Guerlain Tonka Imperiale

Posted on September 20, 2013 by Kafkaesque

There is a house in the suburbs, virtually indistinguishable from its neighbors, and merely one more in a line of perfectly square, pretty boxes with perfectly trimmed lawns on a perfectly pleasant, quiet street. It’s not large enough to be a true McMansion, but it certainly bears all the characteristics of that generic sameness. If you look closely, you can see that it’s made of the very finest building blocks, the very best that money can buy. Inside and out, however, it’s a sea of bland beigeness with interiors that are awash with taupe, egg-shell, and cream as far as the eye can see. There is nary a whiff of anything strong in contrast; no pops of colour, no thick veins of black. The lack of edge or individual character carries through even to the house’s carpeting: thick, plush shag rugs in which you can sink your bare feet. It’s easy comfort without particular style, and always in unremarkable, unrelieved, suburban taupe.

Source: loan-help.org

Tonka Imperiale from Guerlain is a beige house in the suburbs for me. It’s well-appointed and well-made, but a sea of bland, characterless, generic taupe as far as the eye can see. And I despise taupe with a violent passion. I’m sure it’s a colour that can be elegant in some interior decorating, and there are probably people on whom the colour looks good in clothing, but, personally, I would like to stab taupe in the eye with a large chef’s knife. And, for me, when I wear Tonka Imperiale, all I see is that bland colour. I know a lot of my friends will undoubtedly be upset with this review as they love the fragrance. To them, I can only apologise. I know Tonka Imperiale is a luxuriously made creation that probably encapsulates elegant comfort. I’m sure it’s wonderful on all of you. Unfortunately, it’s not something that I think is particularly special for its high price.

Tonka Imperiale is part of Guerlain’s exclusive L’Art et La Matière collection which was launched in 2005 to celebrate the opening of Guerlain’s renovated headquarters in Paris. The collection’s name means Art and (raw) Materials, and represents Guerlain’s goal of creating olfactory Art through the use of the finest raw materials in perfumery. As Fragrantica further explains, “L’Art et la Matière” is also “a pun after the French expression L’Art et la Manière – the art and manners.”

Tonka Imperiale is the seventh fragrance in the collection, and was released in 2010. Like all its siblings, it was created by Guerlain’s in-house perfumery, Thierry Wasser. On its website, Guerlain describes the scent as a “woody oriental” and write:

AN ASTONISHING CONSTRUCTION THAT BLOWS HOT AND COLD

With Tonka Impériale, Thierry Wasser has created a woody oriental composed around one of Guerlain’s star ingredients,the tonka bean. It has to be said that this precious seed, one of the cult components of the Guerlinade, is particularly dear to the House.

Tonka Impériale is well-named: a subtle blend of balmy scents, rich in contrasting facets, with accents of honey, gingerbread, almond, hay and tobacco. The fragrance comes in a spray bottle with sleek, contemporary lines. One side is ornamented with a gold plate like a talisman.

Tonka Beans

The notes for the perfume, as compiled from Guerlain and Fragrantica, are:

Top notes: bergamot, butter almond, white honey, and rosemary.

Heart notes: jasmine, tonka beans and light tobacco. Bottom notes: incense, cedar wood, pine.

Depending on treatment, tonka beans can smell of vanilla, hay (coumarin), or even bittersweet almonds. And it is the latter which dominates the opening of Tonka Imperiale on my skin, thanks to the supplemental effects of the almond butter. The perfume begins with a burst of the white nuts, first bitter and raw, then quickly infused with sweetness. There is a honeyed quality underlying the note, but it’s light, not thick, yellow, or molten. It suits the description of “white honey” given by Fragrantica, because this feels quite translucent. Quickly, a subtle herbal element breezes through, followed by an amorphous woody note that isn’t immediately distinguishable. Tobacco lurks underneath, feeling pale, blonde and sweet, like leaves sitting in the sun. Traces of sweetened hay and the faintest speck of bergamot are the final touches that dot the landscape.

Source: donnamarie113 on Deviantart.com

The primary bouquet, however, is of almonds and vanilla. The almond note is so concentrated, it’s more akin to the distilled essence that one uses in baking. The vanilla is rich and sweet, but it’s airy instead of custardy, more pale and white in visual hue. It’s also subtly backed by sweetened vanillic powder. It’s the famous Guerlainade, Guerlain’s signature note, which is placed front and center, right at the top, rather than appearing, as it traditionally does, at the very end in the perfume’s drydown. Tonka Imperiale is a very simple fragrance at its core: bitter, honeyed, sweet almonds with vanilla. It feels a lot like crème anglaise, only this one includes almond concentrate.

