly doubt you’ll find the note in Putain de Palaces to be major in any way whatsoever. I certainly didn’t, and it wasn’t merely of how ephemeral the note was on my skin, either. For me, there is a distinct difference between “sweaty body odor” and the smell of sex. Yet, judging by what I’ve read at various places, those unaccustomed to skanky perfumes seem to feel Putain des Palaces is very raunchy indeed.

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, “Femme enfilant son bas.” Source: toile-photo.eu

On Fragrantica, the reviews are very mixed, with a slight majority tending towards the negative. Interestingly, though, it is for wholly different reasons. A number struggled with the sweaty, body odor aspect of Putain des Palaces, while others had the opposite experience and expressed disappointment with the perfume’s safe, powdery, floral innocuousness. A few detected a substantial amount of dirty skank — even “aroused male genatalia [sic]” — though not everyone enjoyed the sexuality and one person had to scrub. A sampling:

Mugler with balls. Literally. Take the deliciousness and addictiveness of angel but add freshly washed and aroused male genatalia. Its THAT musky. Horny as f***. A beautiful experience that I’ve never smelled in anything else. Plus it’s a beast for sillage.

i really can’t understand!! allot of reviews states it is powdery, lovely, and feminine!! but what i smell is nothing but a woman who had intermediate cardio workout and then sprayed flower fragrance while she was sweating!! exactly like trying to hide the smell of a sweaty armpit using a flower perfume! nope, i don’t like the Curry smell sorry.

don’t feel any temptation, probalby I should… Mandarin orange note is not sexy at all. Very powdery, theatrical, false. Suits to Drag Queen or horny old lady. 🙂 Nothing crazy. It is original, but I’m disappointed. Maybe Putain tried to seduce, but it didn’t work.

More like Escort des Motel really. I mostly get leather and a fecal/indolic note (similar to that found in Goutal’s Songes and Penhaligon’s Amaranthine) [¶] The two notes aren’t married together with any sense of harmony so to me this is a very literal idea of a sweaty woman wearing a nylon dress sitting on a leather sofa

Today I tried Putain de Palaces, and I say now with no reservations that this is one of the most awful, overtly sexual, stomach turning scents that I have ever encountered. The animalic note in this scent is overbearing to me, so much so that I couldn’t pinpoint or sense any other note in the whole composition. I’ve smelled and worn some very disagreeable and/or strange scents before, but very few have ever been so bad that I would literally scrub them off with hot water, soap, and a wash cloth.

Source: totallylayouts.com

All I get is powdery violet. I like violet, but I expected more umph

Putain des Palaces is possibly the softest and most inoffensive fragrance from Etat Libre d’Orange. The question on everyone’s lips, “will Putain des Palaces make me smell like a hotel whore?” The answer is no. [¶] I don’t consider this fragrance sensual or suggestive in any way. It’s a somewhat clean and powdery floral, heavy on the iris and rose. The drydown is comprised of musk and amber, and it must be said that the leather note is not particularly dominant on my skin.

Toulouse-Lautrec, “The Sofa,” via art-kingdom.com

It’s the opposite story on Luckyscent, where the vast, vast majority of the reviews are completely adoring, though a tiny minority had issues with the powderiness and “old lady” aspect of the scent. Some of the raves — which range from “old French ‘ho,” to head sweat under wigs, genital unmentionables, courtesans, Charlotte Corday murdering Marat, and lots of talk about sex and makeup powder — are very amusing:

It is extremely sexy and …not to be vulgar here…can only be described as the best smelling p***y in the world. ‘Nuff said.

I’ve never smelled a french whore before but I would say if this fragrance is reminiscent of one, they must use a lot of powder. It gave me a headache as soon as I put it on. I waited for it to mellow but I ended up taking a second shower, (like a french whore) to wash it off.

I had to have a full bottle of this. It reminds me of a powdered wig, which has acquired the head sweat of its wearer. It’s not overly powdery though, because it is tempered with salty notes. I find this fragrance very intriguing, noble, comforting, and sexy. I wear this during the day at work, as its sillage is mild and light. I don’t get any animalic notes from this. The lasting power is about three hours.

