Perfume Review – Serge Lutens Fleurs d’Oranger

Posted on July 21, 2013 by Kafkaesque

Fleurs d’Oranger. Source: Serge Lutens Facebook page.

Ethereal, glittering, radiant, voluptuous clouds of white with a tiny sliver of a dark lining of funk. That’s Serge Lutens‘ Fleurs d’Oranger, a powerful bouquet of white flowers headlined by orange blossoms and tuberose. It is an eau de parfum created by Lutens’ favorite perfumer, Christopher Sheldrake, and released in 2003.

Serge Lutens describes Fleurs d’Oranger in terms of emotional responses, which seems quite appropriate for such a sensuous fragrance:

It’s within us.

A single whiff of this fragrance, drawn from the highly scented blossom of the bitter orange tree, augmented by a hint of civet, resonates within us.

The notes — as compiled from Luckyscent, Fragrantica and that statement — include:

Orange blossom, white jasmine, Indian tuberose, white rose, citrus peel, hibiscus seeds, cumin, nutmeg and civet.

Orange Blossom. Photo: GardenPictures via Zuoda.net

Fleurs d’Oranger opens on my skin with the most beautiful, concentrated, powerful, and completely narcotic burst of orange blossoms. They are quickly followed by tuberose with a slightly metholated, minty, just barely camphoraceous undertone, and by a powerful heaping of cumin. The latter is a discordant feature in the white mix, radiating a definite aroma of stale sweat body aroma that is quite strong at first. Thankfully, however, it softens, weakens and recedes in less than twenty seconds, retreating just to the periphery, and never returning to the same levels again.

The tuberose is quite the diva in Fleurs d’Oranger. It repeatedly tries to muscle aside the orange blossoms, and to take over the whole show. It’s brawny, potent, heady, narcotic, indolent, addictively sniffable for those who love tuberose, and the living nightmare of those who don’t. I happen to adore tuberose, and it’s one of my favorite flowers (if not my favorite), so I’m rather in heaven. It’s especially lovely here in Fleurs d’Oranger, as it is simultaneously a little bit green and airy, but, also, full-blown, lusciously languid, creamy, rich and completely voluptuous. It brings to mind what the legendary nose, Roja Dove, once said about tuberose (in the context of the famous, white floral powerhouse, Fracas):

tuberose is the most carnal of the floral notes. It smells like very, very hot flesh after you’ve had sex — that’s the bottom line. [via The Independent, 12/14/2002.] [Emphasis added.]

That carnality is in full sway in Fleurs d’Oranger, where tuberose is joined by its similarly voluptuous siblings, orange blossom and jasmine. It’s all because of the indoles, which are present in the three flowers and which are the main reason for Fleurs d’Oranger’s headiness.

Bee on a tuberose. Photo: faixal_javaid via Flickr. http://www.flickr.com/photos/faixal_javaid/3360386339/

The scientific story about indoles, in simple terms, is that bees can’t see white flowers like tuberose, jasmine, orange blossom, gardenia, or the like. So the flowers have an extra-large amount of a natural organic substance called indoles that they put out to signal the bees to their presence. In their undiluted, purest, and most concentrated form in perfumery, indoles can smell like musty mothballs. However, when diluted to just a few drops, they create a radiant richness in floral perfumes that is sometimes described as narcotic, heady, meaty, dense, voluptuous or sensuous. For some, very indolic flowers can have an over-blown, ripe quality that smells sour, plastic-y, fecal, urinous, or reminiscent of a cat’s litter box. Its richness in classic, very opulent fragrances is probably why some people find indolic fragrances to smell “old lady-ish” (a term I hate, by the way, even apart from its ageist aspects). Those who prefer clean, fresh scents are likely to struggle with indolic fragrances as well, and not only because of their heavy feel.

Fleurs d’Oranger contains three of the most indolic flowers around — tuberose, jasmine, and orange blossoms. Here, however, the thickness of the notes is largely undercut by a very subtle, very quiet, green, chilly note underlying the tuberose. It’s all due to methyl salicylate, the revolutionary, transformative key to Lutens’ famously difficult, Tubéreuse Criminelle, and something which is present to a significantly lesser extent in Fleurs d’Oranger. Methyl salicylate is a natural organic compound found in tuberose (and in jasmine) which has a crisp, medicinal, almost mentholated, sometimes eucalyptus-like smell that evokes “Vicks Vapor Rub” for a few, but minty, spearmint mouth wash for others. It can also create varying impressions of gasoline/petrol, rubber, or leather.