Eventually, other notes appear to dance at the edges. In the first hour, there are minute, minuscule traces of woodiness. It’s generic, beige and abstract in large part, though if you really, really focus, you can perhaps persuade yourself that you can detect the hazy, faint edges of cedar. The real dryness in the scent comes from the tobacco which has quietly filled the base, seeping up to subtly impact the vanilla-almond combination at the top. Slowly, the bergamot becomes a little more noticeable, but like a number of things in this scent, it is restrained, and muted. By the end of the second hour, jasmine and incense suddenly pop up on the periphery. Both are flickers that are barely imperceptible initially. In fact, on my skin, it takes almost six hours for the incense to be noticeable in any substantial way.

Until that point, Tonka Imperiale is primarily an almond-vanilla scent atop an abstract, amorphous woody base that is lightly infused with tobacco and smoke. The Guerlainade powder, the jasmine and the other notes register in pale, light, subtle hues. It’s all effortless, easy, extremely well-blended, and swirls around you like a very expensive, soft, airy cloud. It’s not earth-shattering, but it’s perfectly pleasant. To me, it seems simplistic and dull, but I can see how it might be a comfortable, easy, cozy scent for some, especially those who love a gourmand sweetnes in their fragrances.

Source: news.com.au

Still, I can’t help but visual a house in the suburbs, though not one excessive or large enough to be a true McMansion. Tonka Imperiale is not chic, cool, or hip enough to be an apartment in the city; it’s certainly not a loft in Soho or a penthouse decorated in sleek black, silver, and modern edges. It’s also not large, opulent, or over-the-top enough like an Amouage Ubar to be a massive estate with a palatial mansion out in the country. It’s merely a comfortable, unremarkable, pretty, well-built house in the suburbs awash in taupe and beige.

The unrelieved blandness never changes. At the 4.5 hour mark, the sillage drops, and Tonka Imperiale is now a skin scent. The almond has now fallen behind the honey, jasmine and vanilla, though it still precedes the woody notes that are in the base. It’s the same story with the tobacco. As a whole, and if I’m being charitable, Tonka Imperiale is an interesting mix of sweetness with dryness, I suppose. By the start of the seventh hour, the fragrance is Guerlainade vanillic powder with a faint whisper of almonds and honey, and sits atop with some smoky incense, though the latter is so sheer, gauzy, and thin, it’s hardly a robust foundation. In its final hours, Tonka Imperiale is merely Guerlainade with some dryness. All in all, the fragrance lasted just short of 11 hours, with moderate to soft sillage throughout.

Taupe shag carpeting. Source: stockphotopro.com

Tonka Imperiale is intentionally meant to pay homage to a particular note, so I can’t fault it for focusing so heavily on the tonka, right down to its occasional almond-like facets. The fragrance does what it sets out to do, and does so in the typical Guerlain way. I’m not blaming it for that. I do blame it, however, for being such unrelieved blandness for $250. For that amount, it would be nice to have some character, some contrasting edge to counter the dull monotony of a sea of taupe and beige. Supposedly, the incense is meant to be that edge. If they say so. Perhaps I’m merely unlucky with my skin.

Or, perhaps, Tonka Imperiale is exactly the way it’s supposed to be: a plush, simple, comforting, gourmand scent dominated by vanillic tonka, almonds and Guerlainade, with an incredibly restrained dose of tobacco and incense. So restrained, in fact, that neither of those minor supporting players can possibly counter the two main, gourmand players on center stage. Fine. But Guerlain’s headlong descent into simplistic and/or gourmand scents at an extremely high price tag continues to alienate me. Tonka Imperiale would be a great comfort scent at about $100, though I personally still wouldn’t go near it due to all that taupe beigeness. But $250? For a plush, beige shag rug? No, thank you. Not for me.

