Perfume Review – Slumberhouse Jeke: Smoky Autumn

Posted on June 13, 2013 by Kafkaesque

Sometimes, you come across a perfumer and you just admire them — even if you’ve only started to explore their line and even if things don’t work out perfectly for you. While it’s understandable to admire the legend that is Serge Lutens, it may seem more unusual to be incredibly impressed by an Indie perfumer after just one perfume. But that’s the case with me and Josh Lobb of Slumberhouse, a niche, indie perfume brand out of Portland, Oregon. I tried his Pear + Olive months ago, was incredibly awed by parts of it, and even more taken with the man behind it. It’s not about whether a particular fragrance works for me or not; it’s about the sheer thought, creativity, effort, and candour of the man himself. To me, Josh Lobb — a 31-year old, completely self-taught perfumer — seems like an American version of Andy Tauer, with all the same talent, approachability, originality, modesty, and honesty.

Slumberhouse 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.

What’s captured my attention, however, is the fascinating genuineness of Josh Lobb. In his personal blog on the website, the talented Mr. Lobb reveals his personal struggle with keeping costs down while using the best, absolute ingredients; his realisation that he was barely breaking even with many scents; and his personal journey in making some of the Slumberhouse fragrances. And, from the start, I was intrigued by Jeke.

Jeke is classified on Fragrantica as a “woody oriental” perfume. It was originally an Eau de Parfum but, just recently, that was discontinued and the perfume was made available solely as an Extrait de Parfum concentration. As I’ll explain later, CaFleureBon says that there are some minor alterations and difference with the new version which has significantly less smoke than the Eau de Parfum. Unfortunately, that is the version that I obtained from Surrender to Chance (which doesn’t carry the new extrait). However, the two versions seem sufficiently alike to make it worth a review of the EDP, though I’ll update it later if I ever obtain the pure parfum extrait.

Slumberhouse’s website description for Jeke is as follows:

A breath of fog in the autumnal humidor.

Benzoin, Patchouli, Tobacco, Lapsang Souchong, Vanilla, Clove

Fragrantica‘s notes are slightly different and would make the full list seem more like this:

Cade, Tobacco, Patchouli, Benzoin, Labdanum, Lapsang Souchong, Vanilla, Clove.

Source: Theatlantic.com

Cade is a very big part of Jeke, so it may be worth a brief summary of its aroma. It is an oil extracted from the juniper plant and has a very smoky, campfire, phenolic, tarry character (which explains why it is often paired with birch tar in leather fragrances). In Jeke, it dominates the opening which is an unusual mix of: burnt rubber, diesel, smoke, tobacco, patchouli, molasses, and leather. There is a slightly mentholated, eucalyptus undertone to the smoky campfire of the cade, as well as a dark, black, slightly rubbery, leather element. The tobacco smells just like the concentrated form in chewing tobacco and, at this stage, not like the sweet, fruited leaves used in pipe tobacco. Flickering all around the edges is a chewy, black, thick sweetness that is as dark as molasses and far heavier than that evoked by labdanum resin. The molasses note is infused with heavy, spicy cloves and dark, black patchouli.

Source: Bonfirehealth.com

Something about the opening minutes of Jeke evokes not only a very butch, hyper-masculinity but, also, Halloween. The perfume is far more than just the scent of fall; it really brings to mind Halloween night with its darkness and the feel of burning leaves in the slightly chilled air. Yet, that butch, rubbery, diesel-like nuance quickly softens from the extremely sharp, sometimes overpowering, raw beginning to something with smoother, more manageable smokiness.

Scene from Mad Max 2 via cinemasights.com

Jeke’s tarry smokiness reminds me strongly of Serge Lutens‘ Boxeuses which I just recently reviewed, only Jeke takes the darkness, smokiness, tarry, molasses and leather character of Boxeuses and amplifies it by a hundred in a very Mad Max sort of way. For the opening minutes, at least, when Jeke lacks the smoothness and fruited softness of Boxeuses. Yet, despite its initial intensity, there is a very plummy undertone to Jeke which also reminds me of Boxeuses. In the latter, it was a much sweeter, much more multi-faceted, fruited molasses but, in Jeke, it feels very much like a dark plum purée. Stewed prunes in a light, sweet, syrup.

Source: CrownsNestPrimitiveShoppe.com (link embedded within, click on photo.)

There is also something else going on, something I initially couldn’t put my finger on, but an incredibly familiar scent. It was driving me a little mad trying to pinpoint it, and then it came to me. Potpourri! Jeke has a massive element of potpourri underlying every part of its character. I actually have a bag of expensive red and purple potpourri with wood shavings and spiced fruited elements that I took out to compare — and it’s identical to Jeke! Spiced red apple with mulled wine potpourri. Once you make that mental association in your head, it’s impossible to shake off. Later, in a second test, I took my sample of Jeke, applied a hefty, double dose to my other arm, sniffed, and…. yes, spiced apple potpourri from the start.

Fifteen minutes into Jeke’s development, the perfume shifts a little. It’s even softer now, a lovely mélange of incense, smoke, prunes, spiced apple potpourri, tobacco and dark resins. There is a subtle tea note that truly does evoke the smoky nature of Lapsang Souchang tea. The clove element has relaxed, the rubber-diesel accord has receded, and the whole perfume feels significantly warmer and better-rounded. Yet, there is still a subtle singed element, along with the feel of burning leaves and campfires; Jeke still evokes Halloween; and it is still extremely potent. However, that rubbery, mentholated, diesel edge has gone, taking away the butch elements and ending my thoughts of Mad Max in the Thunderdome.

Instead, now, all I can really smell is potpourri with its mix of autumnal apples, dark fruits, smoke, and a slightly sharp, dried patchouli sweetness. Every fall, one of my neighbors would burn a particular scented candle from Slatkin, along with its scented oils, over every inch of her house — and the aroma is incredibly close to what wafted off my arm. Jeke is smokier, has a noticeable tobacco nuance and subtle flickers of black rubber, but the dominant note on me is always red apple potpourri. It’s cozy, but not quite what I had expected, if truth be told. The leather nuances vanish after the first hour, along with all traces of rubber, leaving Jeke with nothing more than that main accord, trailed by fruited tobacco and cade smoke. Then, to my surprise, Jeke becomes completely abstract at the start of the third hour: amorphous, muted, generalized spice and smoke notes. And it remains that way for the rest of its duration.