Tuberose: Source: mostbeautifulflower.com

The aroma is not a usual part of most tuberose perfumes, but Christopher Sheldrake like to deconstruct the flower to its scientific essence and core molecules in order to emphasize that metholated side. One reason, perhaps, is because it undercuts some of the richness of the flowers’ indoles, thereby assuring a greener, lighter, airier scent that isn’t so overwhelmingly buttery. That’s what happens in Fleurs d’Oranger where Sheldrake cleverly uses the smallest hints of chilly, cool freshness to cut through the heady fumes of the flowers, thereby reducing any potential cloying over-ripeness.

On my skin, Fleurs d’Oranger is primarily an orange blossom scent, always trailed very closely by the tuberose. In the opening moments, sitting in the background as quiet as a wallflower, are the supporting players. There are subtle flickers of zesty citrus peel, feeling more like the slightly bitter oil you get from grating the rind. There is also a barely animalic muskiness, though I never detect civet in its true form, let alone in any substantial degree. The cumin skulks around the corners, too, sometimes adding a quiet funk to the delicate, florals, sometimes feeling like an amorphous, dry, spicy note. Finally, there is a touch of sweet, dainty rose that does, indeed, feel very white and heady.

Jasmine. Source: Hdwallpaperes.com

Nothing, however, has the remotest chance of competing against the tuberose. Sometimes, not even the titular, purported star of the show itself because there are brief moments when the tuberose completely pushes the orange blossoms aside. The jasmine doesn’t fare any better; it is habitually overshadowed in any concentrated, distinctive way. Instead, she is almost intertwined with the tuberose, having an indirect effect in adding to that drug-like, opulent headiness.

Despite the power of the three white sisters, I’m surprised by the lightweight feel of Fleurs d’Oranger. Don’t mistake my meaning — this is a strong scent, especially up close and in the opening hour. However, it lacks a dense, thick, opaque feel. I’ve read that Fleurs d’Oranger was reformulated, perhaps around 2008, in accordance with the start of the IFRA/EU fascistic regulation of perfume ingredients. One of the targeted notes on their hit list is orange blossom oil, which may explain why tuberose sometimes seems as much a focal point of Fleurs d’Oranger as the orange blossoms. According to one Basenotes thread, the perfume used to be almost syrupy in feel. I’ve never tried the original, vintage formulation, but that description fits with everything that I’ve heard: Fleurs d’Oranger was stronger, deeper, richer, heavier and, according to some, had more orange blossoms in it.

Nonetheless, ten minutes into its development, Fleurs d’Oranger is led by the orange blossoms, then followed by lightly mentholated tuberose atop a base of jasmine with a small touch of very heady rose that seems almost like a tea-rose in its sweetness. There is a strong hint of something else lurking about that I can’t quite place and that feels a little woody and dry. Perhaps the hibiscus seeds? And, taking its place in the rear of the line is the cumin with its nuance of earthy funk. Fleurs d’Oranger doesn’t change much from that primary bouquet, though the tuberose will occasionally take the lead for a few minutes until it falls back to trail behind the orange blossoms. Also fluctuating in strength is a subtle muskiness that infuses all the flowers, covering them with a fine veil of sensuousness. The combination would feel almost erotic in its voluptuous carnality, were it not for the subtle freshness and airiness created by the perfume’s green, chilly, menthol undertones.

Orange Blossom. Photo: GardenPictures via Zuoda.net

Fleurs d’Oranger remains that way until its final drydown, when it smells solely of orange blossoms. There is the faintest flicker of some dry spice lurking underneath, though it’s not really distinguishable as cumin. All in all, Fleurs d’Oranger lasted a brief 3.5 hours in total, and I tested it twice. I never have any luck with the duration of Serge Lutens’ pure florals, and sadly, Fleurs d’Oranger is no exception. The perfume’s sillage starts to drop as quickly as the thirty-minute mark, though it is still so powerful up close that I suspect it will give a headache to those who suffer from the richness of indoles. It becomes a skin scent at the end of the second hour, and feels quite blurry around the edges. I have to admit, I’m hugely disappointed because I’ve always loved Fleurs d’Oranger. I first tested it last year, and quite fell in love with its sensuous, bright radiance. If its powerful projection at the start were matched by at least a moderate longevity on my skin, I’d want a full bottle.