Others, however, don’t share my issues. As noted earlier, I have a number of friends who love Tonka Imperiale so much, they’ve bought full bottles of it. On Fragrantica, there are raves about how wonderful the fragrance is, and how it is a luxurious “masterpiece.” To wit, one comment calling it “[F]rench romantic ART,” and saying: “Oh my god …..what is this scent…luxury…elegant…charismatic…sweet…sensual…very sexy for me.” Others, however, think Tonka Imperiale is vastly over-priced, with a number finding the fragrance’s opening to be extremely similar to Mugler‘s Pure Havane. One person had an issue with Tonka Imperiale’s drydown, comparing it to Calvin Klein‘s Obsession, her “worst nightmare.” On my skin, Tonka Imperiale’s drydown wasn’t similar to Obsession at all, and I can’t compare it to Pure Havane’s opening, as I’ve never tried it. All I can say is that those of you who have problems with Guerlainade, and who continuously have it turn into sour baby powder on your skin may want to stay away from a fragrance that showcases the brand’s tonka signature.

The bottom line is this: if you love modern Guerlain fragrances — with all that that entails, for good or for bad — and if you adore cozy gourmands, then you may want to give Tonka Imperiale a sniff. You will have plenty of company in Tonka Imperiale’s vast fan club. If, however, you’re looking for a fragrance with some edge, character, or distinctive flair for your $250, you may want to look elsewhere. It’s an unrelieved sea of beige and taupe in the suburbs.

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: Tonka Imperiale is an eau de parfum that costs $250 for 2.5 fl. oz/75 ml. It is available at Guerlain boutiques, and is listed on its website, but Guerlain doesn’t seem to sell the fragrance via an e-shop of sorts. (There is no shopping cart, for example, in which to put the fragrance for purchase.). In the U.S.: Tonka Imperiale is available on the Nordstrom, Saks Fifth Avenue, Neiman Marcus, and Bergdorf Goodman websites. (With the exception of Bergdorf Goodman which definitely carries the more exclusive line of Guerlain fragrances in-store, I don’t know if it is available within the other shops themselves.) Outside the U.S.: In the U.K, you can find Tonka Imperiale at Harrods and, apparently, London’s Selfridges, but neither store offers the fragrance online. As for price, I read that, back in 2011, Tonka Imperiale retailed for £175. I don’t know how much it is now. In France, the fragrance is obviously available at Guerlain stores. For all other countries, you can use Guerlain’s Store Locator on its website. Samples: If you’d like to give Tonka Imperiale a test sniff, you can get a sample from Surrender to Chance where prices start at $4.99 for half of a 1/2 ml vial.

Neela Vermeire Perfume Giveaway: Winners!

Posted on September 16, 2013 by Kafkaesque

Random.org has spoken, and I have the names of the two winners for the perfume giveaway kindly provided by Neela Vermeire Créations, Parfums Paris (“NVC“).

THE WINNERS:

Mohur Eau de Parfum

Grand Prize: to FeralJasmine! One full bottle of Mohur Eau de Parfum (retail cost: $250 for 55 ml/1.85 oz at Luckyscent), along with a sample vial of Ashoka Eau de Parfum and a sample vial of Mohur Extrait pure parfum.

Second Place: to SultanPasha! The “Try your India” sample set (Trayee, Mohur Eau de Parfum, and Bombay Bling), plus one sample of Ashoka and one sample of Mohur Extrait pure parfum.

CONTACT ME:

You have FIVE (5) days to contact me with your shipping information which I will then forward on to Neela Vermeire. Deadline is end of the day, my time or Central Standard Time in the U.S., on September 20th. Please send an email to Akafkaesquelife @ gmail . com (all one word, scrunched together). If you don’t, and if I fail to hear from you within the deadline, I will give the gift to the next person on the list, and/or move the winners up by one.

SHIPPING:

Neela Vermeire Créations will send the prizes directly to the winners, and pay for all shipping costs. Given that NVC is located in the Paris, it may take some time (up to 14 days, depending on your location and Customs processing) for you to receive your gift. It may take even little longer if your country has really nightmarish customs issues. Neither Neela Vermeire nor I am responsible for items that are destroyed by customs or that are lost in transit for some reason. The Grand Prize cannot be replaced.

FINALLY:

Thank you again to Neela Vermeire for her generosity, kindness and thoughtfulness in offering two fantastic gifts. I really hope the two winners will let Ms. Vermeire and me know what you think of the perfumes when you receive them and have the chance to try them. For everyone else, you can always order samples of Ms. Vermeire’s creations from Luckyscent or, in an even better deal, directly from the Neela Vermeire Creations website. (If the e-store is not loading for you, you can send an email to order either of the two perfume sets.) Thank you to everyone for stopping by, and may the fragrant winds take to you India.