Source: Wallpaperswide.com

Another unexpected surprise is Jeke’s sillage. Slumberhouse perfumes are famous for being powerhouse scents of massive duration and strength, but that didn’t quite apply to Jeke’s projection on me. The perfume began with good projection that started dropping about 20 minutes into its development; Jeke became close to the skin just short of the 90 minute mark; and it became a skin scent after the second hour. It was so light on the skin that I thought it was close to dying after 3.5 hours. It didn’t, but every hour, it felt like Jeke was going to finally vanish, only to have the subtlest, faintest traces cling doggedly and stubbornly to the skin. (Votes on Fragrantica overwhelmingly put Jeke’s sillage at “moderate,” but I have to wonder if that’s for the Extrait version. Almost everyone, however, agrees that the longevity is enormous.) All in all, Jeke lasted 9 hours with a small dose and 10.25 hours with a large dose with most of that time passed as a skin scent that was primarily abstract sweetness, spice and smoke. The drydown — all 6 hours of it — was very pretty but not always easy to detect in its muted quality on my skin.

Potpourri from Scentualnature.com
(Website link embedded within.)

Jeke ended up not being my personal style, but I think it’s a very good fragrance. My difficulty lies in the potpourri element. I didn’t see any references to it in the largely positive Fragrantica comments, but a search for Slumberhouse, Jeke and potpourri brought up a few Basenotes threads where a number of people detected “red apple potpourri” or “potpourri” in some other Slumberhouse fragrances. One example would be Rume, which a Basenotes commentator said was “a bit too literally potpourri-like for me to wear very much,” though he ended up buying a bottle because he was such a huge Slumberhouse fan. What really reassured me, however, and made me realize I wasn’t completely insane for detecting potpourri was a comment from Mr. Lobb himself. In another Basenotes thread, a commentator (“alfarom“) posted an excerpt of an email in which Mr. Lobb described Grev (another Slumberhouse fragrance) as “a kind of masculine potpourri with a slight tinge of red apple skin.” Honestly, that would be a pretty good description of Jeke Eau de Parfum, too, except I think there would be a dash of plum (or mulled wine) to go with that spiced red apple skin accord. The bottom line, however, is that “masculine potpourri” seems to be a sort of signature base for a number of Slumberhouse fragrances.

What seems to be the new Jeke in Extrait form. Source: Indiescents.com

As noted earlier, Jeke is now available only in extrait de parfum concentration, and not in the Eau de Parfum which I’m reviewing and which is offered at decanting sites like Surrender to Chance. I once read Mr. Lobb’s explanation for the change and the differences between the two perfumes in his Slumberhouse blog, but the website is almost always down when I try to access it. So, instead, so I shall rely on CaFleureBon‘s comparison of the two fragrance formulations:

Jeke Extrait… [“seemed like a richer opulent version of the EDP”] for me as in its EDP form this is what I call a “smoke monster”. Sometimes it would eat me alive and other times it would surround me and fascinate me before leaving me unscathed. The core of Jeke in both forms is the combination of cade and tobacco over a resinous base. In the Extrait form the “smoke monster” is much more controlled and for the first time I noticed an amazingly beautiful patchouli lurking among the maelstrom. Once I had them side-by-side I really noticed the patchouli in the EDP but the whole composition seemed more balanced and when the labdanum and benzoin kick in this really feels decadent. The Extrait feels like a rough jewel which has now been cut and faceted into a brilliant gem.

It sounds to me like Mark Behnke’s experiences with Jeke EDP involved significantly more smoke than what I experienced. In fact, his comments about the patchouli in the Extrait form makes me wonder if the “potpourri” aspect is now even stronger than before. But it is the smoke issue which really leaves me feeling a bit bewildered, especially when I read the Fragrantica comments where some people find the smoke to be far too powerful. One person even compared Jeke to Andy Tauer‘s Incense Extreme, finding that the Jeke blew the Tauer out of the water. (“Tauer represents the violins. Jeke the symphony of churches.“) I have no idea if the comments about the overwhelming amount of smoke apply to the EDP or the Extrait, but judging by the dates, I would suspect they’re referring the Extrait with its milder quantity. In which case, I can only say that I didn’t find the supposedly “stronger” note in the EDP version to be overpowering at all. It certainly wasn’t a “smoke monster,” to me.

Out of all the reviews out there for Jeke, my favorite comes from a commentator, “42gr,” on Fragrantica who wrote, in part:

I’ve tested my way through, many fragrances.

This blows me away, away, away.
It resonates in my head. It repeats.

It is so good it feels illegal to feel this good about a fragrance.

I am drinking single malt Islay Scotch in my father’s Orthodox Church. The white bearded priest swings his silver censer of burning smoking resin. Incanting.

It reminds me of burnt ashes from the campfire from the night before. Laphroaig, Peat, Church Resin, Medicine. And then a touch of sweet tobacco. […]

This is Etta James singing I’d rather go blind.

Jeke is completely and utterly an intoxicating fragrance.

I pay no other this homage.
Smoky, dirty, gorgeous.

I didn’t have the same experience (at all) and, yet, I can absolutely see his vision, what he felt, and why. I can especially see why he’s imagine drinking Laphroaig (my absolute favorite single malt) in an Orthodox church filled with incense. For the sake of completely accuracy, I should add that he later updated his review to add that, in time and with extensive wearing, the amount of smoke felt far, far too excessive, especially in an Australian summer. However, in all fairness to Jeke, I really don’t think it’s a fragrance to wear in 104 degree temperatures!