Luckily for everyone else, the votes on Fragrantica indicate many people have considerably better times than I did. There, in the duration rankings, 17 people voted for “long lasting,” 11 for “moderate,” and 8 for “very long lasting.” For the sillage, 20 found it to be “heavy,” 17 voted for “moderate” and 7 for “soft.” I think the potency of the opening hour may explain some of the projection numbers because Fleurs d’Oranger truly did not feel nuclear-tipped like some of the 80s powerhouse fragrances, especially after the first 60-90 minutes. My standards must be skewed, however, because Fragrantica commentators frequently bring up the word “powerhouse,” and talk about just how big it is.

In terms of the scent itself, the reactions on Fragrantica are interesting. A handful of people wonder where the orange blossoms are lurking, as they find Fleurs d’Oranger to be primarily a tuberose fragrance on their skin. On the other hand, one or two posters think Fleurs d’Oranger is the best jasmine fragrance around. For the vast majority, however, Fleurs d’Oranger almost amounts to an orange blossom soliflore with spicy, rich, luxurious depths that “sing of summer.” Clearly, it all depends on skin chemistry as to which flower may dominate. The same holds true for the issue of the cumin, and its strength. It is another reason why Fleurs d’Oranger can be far too much for some people. A lot of people can’t handle tuberose; and a number of people are cumin-phobes. Bring the two notes together, and you have a fragrance that is most definitely not for everyone. Yet, despite that, most people on Fragrantica adore Fleurs d’Oranger, using words like “masterpiece” or “the best orange blossom fragrance around.”

The same is true of the commentators on Luckyscent which, by the way, has perhaps my favorite description for the fragrance:

In a word: masterpiece. There is no other way to sum up Fleurs d’Oranger. This is truly a legend in the Lutens line, the fresh yet decadent scent of an orange grove in full bloom, blossoms falling like rain as a warm breeze swirls the petals in the air. The heady and sweet scents of orange blossom, white jasmine and tuberose are highlighted with a hint of citrus and enhanced with just the tiniest wisps of warm spice to create a perfume that is ever-changing and, once you live with it awhile, you begin to sense its ultra complex nature. Fleurs d’Oranger is a floral fantasy that is even more beautiful than any amount of flowery prose can hope to relay…it’s a rare fragrance that could be worn every day and you’d never tire of it. Gloriously feminine, Fleurs is not “cute” nor is it cloying or overpowering…it’s pure French elegance meets a wild romp in an orange grove, a dream of a perfume that will make you close your eyes, breathe deeply and just…smile.

I think that accurately sums up Fleurs d’Oranger. So, too, does this Luckyscent description from a commentator:

Delicately glittering, this bright scent is reminiscent of the orange grove at Versaille. There is something regal and elegant inherent in its light floral composition that is never overwhelming. I wish that it had more staying power though.

As a side note, two people bring up the L’Artisan Parfumeur orange blossom scent as a point of comparison, though I think they’re referring to the 2007 Limited Edition Fleur d’Oranger and not to Seville à L’Aube. Both posters prefer the Lutens version, adding that it is much longer-lasting as well. Speaking of Seville à L’Aube, I hated it. Passionately. I found nothing remotely appealing, seductive, or sensuous about it. It was revoltingly unpleasant and bracingly pungent at the start, before turning into something unbearably cloying and sickeningly sweet later on. Serge Lutens’ Fleurs d’Oranger is a whole other story. It truly is a beauty, to the point whereby I wonder if I should just suck up the dismal longevity and get a bottle anyway.

Nonetheless, I wouldn’t recommend the scent to everyone. If you despise tuberose or jasmine in even the smallest, most microscopic quantities, then stay away. If your skin chemistry consistently turns either flower into something sour or urinous, the same advice applies. And, if very heady, indolic, floral fragrances are not your cup of tea, then run away. But if you have some tolerance for either tuberose or jasmine, and if you love orange blossoms, then I would really give Fleurs d’Oranger a test shot. I think it’s incredibly wearable and versatile, suitable as much for everyday use as it would be for a romantic date night. However, I urge extreme caution in application if you work in a conservative office environment. Do not spray with reckless abandon, or you may have some sensitive coworkers up in arms. Finally, the fragrance is easily accessible and often massively discounted at a number of online retail sites, one of which offers it for the incredibly low price of $69 instead of the usual $120.