Source: mariyatourtravels.com –

Slumberhouse Ore Extrait

Posted on September 14, 2013 by Kafkaesque

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

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

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

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

Ore Extrait. Source: Luckyscent

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

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

A swim with the caramel nettles

flooded with the dusky murk

I wish I could dream it again.

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

Dittany of Crete. Source: mountainvalleygrowers.com

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

Source: wall.alphacoders.com

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

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

Source: Indiamart.com

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

Source: upwallpapers.net

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

Source: wallippo.com

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

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

Vermont West Hill House B&B.

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

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

Source: abstract.desktopnexus.com

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

DETAILS:

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

Secretions Magnifiques – A Satirical Courtroom Review

Posted on September 13, 2013 by Kafkaesque

Jane Doe [class representative, on behalf of herself and others similarly situated] v. Etat Libre d’Orange Secretions Magnifiques– Case # 13-527319-CA

[The Bailiff]: “All rise! The Court is now in session, The Honorable Michael Marx presiding. On the docket is the class action lawsuit, Jane Doe [class representative, on behalf of herself and others similarly situated] v. Etat Libre d’Orange Secretions Magnifiques– Case # 13-527319-CA. The complaint alleges sexual harassment hostile work environment, assault, battery, and intentional infliction of emotional distress. Please state your name and business before the Court.”

[A small, dainty, very conservatively dressed blonde woman rises]: “I am Prudence Prim of the firm of Proskauler Rosybanks on behalf of the Plaintiff class.”

Saul Goodman. Source: Tv.com

[A dandified man with a bad comb-over and a garish suit rises, and gives the jury a big grin]: “I am Saul Goodman, or, as you may know me, “Better Call Saul” representing the Defendant, Secretions Magnifiques from the house of Etat Libre d’Orange.”

[He points to the table where a balding, heavy-set man sits in a tight-fitting, food-stained Hawaiian shirt that barely holds together over his enormous, hairy stomach. His arms are covered with sailor tattoos, his legs are aggressively splayed apart, and his fly is open to reveal a lack of underwear. He belches, wets his fat lips, and blows a kiss to the attractive Juror #9 who visibly recoils in horror.]

“The Good Wife” snapshot via articles.philly.com.

[Judge Marx addresses the jury]: “Ladies and Gentlemen of the Jury. The Court thanks you for your time. You are here today to hear the civil class action complaint against Secretions Magnifiques. This is an employment law case. You cannot consider the role of Defendant’s employer, Etat Libre d’Orange, who will be tried separately. Also, I know it’s been impossible to sequester you against the recent media storm regarding the criminal charges being filed against Secretions Magnifiques for public lewdness and indecency. You cannot consider those issues. I repeat, you cannot. I will give you further instructions at the end of the trial. The Plaintiffs may now proceed.” [Bangs gavel.]

THE CASE FOR THE PLAINTIFFS:

[Prudence Prim rises]: “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. He is the most notorious man in the niche perfume world. This is not hype. This is not a lawyer’s hyperbole. Secretions Magnifiques is notorious. Say his name to any even moderately knowledgeable perfumista, and watch them pale. His legend is such that people nickname him Secretions Gag-nifiques,and see how long they can take his scent before they run to vomit or scrub him off. Yes, some people actually do become physically ill from this vile wretch. We are here to seek justice from Secretions Magnifiques for his tortious conduct in rendering the environment around him hostile to all who have the misfortune to be in his presence. We seek compensation for the pain, suffering, and the nights in which a husband wearing Secretions Magnifiques lost the chance for consortium with his wife because she locked him out of the bathroom. Help us heal the emotional wounds left by this heinous man.

Source: ichetkar.fr

Let us start at the beginning. Secretions Magnifiques was created by Antoine Lie and was released in 2006. Etat Libre, in a statement that will fully damage them in their own lawsuit, confesses flat-out to his lewd, indecent, and morally repugnant nature. Their description brazenly and blatantly talks about sperm! Blood! And all sorts of other things that fine, upstanding citizens should not be subjected to in their workplace. How brazen are they, you ask? In their manufacturer’s sample, Etat Libre’s description of Secretions Magnifiques actually comes with the image of an erect penis spraying out semen! [Crowd gasps and starts to whisper. Secretions Magnifiques smirks, and rubs his crotch.]