The bottom line is that, regardless of version, I think Jeke is a perfume that will appeal enormously to people with certain tastes. Men who adore smoky, tobacco fragrances will probably love it. And some women may greatly enjoy the smoky, campfire, fall aspects, if they don’t mind the more rubbery, diesel-like start. However, women who are used to more mainstream fragrances, or who prefer either fruity, clean, floral or gourmand offerings, will probably find Jeke to be far too masculine in nature. Those who love sweet, fruited florals with a strong gourmand undertone would probably prefer Pear + Olive. I think it all depends on what you’re used to.

As for me, I remain a huge fan and admirer of Mr. Lobb. I can’t believe he’s self-taught, and think that he’s incredibly talented. Slumberhouse is a house worth exploring, so I truly hope that more people will try out the line.

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: Jeke is now an extrait de parfum and comes in a 1 oz/30 ml size which costs $125. It is available directly from Slumberhouse itself which also sells a Discovery Set of 4 of their perfumes in 2 ml vials for $20. (Again, the website often fails to load, so give it a few tries especially if you’re looking for samples as Slumberhouse has a great program for that and provides very generous sizes.) The perfume is also available from IndieScents, along with a sample for $5, and from Parfum1 which also sells with a 0.7 ml sample vial for $4.50. In addition, Parfum1 offers a Discovery Pack of 4 fragrances (including Jeke), each in a 0.7 ml vial for $16. Parfum1 offers free shipping for all domestic orders above $75, $5.95 for orders below $75, and international shipping for a (high) fee. I obtained my sample (of the now obsolete Eau de Parfum concentration) from Surrender to Chance which sells Jeke starting at $5.99 for a 1 ml vial. In terms of overseas availability, in an interview with Basenotes, Josh Lobb wrote “anyone who wants to order should feel free to send an email or contact Sundhaft in Germany.” You can find their website here.

Perfume Reviews: Vidi, Vici by Histoires de Parfums (Veni, Vidi, Vici Collection)

Posted on June 12, 2013 by Kafkaesque

Caesar didn’t conquer everything. Vidi and Vici — perfumes from Histoires de Parfums‘ Veni, Vidi, Vici trilogy of perfumes in the Editions Rare Collection — reminds me more of Caesar’s tragic downfall than his stratospheric rise to power and victories. For all that I thought the first perfume in the line, Veni, was a triumph, I found Vidi and Vici to be significantly less so.

“Death of Julius Caesar” – 1798 – by Vincenzo Camuccini

As yesterday noted in the Veni review, the 2013 perfume trilogy is a tribute to Caesar’s famous phrase (“I came, I saw, I conquered“) from the Gallic Wars. Each eau de parfum represents a different natural element: Veni focuses on the Earth; Vidi on the Wind; and Vici on the Fire element. Yet, they are all linked by one common olfactory thread: they all have cardamom. This review will focus on the latter two scents in the collection.

VIDI:

As I explained yesterday, when I first saw the notes for the collection, I didn’t find them very appealing. They seemed odd, discordant, and a very peculiar mix, but Veni was so lovely, it told me that I shouldn’t pre-judge and I should keep an open mind. Nonetheless, as I stared again at the notes for Vidi, the second in the collection, I couldn’t help but swear. As compiled from both Histoires de Parfum‘s description and Fragrantica, Vidi‘s notes are:

Top Note: cardamom, cucumber, ozone effects
Heart Note: plastic rose, cyclamen, water effects, saffron
Base Note: immortal absolu, musk, ambergris, vanilla, white wood

Cucumber and cardamon? Ozonic water effects? With maple syrup Immortelle and Cyclamen (which Fragrantica tells me is a pure synthetic meant to be a clean, fresh floral scent)? Plastic rose?

I was determined, however, to keep an open mind, so I sprayed on Vidi and…… Holy Mother of God! Somewhere on a darkened Scottish moor and under a full moon, there are three, blind crones cackling over a cauldron of Vidi while Lady Macbeth frantically tries to scrub off a damned spot of the perfume. Words…. words utterly fail me. Nothing I say will truly describe the unholy hell that is Vidi, but I shall try.

Vidi opens on my skin with an overpowering, nuclear blast of antiseptic mixed with watery cucumber. The abrasive astringent is exactly like the cheap, drugstore acne medicine that teenagers use. Yet, the smell (and the ISO E Super responsible for it) is actually not the real problem. You see, within seconds, the watery, ozonic notes are joined by a shockingly discordant rush of chocolate-y cardamom. For a few minutes, the intensely odd mix of cucumber and cardamom-chocolate duke it out, egged on from the sidelines by an odd, synthetic floral note and by vanilla. It’s so revolting, you have no idea. The vanilla has an eggy quality which clashes with the metallic, aquatic notes as much as everything else. Underneath the whole thing is the cheap, drugstore acne medicine provided by ISO E Super.

Yet, despite all these individual nuances, the overall and primary impression is of watery, green cucumber slathered in thick, heavy chocolate. The synthetic quality to the perfume is profound. As noted, cyclamen is a synthetic, but I suspect that the musk and amber undertones in Vidi must be as well because the perfume starts to create a burning feeling high up in the bridge of my nose. It’s a consistent telltale giveaway for me for truly intense synthetics. As the moments pass, the discordant notes become even more jangly, for lack of a better word. The sweetness is now tinged by maple syrup, while the cucumber has a sharply metallic edge. The vanilla also feels sharp, yet there is some sourness lurking below everything. And the chocolate cardamom doesn’t go with any of it, but especially not with the cucumber.

Regular readers know that I will bear with almost anything for the sake of a thorough, full review — and for hours and hours at that. I will endure even notes that feel like urinous panther pee, synthetic, cotton fabric softener, or the ISO E Super that I loathe more than anything. But I couldn’t do it with Vidi. I tried my best but, 15 minutes in, I was actually dry-heaving after every sniff. When a scent triggers a gag reflex, it’s time to throw in the towel.

If you’re interested in other assessments of Vidi, you can try Fragrantica (where one person also gave up due to the almost 80% ISO E Super and Ambroxan, as well as the “plastic cucumber”), Lucas’ very ambivalent, dubious review for Chemist in The Bottle, or Ines’ assessment on All I Am — A Redhead. Normally, I would quote a few comparative assessments, but the mere memory of Vidi makes me want to gag. If you want my opinion, I would stay far away from Vidi.