The one potential problem that I see with Fleurs d’Oranger is that the average man may find it to be too feminine in nature. I personally don’t believe in gender differentials, and I know a lot of men who wear both orange blossom and tuberose fragrances. In fact, one of my best friends rocks “Carnal Flora” (as he calls the Frederic Malle tuberose fragrance), and his husband finds it utterly irresistible on him. I’m going to strongly insist that he add Serge Lutens’ Fleurs d’Oranger to his collection; it’s a whole other sort of carnality that should be completely up his alley. So, if you’re a guy who is tempted by Fleurs d’Oranger or who likes heady floral scents, don’t get put off by the potential “feminine” categorization and try it. If you can wear Tom Ford‘s Neroli Portofino, Seville à L’Aube, or Vero Profumo‘s Rubj, you can certainly wear Fleurs d’Oranger!

In short, for those who fall in the narrow categories listed above, I definitely recommend this glitteringly bright, voluptuously sensuous, narcotic, white floral cocktail.

DETAILS:

General Cost & Sales Prices: Fleurs d’Oranger is an eau de parfum that usually comes in a 1.7 oz/50 ml size, though a larger 2.5 oz/75 ml bell jar version is also available from Serge Lutens. The retail price for the usual, common 1.7 oz size is $120, €82 or £69.00, with the bell jar going for $280 or €125. However, Fleurs d’Oranger is currently on sale at FragranceNet where the 1.7 oz/50 ml bottle is priced at $82.19, with an additional 15% OFF with the coupon code RESFT5 and free domestic shipping. There is also an even lower price of $69.86 if purchased with a separate one-time coupon (though it may be the same code and come to the same price. I’m not completely sure). FragranceNet ships internationally, and also has free Australia shipping after you spend a certain amount. Fleurs d’Oranger is on sale at LilyDirect which sells it for $71.91. Canadian readers may want to check if the company have started shipping to Canada as planned some months back. Fleurs d’Oranger is also discounted on Overstock.Com where it is priced at $82.99, and at StrawberryNet for $111. I don’t know how long these specials will last.

Serge Lutens: you can find Fleurs d’Oranger in both sizes on the U.S. and International Lutens website, with other language options also available.

U.S. sellers: Fleurs d’Oranger is available in the 50 ml size for $120 at Luckyscent, Barney’s (which also sells the expensive bell jar version), Aedes, and other high-end perfume retailers.

Outside the U.S.: In Canada, you can find Fleurs d’Oranger at The Perfume Shoppe for what seems to be US$120, but I’m never sure about their currency since it is primarily an American business with a Vancouver store. They also offer some interesting sample or travel options for Lutens perfumes. In the UK, you can find Fleurs d’Oranger at Liberty where it costs £69.00 for a 1.7 oz/50 ml bottle. You can also find it at Les Senteurs where that same bottle costs more at £79.00. The site sells samples of Fleurs d’Oranger for £3.50. In France, Premiere Avenue sells it for €79 instead of €82, and I believe they ship world-wide, or at least through the Euro zone. You can also try French Sephora which sells it for more at €84. In Italy, you can find Fleurs d’Oranger at Essenza Nobile for €78 and, in Germany, you can go through their German section which sells the perfume for the same price. In Australia, it is sold out on the Grays website where the 1.7 oz/50 ml bottle retails for AUD $109.50, but you can find it massively discounted at Australia’s Fragrance Net for prices starting as low as AUD$75.44 with a coupon. It’s also sold at Australia’s StrawberryNet for AUD$123. For other countries, you can use the Store Locator on the Lutens website.

Samples: You can test out Fleurs d’Oranger by ordering a sample from Surrender to Chance where prices start at $3.99 for a 1/2 ml vial. There is also a Four Lutens Sample Set for $18.99 where the vials are larger at 1 ml each, and you get your choice of 4 Lutens Export fragrances (ie, not those that are Paris exclusives).

Perfume Review- Serge Lutens Rousse

Posted on July 20, 2013 by Kafkaesque

Rousse in the 75 ml bell jar.