That’s not even the half of it! This is Etat Libre’s full description of the fragrance:

Like blood, sweat, sperm, saliva, Sécrétions Magnifiques is as real as an olfactory coitus that sends one into raptures, to the pinnacle of sensual pleasure, that extraordinary and unique moment when desire triumphs over reason. Masculine tenseness frees a rush of adrenalin in a cascade of high-pitched aldehydic notes. The sensation of freshness is gripping. Then the fragrance reveals a metallic side, precise and as sharp as unappeased desire.

We are on a razor-edge… skin and sweat mingle, and tastes of musk and sandalwood. The slightly salt marine effect stirs, arouses, and sets your mouth watering. Tongues and sexes find one another, pleasure explodes and all goes wild. Confusion reigns supreme. A subversive, disturbing perfume. It’s love or hate at first sight. Sensuous jousting is rarely satisfied with half-measures…In between Don Juan and the Woman who offers herself, arms are laid down…who will be the first to surrender?

Sexual harassment I tell you, sexual harassment! And how does all this occur? Well, Secretions Magnifiques’ parts, according to Luckyscent, consist of:

Iode accord, adrenaline accord, blood accord, milk accord, iris, coconut, sandalwood and opoponax.

Secretions Magnifiques’ character is revealed from the very first moment he sidles up against your skin. I won’t give you my take; just read the company’s own admission against interest about what he smells like. It’s their words, not mine, when they talk about “blood, sweat, sperm, saliva,” and metallic notes. Still, there is plenty of testimony from those in the class who have suffered from Secretions Magnifiques.

Source: nitestar.de

[She nods to the bailiffs who helps several pale, wan, witnesses from Fragrantica walk, one by one, shakily to the witness stand. Many are covered with clothes stained by vomit, or have bile encrusted on their face from their bouts with Secretions Magnifiques. Some look green, a few are dry-heaving even as they give their statements. One witness had to be revived by paramedics after collapsing in the hallway outside Courtroom 3A.]

I have never smelt something more disgusting than this scent. It’s blood and metal and illness.

Blood and just unpleasant.

Mostly seaweed to me and dirty seawater. Tried to wash it off and its not coming off. I smell like I took a dip at the sea and have not showered in a few days. My fiancée told me I’m not allowed to sleep in bed tonight.

I have to join the legion of those who wish this concoction had never seen the light of day. Honest to gods, I violently wretched. An eggy, razor-sharp whiff that made me recoil and run for the toilet. Perhaps it’s the smell of fear, whatever. Sadistically, I swabbed my partner with it to test the reaction with his chemistry as we are rather different… same dismal result, with extra grudge!

Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life. Source: DenofGeek.com

Biggest mistake ever!!! This literally worked like a whisk in my stomach and for the very first time in my life I had to jump up and run to wash it off. I don’t get any of the notes listed, probably just a tiny bit of seaweed due to the aquatic fishy smell. It doesn’t smell like blood, saliva, sperm or sweat but all these blended together and preserved in a sealed jar for a century. [¶] Every home should keep a small vial of this as a first-aid emetic in case someone in your family had food poisoning. Also girls who want to shed a few extra pounds, look no further: use this on a daily basis will definitely suppress your appetite to none because it not only lingers on your skin but also in your mind.

WARNING: Do not sniff this if you are pregnant or you will vomit. […] it started smelling like urine. It reminded me of my little cousin who used to wet the bed. Now, it smells just like a neglected child who is forced to wear her mother’s generic hooker perfume to cover up the fact that nobody has given her a bath or washed her clothes in a very very long time. To add insult to injury, the child has been eating wet catfood straight out of the can and has some of the food stuck in her hair. […][¶] Calling this perfume “disgusting” is an understatement. It’s actually depressing and exploitative to the point that the stench made me want to call Child Protective Services. I won’t be letting my husband smell my hand; I love him too much to expose him to something this disturbing and putrid.

Ladies and gentleman of the jury, there are dozens more witnesses from Luckyscent who have similar tales. Take, for example, an experienced nurse who could not handle the flashback to the worst of her experiences in the health care field:

This reminds me of my days of working at the local public health hospital where I was tasked with the dubious honor of assisting those who were homeless and in need of medical care. The stench of this thing they call a perfume is just like the whiff i would get when my patients would peel off their pants. Smegma, body odor and yeast. […] RUN away!