VICI:

If Veni was meant to evoke the Earth and Vidi meant to evoke Water, then Vici is centered on the last element, Fire. The notes, according to Histoires de Parfums and Fragrantica, are:

Top Note: angelical roots [angelica], cardamom, pink peppercorns, basil, galbanum, aldehyde
Heart Note: rustic lavender effects, céleri graine [celery seed], iris concrete, osmanthus absolu, essence incense
Base Note: patchouli oil, musk, vanilla, cedar, raspberry.

Vici didn’t evoke either fire or “victory,” in my mind. Instead, it felt like nothing more than the dark recesses of a very dusty, very old herbal shop lined with cedar and potpourri. Vici is an incredibly dry, acrid, dusty herbal scent, in my opinion, that evokes a landscape of desiccated green colours. It opens on my skin with incredibly arid, pungent, dry basil with heaping amounts of what smells like dried mint and dried tarragon, along smaller doses of dried angelica, dried violet leaves, and dried red fruits. If you sense a theme emerging, you’re not mistaken. Have I mentioned the word “dry” yet?

The overpowering impression is of dried green leaves from one’s pantry or kitchen cabinet, atop a base of musk, cedar and dried potpourri-like patchouli. Smoke flickers in the background, as does ISO E Super, though it’s nothing like the tidal wave blast in Vidi. Nothing in Vici evokes fire or richness to me; there is nothing that is either fresh and juicy like fruit, nor sumptuously molten like lava. It’s simply a desiccated landscape dominated by dry, green kitchen herbs.

Vici doesn’t change significantly with the passage of time. Thirty minutes in, the dried herbal angelica and celery seed notes rise to the surface, accompanied by what smells like dried green tea. I assume the latter stems from the osmanthus which can sometimes have a tea-like character but, here, it’s as dried as everything else. The remaining notes — like the violet leaves — have dropped away, leaving only an impression of vague, abstract woods. Thankfully, the ISO E Super has also retreated. In its place is a flicker of raspberry that pops up every now and then before flitting away. The whole thing is incredibly low in sillage and feels very thin. Less than an hour into Vici’s development, the perfume morphs into a very muted, amorphous, general sense of dried green herbs and lightly musked, peppered woods. The raspberry flickers occasionally, the ISO E Super is always there in the background, but the perfume is primarily abstract, dry, green and woody. Vici remains that way for a few more hours, becoming sheerer and more amorphous with every passing hour until, finally, about 4.5 hours later, it fades away as nothing more than abstract woody musk.

Vici wasn’t a terrible perfume, but it’s not a great one, either. Frankly, I didn’t think it was very special, and it’s certainly not worth $175 in my opinion. Even apart from the sillage and longevity issues, it lacks great depth, body, richness and balance. There is little to counter the overpoweringly arid, almost bitter, nature of the perfume. And, frankly, I’m not keen to smell like the inside of my pantry’s dried herbs section. A greater sin perhaps is that the perfume was fundamentally boring, in my opinion. I can barely summon up the energy to describe it at greater length — and regular readers will know that I love details. But Vici leaves me feeling so utterly apathetic and disinterested, that I shall end this review here and now.

DETAILS:

Cost, Availability, & Samples: Veni, Vidi, Vici are all Eau de Parfum concentration perfumes from the “Editions Rare” Collection. They come in just one size: 2.0 oz/60 ml for $175 or €125. The perfumes are available directly from Histoires de Parfums with free shipping for all orders anywhere in the world for purchases over $130. As part of the special “Editions Rare” series of perfumes, it doesn’t seem that samples are available or that the perfumes are part of the Histoires de Parfums’ fantastic sample program. (6 samples of your choice whose $20 price goes towards the purchase of a large 4 oz. bottle. Further details are available here as to how the sample process works for general reference.) In the U.S., Veni, Vidi, Vici are available from Luckyscent or MinNY along with samples. I can’t find this collection listed on either Aedes, BeautyHabit or the Perfume Shoppe. Outside the U.S.: I couldn’t find the Editions Rare collection or Veni, Vidi, Vici at either Roullier White in the UK or Jovoy Paris which normally carries Histoires de Parfums, so I’d check in-store. Furthermore, only Vici is available at First in Fragrance which sells it for €125 the 2 oz/60 ml bottle, not the other two. However, Histoires de Parfums vast Store Locator that lists retailers from South Africa to Turkey, the Netherlands, Sweden and Kuwait. I’d check there for a store near you and hope that they carry the Editions Rare Collection. Samples: You can find samples at the retailers linked to above. Surrender to Chance has samples of each of the 3 fragrances starting at $7.99 for a 1 ml vial, or the full set of 3 fragrances for $21.99.

Perfume Review: Veni by Histoires de Parfums (Veni, Vidi, Vici Collection)

Posted on June 11, 2013 by Kafkaesque

Hail Caesar! Hail the conquest of lands by earth, wind and fire. Hail the discovery of new lands, the steely determination to conquer the challenges which lie between us and our destiny, and the power of the human spirit to defeat adversity.

Henri-Paul Motte, “Vercingétorix devant César” or “Vercingetorix surrendering to Caesar.” 1886.

Those words are the specific inspiration for Veni, Vidi, Vici, a trilogy of perfumes in the Edition Rare Collection from Histoires de Parfums. It is a French, niche perfume house which pays tribute to famous characters and mythical years, capturing a lyrical, olfactory tribute to history in a bottle. Histoires de Parfums was founded in 2000 by Gérald Ghislain, its nose and the creator of its perfumes, and in early 2013, he released Veni, Vidi, Vici. As their name gives away, they are a tribute to Caesar’s famous phrase (“I came, I saw, I conquered“) with each eau de parfum representing a different natural element in that process: Veni focuses on the Earth; Vidi on the Wind; and Vici on the Fire element. Yet, they are all linked by one common olfactory thread: they all have cardamom.