It can be a foolish thing to enter into a perfume with set expectations when it is a Serge Lutens. Not only do you never know where he’s going to take you, but you also never know the damn notes in the perfume. So, I shouldn’t have been surprised to have an unexpected ride with Rousse, but, nevertheless, I am. I went into the test knowing Rousse was a cinnamon perfume that is consistently compared to the aroma of Red Hots, the spicy, fiery cinnamon candy. Somehow, I expected to think of famous, strong redheads who would probably have epitomized Rousse, whether Elizabeth I or Christina Hendricks of Mad Men fame. Nope. None of it. Instead, I had what seems to be a slightly atypical experience, which probably explains why I can’t decide if I think Rousse is a strange fragrance, or a pleasant, but underwhelming, one. In the end, I think I’ll lump the two things together: Rousse is a slightly strange fragrance with some really pretty parts — but I wouldn’t be disappointed if I never smelled it again.

The old, discontinued 50 ml bottle of Rousse. Ad source: Lutens Facebook page.

Rousse was created by Christopher Sheldrake for Serge Lutens and released in 2007 as one of the regular Import line that is available worldwide. Later, perhaps because of the public’s seemingly lackluster response to the fragrance, Rousse was pulled from regular distribution, discontinued in its small 1.7 oz/50 ml bottle size, and limited to the Paris Exclusives bell jar line. (That said, some of the old, cheaper bottles are still available for purchase at discounted rates online.) I’ve noticed the Bell Jar fragrances are often the more complicated, thorny, or unusual fragrances that aren’t quite as approachable or popular as the regular line with its Chergui, Ambre Sultan, Un Bois Vanillé, citrus florals, and the like. Rousse isn’t complicated or difficult, by any means, but it seems to have suffered from the critical response. And, as you will see, Rousse doesn’t always turn out as expected on people’s skin.

Rousse‘s description on the Lutens website is neither lyrically evocative or particularly helpful. It merely talks about auburn hair that is “like copper igniting in the heart of a wood. This scent is like a hint of cinnamon on the skin changes colours.” A more detailed description of Rousse comes from Ozmoz which not only quotes part of the original 2007 press release, but which also provides the important detail that Rousse is as much about cinnamon tree wood, as it is about the spice:

Cinnamon tree bark. Source: indiamart.com

Rousse is an elegant, sparkling, sweet and sensual skin scent. Serge Lutens’ inspiration for Rousse came from childhood memories of grandma baking and making jam. Rousse highlights cinnamon, ‘spicy, almost prickly, as though it were composed of miniscule starbursts’. A spice that’s also a tree bark that ‘remains singular, though it shades from beige to reddish-brown’: ‘an imaginary cinnamon (…) that wants to hold onto an image of the color of her hair, weaving it into a spice that is so often overlooked’.

The mystery notes, as compiled from Fragrantica, Now Smell This, and elsewhere, seem to include:

mandarin, cinnamon, cinnamon wood, cloves, spices, floral & aromatic notes, fruit, precious woods, amber, musk and vanilla.

One of those generalized, undefined categories on the list ends up being quite important because, on my skin, Rousse is not a fragrance that is simply about fiery Red Hot cinnamon sweets or cinnamon spice. Far from it.

Red Hots cinnamon candy.

Rousse opens first and foremost with white floral notes that have a very peculiar, grey, soapy tinge, and which are mixed with a bitter, pungent, slightly medicinal note of cloves. Quickly, they are joined by orange tones, dry spices, and dry woods. Both the combination of notes, and the way that their slightly acrid, sharp overtones burn my nose momentarily makes me think of Lubin‘s Idole in eau de toilette form. It takes about a minute for the cinnamon in Rousse to appear but, when it does, it bursts forth with such intensity that Rousse is briefly transformed into the expected Red Hots candies, and very little else. The fiery sweets sit atop a somewhat thin, lightly boozy element mixed with that strange, dry, grey-white note that appeared earlier. I’ll simply call it a “greige” note, because that’s what it feels like, especially as there is the quiet whisper of something soapy underneath.

Linden blossom. Source: www.selfsufficientish.com

The Red Hots blast remains for all of about three minutes, and then, Rousse returns to smelling primarily of that surprising floral bouquet. I struggled with it at first. Magnolia? Linden? Magnolia and linden? Less than 15 minutes into Rousse’s development, it definitely felt like linden. The note is white, honeyed, and similar to honeysuckle, but with a sprinkling of lemon blossoms and a soapy, clean undertone. Linden is Rousse’s primary note on my skin for a good portion of its beginning, and I find that to be incredibly surprising.