I can see from your faces that you don’t believe me, that you think it couldn’t possibly be that bad. Well, I’m sorry to have to do this. Guards! Bring in the testers!”

[The guards set up two, tiny canisters at each end of the room. The jury shifts in their chairs nervously. A small phalanx of the judge’s clerks tiptoe in and discreetly set up small garbage cans at intervals along the gallery and the jury box. The Plaintiff’s attorney takes a deep gulp of air, holds her nose, points to the guards and nods.

Pfft. Pfft. Pfft.

Three small whiffs of scent are released from each of the two canisters. The notes dance burst out like ghosts to hover in the air with a cold metallic clang as the room gets chilly. The notes hover there, white spectres who line up before the jury and wait for their scent to carry across the room. Very soon, half the jurors pale. Juror #3 starts to violently gag. The other half, however, merely stare back at the hovering aromas, fold their arms nonchalantly, and shrug. The ghosts look frustrated and disappointed. They lunge at the unimpressed jurors, one of whom distinctly mutters “eh” and yawns. The Defendant smirks, and scratches himself.

His Honour, the Judge, decides enough time has passed for evidentiary analysis. He orders the ghosts back into their canisters, the windows opened, and the two solitary buckets filled with some dribbles of vomit to be removed. As a precautionary measure, he has the bailiffs hand out Pepcid anti-acid pills to everyone in the courtroom except the Defendant — whom he orders to zip up his fly and to stop adjusting himself. The Plaintiffs rest their case. The Court convenes for lunch, and then, upon its return, the Defense presents their case.]

THE DEFENSE:

[The defense attorney, Saul Goodman, rises, points a finger at the jury and says]: “Piffle! Yes, Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, that is my response to the Plaintiffs’ case. PIFFLE! So my client doesn’t smell of roses and vanilla. Big whoop-di-do. So he’s different, original, obnoxious, extremely weird, and sticks to your skin forever. Is that a reason to sue him and ask for half a billion dollars in damages? Ha! Ridiculous. No, Secretions Magnifiques sucks, but he’s hardly as bad as the legend.

[Judge Marx interrupts him:] “Mr. Goodman, is your defense essentially that Secretions Magnifiques … er… “sucks,” as you put it, but he simply doesn’t suck that much????!”

[Saul Goodman:] “No, your Honour, not exactly. Well, yes, I am saying he doesn’t suck that badly, but my main argument is that the evidence presented to the court cannot be considered reliable because it is the result of mass hysteria driven by preconceptions that have conditioned the subjects to smell what they were told to smell. In short, it’s all Etat Libre’s fault for creating this ridiculous legend in the first place, and my client is not to blame for the social conditioning.”

[The Judge blinks, takes a closer double look at the huckster facade put up by Goodman, then nods at him to continue.]

Luca Turin. Source: Amazon.uk

[Saul Goodman gives him a small wink and grins:] “I call my first witness, the Honourable Luca Turin, perhaps the most famous, respected fragrance critic in the world, to repeat his 5 Star rave of Secretions Magnifiques in the perfume bible, Perfumes: The A-Z Guide:

Stupendous secretions! The Dada name has me drooling. The fragrance is both less and far more than I expected: It’s not an animalic (supposedly) raunchy thing that works on the assumption that we collect soiled underwear or frequent the same nightclubs as cats and dogs. It is, however, an elegant fresh floral in the manner of Parfums de Nicolai’s Odalisque, given a demonic twist by a touch of a stupendous bilge note, which, my vibrational nose tells me, can only be a nitrile. I remember years ago mounting an impassioned defense of a forgotten Quest material called Marenil, which smelled just like that: oily, metallic, entirely wrong, and begging to be used intelligently. I’m delighted to see it was possible.

Now, I can see my learned colleague yearning to make some objection about how Luca Turin’s views are purely academic and involve intellectual nostalgia about certain unusual synthetics. So I will call to the stand the perfume blogger, Kafkaesque, who has often disagreed with Mr. Turin’s views on fragrances.”

[Witness is sworn in, and Goodman starts the direct:] “Kafkaesque, let me ask a simple question: Do you agree with Mr. Turin in light of your experience with Secretions Magnifiques?”