I’d heard a lot about the collection at the start of the year, and I continuously pondered getting samples, but something put me off. Frankly, the notes alarmed me; they seemed odd, discordant, and a very peculiar mix. For reasons that I couldn’t explain, the collection and its press release stories just seemed too much for me to wrap my head around. And this from someone who adores history, focused a lot on Caesar at one point, and even has a lingering bias against Cicero because of him! But Veni, Vidi, Vici in perfume form just put me off for some inexplicable reason. Then, Lucas of Chemist in the Bottle sweetly sent me samples of all three as part of a generous thoughtful gift all the way from Poland. He was convinced at least one of the perfumes with their spicy nature and their oriental, woody nuances would be bound to appeal to my tastes. He clearly knows me better than I know myself because I’m quite impressed with Veni, my first exposure to the collection. So, I’ll be reviewing each one, though not all in the same post. (I’m simply too verbose to manage such a feat in any way that isn’t encyclopedic and painful to read!) I’ll start with Veni, and then later amend this post to include links to the other 2 reviews when they are done.

Veni‘s split description on the Histoires de Parfum website is as follows:

Veni represents the earth, which in many ways still remains a mystery to us. It is nurturing as much as it is wild, forcing us to keep our senses sharp, all the while pushing our limits.

Like the early explorers who ventured beyond the borders of the known world, VENI offers an olfactory adventure worthy of the Odyssey. Journeying from a familiar bow of Lavender, the Cardamom must contend with a groundswell of Ambergris and strong gusts of Galbanum before landing on a pristine beach of Cinnamon. It then enters a dense forest of Guaiacwood, only to discover a bed of Carnations that hold subtle scents of Saffron, Vanilla and Patchouli. A journey worthy of the ancient epic heroes….

Veni Eau de Parfum.

The full notes are:

Top Note: absolu cardamom, cinnamon, galbanum, lavander
Heart Note: carnation, saffron, guaiac wood
Base Note: vanilla, toffee, patchouli oil, musk, ambergris, oakmoss

Veni‘s notes, here and on the Fragrantica website (which mentions caramel and tagette), are part of what put me off the whole line. I simply couldn’t fathom the combinations. Galbanum is not one of my favorite notes and it is often such a sharp, pungent green that it borders on black. I’m not a fan of lavender, either, and to mix it with toffee or caramel with carnation? It was too much for my tiny, little mind.

Well, consider me chastised and very apologetic. Veni is a beautiful perfume that really requires ignoring what the notes sound like. To me, and on my skin, it was more like a gloriously spicy oriental with rich, meaty, beefy, jammy floral notes and velvety, peppered woods, atop a sweet, vanillic, nutty, mossy patchouli base. It was the sort of spicy oriental that reminded me a lot of Neela Vermeire‘s beautiful creations. And I liked it a lot — despite the fact that it has ISO E Super in it. (Honestly, that should tell you everything, given how I think that synthetic is the devil’s creation!)

Source: Photos.com

Veni opens on my skin with the most beautiful lavender note. It’s simultaneously sweet from the vanilla, and spicy from the cinnamon, cardamom and saffron. Hints of supple, smooth, golden-red leather lurk discreetly underneath. Soon, almost within seconds, the lavender recedes to the background and the spices take over. They create an explosion of earth-toned colours: red, gold, brown, copper — all infused with a very floral note that feels like saffron-rose backed by patchouli. There is no rose in Veni but the carnation note feels nothing like the dry, desiccated, pungent, almost mealy aroma that you find in florist flowers. This is a carnation that is so red and jammy, so rich and beefy, so profoundly deep in body that it really almost seems more like a crimson rose. It’s definitely the result of the saffron — fiery red instead of dessert-like yellow — and the patchouli. The latter is also interesting because it’s never purple or dirty black like some 1970s patchouli but more of a mossy-green, infused by chypre like richness from the oakmoss. The elements work to transform the carnation into a true beauty, dripping richness and depth, with spicy nuances and a plush, velvety base.

Source: backgrounddesign.net

Other notes soon rise to the surface, creating a beautiful, balanced, floral spice bomb. There are woody notes which are, at first, they are lightly peppered and delicately smoked. They compete against the fiery, rich saffron and other spices, as well as the vanilla-caramel flickers of at the perfume’s base, helping to cut through the sweetness and provide a dry counterpart. Veni is a beautifully balanced perfume with no one element overpowering the other. It’s also well-blended — so much so that the perfume throws off notes like coloured lights from a crystal chandelier hit by the light. Sometimes, the lavender seems more pronounced, sometimes the beefy carnation. Sometimes, the base seems more noticeable: the dry vanilla; the lightly musked ambergris; the mossy, sweet patchouli tinged with bright green; and the subtle dose of nutty amber. (For all the potential clash of “toffee” or “caramel,” the note merely imparts a nutty, resinous element to the sweet, vanillic, amber base.) At other times, you can detect minute, subtle flickers of galbanum, though it rarely is sharp, pungent, arid or acrid. In fact, out of two tests, I only detected the galbanum the second time around and only in the opening fifteen minutes. Veni is so well-blended, I suspect that different notes will manifest themselves upon separate occasions.

Even the ISO E Super works here — shocking as that may be for me (of all people) to say. The first time I tested Veni, the peppered notes were handled with an incredibly light, subtle touch, never feeling like antiseptic rubbing alcohol but truly more like peppered, velvety woods. I was a little less enthused the second time around when the synthetic went back to being its usual self on my skin, manifesting that unpleasant character that I despise so much and being much more powerful, dominant and intrusive. But, despite that, I actually could put up with it. I’m not quite sure I understand it and can only chalk it up to the beauty of the rest of the notes. (Frankly, I’m a little stunned.) That said, one Fragrantica commentator expressly noted the ISO E Super note and found it to be too, too much:

Veni, like its sisters Vici and Vidi, has way too much ambroxan and/or Iso-E-Super for me to be able to like it. That ethereal synthetic note is so intense that it simply clobbers what could have been a gorgeous spicy perfume.