Ten minutes in, Rousse is a swirl of lightly spiced florals. There is honeyed linden with its soapy edge, flickers of mandarin orange in the far distance, and a quiet touch of cinnamon red hots, all over a base of somewhat abstract, dry woods. The cinnamon has receded from its initial power at the opening to something much more balanced. It melts into the linden, feeling quite indistinct in any concrete, substantial form, and merely adding a lightly spicy kick to the honeyed flower. The mandarin orange note in the back is quite disappointing. It’s muted, mild, almost evanescent except as an occasional pop-up. It never feels very juicy or even candied but, rather, something dry. It’s hard to tell because it’s wholly lacking in both character and weight. Much more noticeable, however, is the slow stirrings of a light musk that starts to swirl around the linden.

Magnolia. Source: Kathy Clark via FineArtAmerica.com

Rousse doesn’t twist and turn very much, especially as compared to most Lutens fragrances. At the end of the first hour, it is still primarily a floral scent on my skin. However, there is a sudden creaminess that adds richness and a velvety undertone to the flowers, and, once again, I think of magnolia as a counterpart to the linden. That impression continues as Rousse develops, and I really wonder if magnolia is one of the hidden notes. Others have detected a similar buttery floral note, but think it’s orris butter. On my skin, the note lacks the powdery nuances of orris, but who knows. Whatever it is, the creamy flower is strongly intertwined with the linden, thereby impacting the latter and changing it as a result. The linden still feels very honeyed and tinged by lemon blossom, but its rather soapy undertone weakens substantially.

Yet, Rousse never feels like a purely floral fragrance, thanks to the dried, somewhat smoky, wood notes in the base. Oddly enough, however, the cinnamon seems to have retreated to just a bare shadow of its former self, and now skulks around in the background. On top of it all, the whole fragrance has dropped in sillage to hover just a scant inch above the skin. Rousse never had powerful projection to begin with, and Ozmoz describes it as a “skin scent,” so it’s clearly meant to be quiet and discreet in nature.

Around the 90 minute mark, Rousse is a magnolia-linden concoction on my skin with a subtle fruity nuance, flickers of dried orange, abstract spices, and amorphous dry woods. The latter smells a bit smoky, a little bit bitter, and just barely tinged by cinnamon and cedar. To be honest, the wood element is both odd and unusual, and for some reason, calls to mind, again, Idole with its ebony wood and what Luca Turin described as grey flotsam driftwood. Something in Rousse’s woodsy combination feels quite similar, though the accord is too muted, too hidden, and too overshadowed by the increasingly powerful fruity magnolia for me to figure out why. It’s definitely far more than mere cedar, to my nose.

Source: dreamstime.com

What’s even odder is that, around the 90-minute mark, there is a definite impression of yeasty dough circling around the edges of the perfume. Rousse smells a lot like highly perfumed, sweet dough with a floral-fruity, magnolia-linden twist, and just the faintest pinch of cinnamon, all atop a bitter, dry woods base. It’s actually pleasant — in fact, quite enjoyable in a strange way — but I can’t get past my confusion. I’ll be honest, if it wasn’t for the initial blast of Red Hot cinnamon candy in Rousse’s opening minutes, I would think I had a mislabeled perfume sample. Surrender to Chance doesn’t normally make those sorts of mistakes, but what I’m smelling on my arm really is nothing like what I had expected or read about. Where is the cinnamon? Why is this so damn floral? So many people say that Rousse is all about the cinnamon, but not on me. The only thing that really fits other people’s descriptions of the fragrance is Rousse’s dry, dusty murkiness in the background, which is something touched upon in Now Smell This‘ review of the scent.

Catherine Jeltes Painting, “Modern Brown Abstract Painting WinterScape.” Etsy Store, GalleryZooArt, linked within. (Click on photo.)