Source: wallpaper.metalship.org

[Kafkaesque]: I don’t agree with Mr. Turin’s gushing rave, but I share his view that Secretions Magnifiques is certainly much less than I expected, and hardly the scent of soiled underwear or urine. I didn’t experience the bilge or sea-water note that he describes, but I did detect a nitrile aroma similar to that which Mr. Turin says was used in Serge Lutens‘ Iris Silver Mist. To quote his review of that fragrance, he wrote that the Lutens’ fragrance was dominated by a “seldom-used brutal iris nitrile called Irival. The result was the powderiest, rootiest, most sinister iris imaginable[.]” Secretions Magnifiques, on my skin, has a metallic, clanging, chilled vodka and powdered floral note that is extremely similar to what I experienced with Iris Silver Mist, and it is a large part of Secretions Magnifiques for me.

Source: free-background-wallpaper.com

But let me start at the beginning. Secretions Magnifiques opens on my skin clanging of steely metal with a floral, powdered undertone like iris. It is followed by more metallic blood, then a milky note that is chilled and alcoholic, as though iced vodka had been swirled in, along with some sweetness. It is all cold steel, cold vodka, cold milk, blood, and floral sweetness, in an extremely off-putting, unpleasant mix. But it also made me think, to use your terms, “Big Whoop-di-do.”

Source: wallpaper.metalship.org

The metallic notes are the most interesting, the floral ones are a bore, and my real problem with the fragrance is something else entirely: Synthetics. The least offensive are the subtle aldehydes lurking about, undoubtedly from that mis-named “adrenaline accord” referenced in Etat Libre’s statement. They describe it as “a cascade of high-pitched aldehydic notes. The sensation of freshness is gripping.” As usual, Etat Libre goes too far. It’s not “high-pitched,” and the sensation is hardly “gripping,” but then, they always exaggerate. Plus, they may like aldehydes more than I do.

My bigger problem lies with the white musk in Secretions Magnifiques’ base. It combines with the aldehydes to create a clean, almost laundry note, along with a slightly fresh sweetness. Eventually, it starts to become one of the most prominent parts of the scent, smelling much like Bounce fabric softener sheets that you throw in the dryer, though it also has a horrible, metallic hairspray undertone. I cannot bear any of it. That said, the freshness of the aroma seems like an ironic opposite to the lewdness of the spraying semen pictured in Etat Libre’s imagery, and certainly contrary to the accounts of dirty “smegma” and urine offered by some of the Plaintiffs’ witnesses here today.

Thirty minutes in, the cold, clean synthetic freshness of Secretions Magnifiques mixes with the metallic notes and a milk aroma that starts to feel a little sour and curdled. The result does churn my stomach a little and it does render me a little queasy. Strangely enough, the part of my arm where I applied the fragrance almost feels cold. Perhaps I’m a little suggestive, but it feels as though the chilled metallics and the nitrile’s vodka-like feel have cooled my arm. The power of imagery only goes so far, however. I am known to be an extremely suggestive vomiter who will start heaving even at a mere mental visual or image. And yet, I hardly felt like vomiting over Secretions Magnifiques. To paraphrase your comment, it sucks, but it doesn’t suck that bad.

Part of it may be a question of skin chemistry. I don’t smell semen or seawater, though there is something slightly salty about the concoction. The blood isn’t hugely significant on my skin, and feels more like the drop you’d have in your mouth if you accidentally bit the inside of your cheek. There is no coconut, though there is that milky aspect to which I referred earlier. As for the purported “sandalwood,” it’s wholly synthetic — a subtle haze of beige, generic woods that doesn’t even rise to the level of ersatz, wannabe Australian sandalwood.

Source: overstock.com

In less than two hours, Secretions Magnifiques turns into a synthetic, sweet, floral, aldehydic, woody musk. The blood note largely vanished after 90-minutes, the metallic element warmed up and became softer, and the whole fragrance turned smoother. It’s soft and sweet with the milky note having deepened into cream, backed by those abstract, amorphous beige woods and an equally abstract, chilled, floral note that vaguely resembles iris. It’s well-blended, but the whole thing smells simultaneously cheap and somewhat like refined, fresh, clean soap with — as Mr. Turin noted — a somewhat demonic, metallic twist thrown in for shock value.