Though I’m overjoyed at finally finding a soul-mate who detects and hates ISO E Super as much as I do, I have to repeat what I always say about the blasted note: not everyone can even detect it, and a few actually adore it. Unfortunately, what is “nothingness” to some, and a pheromone to a few, can be either revolting or a massive trigger of migraines in others. (You can read more about perfumers’ favorite, hidden, unlisted, synthetic ingredient in my article on ISO E Super here.) Judging by my two tests, I think the strength of the note will depend largely on how much perfume you apply; I applied significantly more Veni in my second test to assess its longevity, so the ISO E Super was much more dominant.

Source: WorkofBeauty.blogspot.com

Veni’s drydown begins just short of 3 hours into the perfume’s development. The carnation — which had become quite pronounced around the 90 minute mark — remains at the forefront of the perfume, touched by spices, patchouli and soft woods. As always, the lavender note is subtle, flittering around the edges like Caspar the jolly ghost. The same thing applies to the quietly smoked note from the guaiac wood. The true emerging star, however, is the vanilla which starts to become much more pronounced. It’s flecked by caramel, and lightly dusted by cinnamon. As time passes, Veni softens even more to become, primarily, a creamy vanilla-caramel fragrance, subtly infused with spices and floral notes. In its final moments, it’s an abstract, amorphous blur of musky, woody, sweet notes. All in all, Veni lasted just a hair above 5 hours on my perfume-consuming skin with a small dose and 6.5 hours with a larger one. The sillage was strong only in its opening minutes, before becoming moderate-to-soft for most of the perfume’s development. It became fully close to the skin just over two hours in and, by the fourth hour, you had to really sniff at your arm to detect it.

There aren’t a ton of detailed reviews for the Veni, Vidi, Vici collection out there. Judging by Fragrantica and some blogs, Veni seems to be the general favorite out of the trio. It certainly was for Lucas at Chemist in a Bottle whose lovely review of the fragrance reads, in part:

Right from the start it effuses a luscious warm and spicy note of ambergris which is then followed by aromatic blend of lavender and coriander. It smells kid of fluffy, like a big and warm woolen jumper. Now it is time for the gourmand vibe to appear. Slowly lavender gets caramelized, sweet caramel engulfs its all tiny flowers leaving you with a rich and sticky smell. It is absolutely pleasant!

On this caramel bed lays a sophisticated vanilla which makes for a praline-like smelling thing. It’s playful and so delicious one would want some sweets after wearing it. Guaiac wood (which I would rather say smells like mahogany) brings some balmy quality to the scent. Later on galbanum appears raising the balmy feeling to the higher levels. Cinnamon is a quiet star of Histoires de Parfums Veni. It’s spicy character has been tempered here to blend it so well with benzoin and amber to create an amazing effect.

This amber is very sensual, like a velvet scarf infused with the most precious essences of orient. There’s something very sexual and inviting in it, something that provokes the senses. In its far drydown Veni smells of very light musks and saffron which also happens to be quite erotic. Patchouli gives the last, finat touch to the composition closing the entire bouquet of this perfume.

Source: Flowerpics.net

As you can tell, I had a very different experience than my friend. On my skin, Veni was far from a caramel gourmand. It was fiery spice bouquet dominated by a beefy, jammy, heady, rich, floral note that dripped glorious drops of ruby-red saffron, dusty cardamom, and mossy patchouli like a bleeding rose in a thicket of velvety, peppered, smoking woods. If Veni had been a lavender caramel on my skin, there is no way I would have loved it so much. That said, my skin turned the final stage into something quite similar to Lucas’ experience with the sophisticated vanilla, amber and light musk, even if the notes were still lightly spiced and as sheer and translucent as gauze.

Another blogger had a totally different experience than both of us when it came to Veni. Ines of All I Am — A RedHead wrote in her review:

in my mind, Veni comes very close to the description [of the perfume representing the earth]. It is very reminiscent of dry, summer land and I can imagine an army crossing it during early summer while the smells of green hasn’t yet been burned out by the sun, accompanied by lavender and other herbs wafting on a warm, green breeze. And there must be an orchard nearby, as there is definitely a fruity, lightly citrusy tinge to it.

When I say herbal, it is to signify the spicy notes that work so well with the green notes in this perfume, I can smell the cardamom but the idea is what I described.

And even though I am the first one to forgo depicting a perfume as masculine or feminine, in today’s sense, there is a definite masculine tone to it. Which makes it perfect for me.

The warmth of the earth and the sweetness of the plants growing on it, making this smell lightly fougerish and then woody, I am definitely conquered by the approaching perfumed army.

I was conquered, too, even though I had a drastically different experience. To me, the combination of the rich, red, almost rose-like floral with the heady spices over a rich, vanillic, ambered base made the perfume feel like some sort of distant cousin to Neela Vermeire‘s gorgeously spiced Trayee more than anything gourmand, aromatic or fougèrish. Trayee is a fragrance I adore, so the comparison is high praise for Veni (especially in light of the loathed ISO E Super). For one reviewer on Fragrantica, “adrienn99,” Veni reminded her of a Montale perfume. Montale is a line which, frequently, has a very rich, jammy rose note imbued with oud and ISO E Super which probably explains her comment: “Although aoud is not listed there, somehow I got that Montale feeling, although this one is way softer and very feminine.”

Even though all three of us had very different experiences with Veni, the fact that we all really liked it should, hopefully, inspire you to hunt it down and give it a sniff for yourself. It’s such a well-blended perfume that it throws out prismatic reflections like rays of light, so perhaps all three experiences might pop up on your skin, depending on occasion. Personally, I hope you get to experience what I did — a rich floral-oriental, woody, spice mix that overcame even my fierce loathing of a certain note. Try Veni and you may be conquered, too.