As time passes, Rousse gets creamier, softer, and sweeter. At the end of the second hour, it’s a beige swirl of velvety, fruity magnolia, with dribbles of honey and a pinch of dry spices atop some dry, “greige” woods. But, a bare thirty-minutes later, Rousse suddenly becomes a wholly abstract creamy fragrance that is infused with vanilla, amorphous white notes that only hint at something floral, and a nebulous sense of dry, cinnamon woods. Not long after, about 4.25 hours into the perfume’s development, Rousse is reduced primarily to a creamy, delicious, vanilla custard. There is still that woody, dry element barely flecked by dusty cinnamon, but it’s so muted as to feel quite intangible at times.

And Rousse remains that way until its final moments, when it’s nothing more than an abstract, almost gourmand-like sweetness with a slightly vanillic undertone and the quietest whisper of dryness. All in all, Rousse lasted just under 6 hours on my skin, with a good portion of that time spent as a skin scent. On Fragrantica, a few people put Rousse’s longevity at around 5 hours, with one noting only 4 hours. The majority listed the sillage as “moderate,” with the next greatest number voting for “soft.” Clearly, it’s not a monster of either longevity or projection.

I liked Rousse — once I put aside what I expected and just sat back for the creamy, floral ride. I’m not judging it for failing to live up to expectations, because skin chemistry is a wonky thing and I realise my experience was quite atypical. However, what I did smell didn’t knock my socks off, and I certainly don’t think it’s a very special fragrance, though it’s a perfectly pleasant scent that actually has some lovely moments. Still, for a fragrance that is so expensive and hard to access as a Paris Bell Jar exclusive, Rousse doesn’t seem worth either the time or money to obtain it.

I get the sense that reviewers who did have the proper, full, cinnamon Rousse experience weren’t very blown away. It’s as clear as day that Bois de Jasmin wasn’t, finding Rousse “nice and pretty,” but bluntly calling it both “a disappointment” and a “let-down.” On Victoria, Rousse was initially “[l]ipstick and candied lady apples” with a powdery violet note; later, a woody note based on cedar whose “dense sweetness melts away in the heart of the composition, although the dry and somewhat cloying effect reminiscent of powdered sugar remains vivid.” In the drydown, Rousse was “delicate powdery notes tinged with cinnamon, violet and vetiver.” On second thought, she didn’t seem to have the typical Rousse cinnamon experience, either….

Luca Turin did, however, and he might as well have snorted his disdain. His two-star review in Perfumes: The A-Z Guide dismisses Rousse in a single sentence, essentially calling it a hot mess:

Another Lutens from the période bizarre: a mulled-wine accord made with clove and cinnamon mixed with an intense rooty-anisic (carrot-seed?) note, adding up to one fine mess.

In contrast, Robin at Now Smell This, thought Rousse was the best of the new Serge Lutens releases of that time (back in 2007). Though she notes that “[m]any reviewers so far seem to find it dull,” she enjoyed its sparse nature, writing:

cinnamon is the star of the show here. The opening is lively and sweet, and reminiscent of cinnamon Red Hots (and if you like Red Hots, see also Comme des Garçons Harissa). The dry down is much drier and milder, and the cinnamon takes on first a dusty, later a creamy-powdery quality as it blends with dark woods, iris and whatever else is in there (the fruits and flowers are indistinct). There is a touch of amber and vanilla to keep it from being quite bone dry, and like yesterday’s Mandarine Mandarin, it has a kind of murky-dusky, not-quite-dark-not-quite-bright quality.

I wouldn’t call it a transparent scent, but it is considerably less embellished than the “standard” Serge Lutens style, if such a thing exists. I would call it spare, even restrained, and it will not, like some in the line, continue to morph on your skin over a period of hours. Many reviewers so far seem to find it dull, but I have liked it more and more on each wearing — I like spare and restrained — and it is easily my favorite of the recent Serge Lutens releases.

Equally positive was the review at the Perfume Posse, though it’s all about apple pie there, right down to its “pastry crust (soft, buttery, dusty)” along with “the cinnamon, a couple of cloves – and of course none too sweet apples.” The pie sits atop a woody base that the reviewer, Leopoldo, found to be sharply reminiscent of Lubin‘s Idole. I’m relieved to see it’s not just me, especially when Perfume-Smellin’ Things reached the same conclusion:

The smell of the spicy, powdery bark, of the resinous wood is all around you, like a warm cocoon. The top accord features a sweet, vaguely fruity and candied note (what I take to be mandarins), cinnamon and woods. As the scent progresses, it loses practically all of its initial sweetness and acquires a slightly powdery, slightly “buttery” violet note, as well as a brighter, spicier floral smell of carnation, which complements the cinnamon very nicely. The drydown is dark and balsamic, with plenty of amber and some vanilla to soften and round the composition. This is a melancholy, contemplative scent, an adult’s day-dream of an enchanted world.