Soft, powdery florals and the slightly sweaty inside of a man’s thigh, near his unmentionables. Not horrible; actually, it’s pretty sexy. I’d be afraid to wear it in public, though, hehehe.

“Portrait of Marie-Louise O’Murphy,” Louis XV’s mistress, by François Boucher, 1751. Source: Wikipedia

Whoa, full-frontal baby powder top note, old French ho fo’ sho’. Then it dries down. It becomes Chanel #5 on a three-day bender, lipstick smeared, slip showing, broken heel, and the beginnings of a epic hangover. There’s a nice dark heart to this that’s worth waiting for.

I have to admit that it was the reviewer that described this as, “ol’ French ho, fo’ sho'” that inspired me to try this perfume. And there’s no doubt about it, there is a certain “ol’ French ho'” aspect about this perfume, but that French ho is one of the great courtesans. She is powdered, bewigged, dressed in silks and her dancing slippers are of new leather. She is radiant. She’s drunk on champagne that was specially ordered for her and she’s ready to party- that’s Putain des Palaces. The woman wearing this: she’s not the queen at the party, but she’s going home with the king and he’ll let her make some minor foreign policy changes if she’s into that kind of thing (it was that kind of night). This starts with a very buttoned-down lipstick rose-violet that quickly leads into an incredibly soft, sexy leather. The smell- it’s a Chanel lipstick that’s melted into the lining of a Birkin; it’s the smell of inside of the Louboutin stilleto that the woman you love has been wearing; its the perfume of the woman you love, but can’t bring yourself to admit that you do. It’s beautiful. Putain des Palaces is a scent for the man-killer, but she must be the revolutionary kind. I imagine Charlotte Chorday wore this when she strangled Marat.

Photo: Pinterest. Original source unknown.

As you can see, those who love powdery florals, makeup accords, and a touch of ripeness think the “palace whore” is the best thing ever. But I have to think skin chemistry plays a role, as it will determine just how safe or how naughty a scent you get. The Fragrantica reviews indicate that a number of people experienced a bland, innocuous scent with clean, powdered florals, and nothing else.

In almost all cases, women are the main fans for Putain des Palaces. With only one exception, all of the reviews I have quoted or have seen appear to be from women. I simply cannot imagine a man wearing this fragrance unless he really was passionate about floral powderiness. If that is your bailiwick and love, give Putain des Palaces a sniff.

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: Putain de Palace is an eau de parfum that comes in two sizes. There is a 1.7 ml/50 ml size which is priced at $80, €69, or £59.50. There is also a 100 ml bottle available in some places for $149 or €125. In the U.S.: Putain de Palace can be purchased from Luckyscent for $80 for a 50 ml/1.7 oz bottle, and in both sizes from Brooklyn’s Twisted Lily. As a whole, the Etat Libre collection is also carried at MinNY, and SF’s ZGO. Outside the U.S.: In Canada, I believe Holt Renfrew is the exclusive distributor for Etat Libre’s perfumes. In Europe, you can purchase Putain des Palaces directly from Etat Libre’s website in both sizes for €80 or €125, with samples available for €3. (There is also a Discovery Set or Coffret of 18 Etat Libre fragrances, all in 1.5 ml vials, sold for €39. Putain des Palaces is included.) The perfume is also available from Etat Libre’s London store at 61 Redchurch Street, as well as from its Paris one located at 69, rue des Archives, 75004. Elsewhere in Europe, the Etat Libre line is available at London’s Les Senteurs (with samples available to purchase), the Netherlands’ ParfuMaria (which has a wide sample program), Germany’s First in Fragrance, Italy’s ScentBar, and Russia’s iPerfume. For all other locations or vendors from Switzerland to Lithuania and Sweden, you can use the Store Locator listing on the company’s website. Samples: Several of the stores above offer samples. Surrender to Chance has Putain des Palaces starting at $4.75 for a 1 ml vial.