DETAILS:

Cost, Availability, & Samples: Veni, Vidi, Vici are all Eau de Parfum concentration perfumes from the “Edition Rare” Collection. They come in just one size: 2.0 oz/60 ml for $175 or €125. The perfumes are available directly from Histoires de Parfums with free shipping for all orders anywhere in the world for purchases over $130. As part of the special “Edition Rare” series of perfumes, it doesn’t seem that samples are available or that the perfumes are part of the Histoires de Parfums’ fantastic sample program. (6 samples of your choice whose $20 price goes towards the purchase of a large 4 oz. bottle. Further details are available here as to how the sample process works for general reference.) In the U.S., Veni, Vidi, Vici are available from Luckyscent or MinNY along with samples. I can’t find this collection listed on either Aedes, BeautyHabit or the Perfume Shoppe. Outside the U.S.: I couldn’t find the Editions Rare collection or Veni, Vidi, Vici at either Roullier White in the UK or Jovoy Paris which normally carries Histoires de Parfums, so I’d check in-store. Furthermore, only Vici is available at First in Fragrance which sells it for €125 the 2 oz/60 ml bottle, not the other two. However, Histoires de Parfums vast Store Locator that lists retailers from South Africa to Turkey, the Netherlands, Sweden and Kuwait. I’d check there for a store near you and hope that they carry the Editions Rare Collection. Samples: You can find samples at the retailers linked to above. Surrender to Chance has samples of each of the 3 fragrances starting at $7.99 for a 1 ml vial, or the full set of 3 fragrances for $21.99.

Perfume Review- Serge Lutens Boxeuses

Posted on June 8, 2013 by Kafkaesque

Serge Lutens via The Perfume Magazine

I’m a huge fan of Serge Lutens and his fragrances, even when I can’t wear them. To me, there is no other perfumer who seems so genuinely intellectual as a person, so philosophically theoretical and inquisitive, and so damn original across the broad range of his fragrances. Serge Lutens and his perfumes fascinate me on every level, and I constantly find myself intellectually engaged by what he’s trying to do, as well as often being emotionally touched by what he actually creates, even when I can’t wear them, find some fault with them, or am left undecided and completely confused as to what I actually think…. (Datura Noir, I’m looking straight at you for that last one!)

Boxeuses is another Lutens perfume that fascinates me. It’s not one that I love, or that ultimately worked very well for me, but I deeply admire it. It evoked a sharply divergent set of impressions — from Rasputin fleeing a dacha in the woods to, structurally, a sandwich — but, as always with Serge Lutens, it made me think. I cannot tell you how rare that is for me when it comes to perfumery. Boxeuses was released in 2010 and is the creation of Lutens’ favorite cohort in olfactory adventures, Christopher Sheldrake. Its description — like all of Lutens’ descriptions — is a fun, intellectual source of amusement. Except for Parfums d’Empire, I think no-one does better stories for their perfumes than “Uncle Serge,” as he is affectionately known in the perfume community. His background tales are frequently a mix between some sort of romantic, whimsical Proustian or Zola-like saga, and Camus-influenced existential angst. They rarely, however, seem to actually encapsulate the feeling or scent of the perfume, in my opinion. And the brief synopsis of Boxeuses on the Lutens website is no exception:

Now’s the time to fight.

To get the idea, think of Russian leather tanned on birch bark.
Now add animalic notes, strong enough to suggest a black eye.
In other words, it’s time to see stars!

Source: TheWeek.co.uk

“Boxeuses” translates to women boxers in English, but I have to say that was the last thing that came to mind when I smelled the perfume. As for the notes, Serge Lutens almost never provides a list, so it’s a little bit of a guessing game as to what Boxeuses actually contains. Compiling the elements from Fragrantica, Surrender to Chance, and the Perfume Shrine, the list would seem to be:

Leather, licorice, birch tar, fruit, plum, violet, cedar, styrax, incense, spices, cade oil.

Boxeuses opens on my skin with a bouquet of notes that are so dark purple, they verge on black: plum molasses; violet cherry cola; black licorice; leathery, black fig compote; and sweet dried fruits topped by heaping dollops of prune over a richly resinous, smoky base. Birch tar is a huge part of that base with its tarry, smoky character. It’s a hard aroma to describe if you’ve never smelled it, especially as it’s quite different here from the way I’ve encountered it before. It’s not mentholated, not like eucalyptus, not like diesel, not like rubber, and not chilly — and, yet, it almost feels like all of it. It never seems like pure leather to me but, rather, like extremely gooey, black, resinous molasses, filled with a dark, pungent, almost sharp smoke that has a diesel-like undertone to it. The molasses smells like the thickest concentration of stewed prunes, plums and black figs. I have no idea if black figs are actually in Boxeuses, but something about that sticky foundation smells like the grainy, densely sweet, slightly spiced, slightly leathered, earthy aspects of thick, Black Mission fig jam.

Fig Jam. Source: Bettycupcakes.com (For recipe for homemade fig jam, click on photo. Link to website imbedded within.)

The real key to Boxeuses, however, comes from the birch tar and cade elements in conjunction with that fruit. As the Perfume Shrine explains in an article on ingredients often used in leather perfumes, birch tar has a very smoky, tarry, phenolic character and was frequently used by Russian or Finnish tanneries to treat leather. It’s a key part of leather perfumes like the legendary Chanel classic, Cuir de Russie. Cade oil comes from juniper trees and has the aroma of a smoky campfire. Those two notes combine with the fruit to create what I can only describe as a jammy-fruited-molasses tar with black smoke and, also, a hugely liqueured edge. It’s as if every dark fruit in the world had been cooked in and then soaked in a wood-infused casket of vodka, cognac and smoky tar, then left to seep and age for 75 years. Sadly, I think I’m still not doing justice to its particular and unusual nuance in Boxeuses.

Silver birch tree. Source: my own photograph.