Secretions Magnifiques remains that way for hours and hours. The reports of the fragrance’s frightening longevity are completely accurate. Secretions Magnifiques was still going strong on my perfume-consuming skin at the 13th hour when I gave up out of sheer boredom and washed it off. It seemed quite capable of lasting another 10 hours on me — and smelling of clean, fresh Bounce laundry sheets with abstract, sweet, slightly milky, woody floral musk is not my cup of tea. All in all, it’s an unappealing scent, but Secretions Magnifiques is hardly as vile as I had expected.”

[Saul Goodman:] “Then, how do you account for all the negative reports?”

[Kafkaesque:] “There are a few things to consider. First, for all the negative reports on Fragrantica given by the Plaintiffs, there are at least as many indifferent and underwhelmed reviews, if not more so. A few madmen even think Secretions Magnifiques is a beautiful masterpiece that they love, but I personally think that goes too far. The thing to consider are the many, many reports that essentially mirror this comment from a Fragrantica poster:

How terrible is this fragrance? To me, it’s nothing on par with some of the horror stories written below. I don’t really care for it, but that’s because it just smells awkward. These notes do not compliment one another and don’t make for a particularly nice perfume.

The other thing to consider is skin chemistry. Some people’s skins will bring out the more unpleasant sides. Yet, I firmly believe that a tiny portion of the negative reviews might be very different if the fragrance were smelled blindly. If people did not know they were testing Secretions Magnifiques — with all the visuals and legendary horrors surrounding that name — I think they’d find the fragrance to be merely an extremely unpleasant scent. They wouldn’t be driven to vomit, or to perceive semen.

Our brain filters aromas through a host of different factors, including imagery and pre-set knowledge. If you’re absolutely convinced that you’re going to smell urine and semen because that’s what you’ve been told again and again, then you may well end up doing so. However, if you go in with a blank slate, I suspect that some would get primarily a metallic, slightly salty, synthetic, fresh, abstractly floral fragrance that was extremely weird, unappealing, and mismatched, but nothing to actually gag over. In short, for some, the aroma may be a snowball that turned into an avalanche because of Etat Libre’s presentation and because of the subsequent social conditioning. It’s partially Pavlovian conditioning due to (not so) subliminal messaging, and partially an issue of the Collective Consciousness Theory. Again, I stress, this does not apply to everyone because skin chemistry does play a role, but I think social conditioning may apply to some of the people who have issues with the scent. They smelled what they expected to smell, and what they were told they would smell. A self-fulfilling prophesy turning into perceived reality.”

[Kafkaesque steps down, and Saul Goodman turns to the jury.] “Ladies and Gentlemen, I ask you to put aside your preconceived notions, and to really think about what you smelled in this courtroom today. Think about prophesy, social conditioning and mass hysteria as an explanation for some of the testimony you heard from the Plaintiffs, and discount their claims. Yes, my client is an ass, and a cheap, vulgar, synthetic lout. Yes, he sucks, and I wouldn’t want to smell like him. But, really, Whoop Di Do! There are a lot of unpleasant fragrances out there on the market. Don’t believe the hype, and let your verdict be a clear message to others that a perfume company’s marketing is not the same as reality. By all means, have them stay far, far away from Secretions Magnifiques. I certainly would! But objectivity and fairness require that you find him innocent of these extreme charges. Thank you.”

[The Defense sits down, the Judge gives his instructions, and the Jury leaves for its deliberations. They return six hours later, and a tired Jury Foreman (who has drenched himself in an entirely different fragrance, perhaps as a shield against the smell of Secretions Magnifiques) hands the bailiff a slip of paper.]

THE VERDICT:

Judgment for the Plaintiff.

Compensatory Award: $4.75, or the starting price of a sample test vial of Secretions Magnifiques from Surrender to Chance.

[The decision was 5 to 4: five jurors voted to convict the very second they set foot in the jury room. They refused to even try on the perfume for additional tests, and couldn’t get past the witness accounts. The legend was just too great. However, four jurors agreed with the “Whoop di Do” theory, and found the evidence against Secretions Magnifiques to be largely self-fulfilling prophesy. They didn’t like the fragrance and certainly would never wear it, but they simply didn’t think it amounted to the level of a vomitous, social nightmare. They won out in the discussions of the jury award, refusing to award serious damages, let alone half a billion dollars worth.]

* * *

Disclosure: This is not intended to be a proper depiction of a trial, Legal Procedures, or the law. It is a parody that is meant only in fun, though the essence of the perfume is accurate.