Five minutes into the perfume’s development, the leather aspect starts to rise a little from the depths of that smoky, fruity, dark molasses base. It’s never a cold, raw, harsh leather; nothing about it feels black or steely. This is a fruit-soaked, jammy leather tinged with church incense and backed by dark woods. It’s beautiful and, oddly, conjured up Rasputin in my mind. Perhaps it’s the mental association of church frankincense with birch tar — an element so often used to treat the leather boots of Imperial Tsarist officers’ boots — and Cuir de Russie. Whatever the reason, the image which comes to mind is Rasputin, wandering around a birch forest in the snow outside a luxurious Russian dacha. He is followed by women trying to serve him sweet, stewed fruit or to cover him with a leather coat. His clothes reek of church incense and smoke, and he’s completely drunk on some dark fruit liqueur which makes him stumble and lose his way amidst the sea of trees. I grant you, it’s not what I’m suppose to imagine with Boxeuses but, despite all the fruit at the base of the perfume, Boxeuses has a very strong feel of the outdoors and winter, of snow and Russian forests, of campfire smoke and sharp incense.

Painting: Julie McInnes. Source: FineartAmerica.com

Twenty minutes in, the perfume shifts a little. Black licorice becomes more prominent, flickering tongues of salt over the campfire flames whose smokiness has increased even more. The dried fruits and the always subtle leather nuance have receded to the background, working their magic from afar and with indirect impact, and leaving the tarry birch woods, church incense and salty black licorice to duke it out at center court. At the forty minute mark, the three are still the most prominent notes, though I somehow smell a salty beeswax element as well.

Then, suddenly, exactly one hour in, Boxeuses suddenly becomes abstract: the notes all morph into one vague, generalized soft accord without a hugely distinctive, individualized character. There is still salty black licorice flickering but now, it’s in the distance along with much else. The perfume feels as though it’s muted and seen through a foggy veil where the overall impression is of very amorphous dark woods with smoke, licorice and some vaguely fruited-molasses elements. Part of the problem is Boxeuses’ sillage on my skin. It’s soft from the start and, on both occasions where I tested the perfume, it started to hover just barely above the skin between the 40 minute and 1 hour marks. It’s such a soft fragrance, it feels abstract. Even during the second test where I applied substantially more, Boxeuses became nondescript quite quickly and much sooner than I had expected. The notes feel so translucent, despite their underlying purple hue, that they lack any distinctiveness.

And that never changed for the rest of Boxeuses’ limited duration on my skin. Two hours in, the perfume turns into abstract licorice woods. There is still a hint of birch in the background; it’s enough to infuse the licorice note with smoke and to make it take on a slightly burnt aspect. Nonetheless, it feels as though Boxeuses is starting to slowly die on my skin. It gives a few gasps during the third hour, almost like a second wind before death: the jammy, dark, pruney-fig molasses note reappears, joining the smoked licorice element and bringing amber along as a companion. Then, just barely after the fourth hour, Boxeuses gives its final hiccup. It is barely ambered, smoked woods — and nothing more. The exact duration of Boxeuses on my skin in the two tests was: 3 hours and 50 minutes with an average dose; and 4 hours and 30 minutes with a large dose.

Source: Royalty-Free-RF-Clipart

Boxeuses’ structure consistently calls to mind a very badly cut sandwich. The top and the bottom — the “bread,” if you will — consist of the plummy-stewed-liqueured-dark molasses. The middle of the sandwich is all black “meat”: black birch tar, black frankincense smoke, and black, salty licorice. The top piece of bread is thick; the bottom one is sliced so thin as to be flimsy and translucent. Separating the “bread” from the “meat” is some sort of layer that brings in elements of both parts. Perhaps we can call it a “mayonnaise” which mixes part of the dark fruited molasses with elements of smoke and birch. It’s the overlap area, if you will, which takes place immediately after the thick opening minutes of liqueured molasses and, also, at the very end when the molasses returns. It may not be the most on-point or perfect analogy, but it’s what comes to mind when I think of the perfume’s evolution.

As you may have gathered, I found Boxeuses to be fascinating, but something about it didn’t sweep me off my feet, even apart from the sillage and longevity issues. To me, Boxeuses was always more of an intriguing intellectual construct. Yet, given the notes, I really should have loved it. For one thing, unlike some very intellectual Lutens creations that I’ve reviewed (like Tubereuse Criminelle, for example), Boxeuses is imminently wearable. I’m not too sure of how versatile it is all year-round, particularly in light of the very cold weather, snowy, winter feel of it, but on the Lutens scale of versatility, this is somewhere in the middle. Not as practical or versatile as my beloved Chergui or the cozy Five O’ Clock au Gingembre, but also not as distinctive as the difficult Tubereuse Criminelle, the rich, patchouli-chocolate Borneo 1834, or the complicated Serge Noire. For me, it falls somewhere in that middle category with De Profundis and Cuir Mauresque. Yet, Boxeuses doesn’t move or interest me anywhere close to those last two perfumes which are huge Lutens favorites of mine. Boxeuses is nice and quite enjoyable, but, at the end of the day, it didn’t really rock my world. It never tugged at me while I was wearing it or make me think, “Wow.” It also didn’t have a huge, lingering effect afterwards where I’d continue to think of the scent days or weeks later.

I’m sorry, Uncle Serge. Please forgive me. I will always be a devout, loyal member of your fan club.

Details:

Cost & Availability: Boxeuses is an eau de parfum that is part of the Serge Lutens “European Exclusives” line, which means it is available only in the larger 75 ml Bell Jar size. It retails for $290 for a 75 ml/2.5 oz bottle. You can find Boxeuses on the Serge Lutens website (US and international). Elsewhere in the U.S., you can normally find even exclusive Bell Jar Lutens sold at the New York Barney’s store. Even the exclusive De Profundis was shown on the company’s website, along with a note stating: “This product is only available for purchase at the Madison Avenue Store located at 660 Madison Avenue. The phone number for the Serge Lutens Boutique is (212) 833-2425.” However, Boxeuses is not listed or shown. I’m sure it’s sold in store, however, so you may want to check. Outside the US: In Europe, the price is considerably cheaper at €125 from the French Lutens website or from their Paris boutique. For other countries, you can use the Store Locator on the Lutens website. Samples: You can order samples of Boxeuses from Surrender to Chance (where I bought mine) starting at $3.99 for a 1/2 ml vial.