Like Leopoldo, I can’t help but notice the resemblance between the new Lutens fragrance and Idole de Lubin. In fact, for me, the two are rather too similar. I smell Idole in the spicy candiedness of the top notes of Rousse and in the resinous drydown. Rousse is woodier, drier, much less “boozy” and has a slight powdery undertone (the powder of the grated bark), but the two are still very alike, on my skin. Because of that, I can’t help but feel that I’ve been there, done that, got a bottle.

On me, the Idole resemblance was brief and limited to the opening stage, while the rest of my experience was obviously completely different from all the reviews noted up above.

Clearly, this is a fragrance that varies in how it manifests itself. It usually does not need to said that all perfume journeys depend on individual skin chemistry, but Rousse seems to trigger a wider disparity than most. Look at what people have detected: from my magnolia-linden, yeasty dough, and vanilla custard experience; to Bois de Jasmin’s powdery violets, cedar and vetiver; Luca Turin’s anise carrot-seed; NST’s Red Hot cinnamon candies; Perfume-Smellin’ Things carnations, violets, and Lubin’s Idole; and Perfume Posse’s apple pie, doughy crust, and more Idole!

At least there is some consistency over at Fragrantica. There, an overwhelming majority of the reviews talk about the cinnamon, and almost nothing but. However, even on Fragrantica, there are some sharply divergent experiences. One commentator talked about how Rousse was primarily a “soap cloud” on her skin, another said “it’s more cloves and amber than cinnamon resting on a sweet floral citrus bed,” and a third talked about how she experienced loads of orris butter and carnation. A handful mentioned a yeasty, doughy quality underlying the fragrance. A tiny portion talked about how the cloves were too overpowering and bitter for them, creating a medicinal start that turned them off the fragrance entirely.

Source: 123rf.com

Nonetheless, for almost everyone else, Rousse is almost entirely cinnamon with just a hint of cloves and some dried woods from start to finish. Interestingly, there doesn’t seem to be a consensus on what to make of that narrow focus. Commentators seem split down the middle with half finding Rousse to be wonderfully delicious, sexy, mysterious, or cozy, while the other half thinks it’s too much damn cinnamon, in addition to being dull, and/or linear. One positive review consistently makes me laugh out loud; the commentator said Rousse was the only fragrance she liked to wear to bed because “its dullness just turns me off and instantly transports into the land of dreams!” (Emphasis added.)

I don’t know whether to recommend Rousse to you, simply because I don’t know what notes will show up. As a whole, Rousse seems to be a dry, woody, cinnamon fragrance, but, clearly, there are some enormous exceptions to that rule. Still, if you adore cinnamon with a passion, it may be worth your while to get a sample and see what happens.

DETAILS:

Sizes, Cost, & Availability: Rousse is an eau de parfum that is part of the Serge Lutens “European Exclusives” line, which means it is available only in the larger 2.5 oz/75 ml Bell Jar size, though you can occasionally find the discontinued 50 ml bottle on rare occasions. Rousse retails for $300 or €140 for a 75 ml/2.5 oz bottle. You can buy Rousse directly from the U.S. Serge Lutens website or from the International one.

Discount Sales: I was initially overjoyed to find the cheaper, discontinued 1.7 oz/50 ml size bottle of Rousse available at Aedes for $120, but then I saw that it was out of stock and I doubt they’ll ever get more of it. However, I’m a little dogged and OCD in my hunts, so I found two vendors who sell Rousse in the cheaper, small, discontinued bottle. One is in Kuwait and seems to be a big perfume vendor called Universal Perfumes. It’s selling Rousse in the 1.7 oz bottle for $109.99 with $6.95 global shipping. Another is a U.S. site called Bay Perfumes who sells the 50 ml bottle for $98.40 with free domestic shipping on all orders over $85. So much better than $300, even if it is in a smaller size, no? Update: a reader of the blog, Alicia, sent me a link to a Spanish online perfume site called Parfumeria Sabina that is selling the 50 ml bottle of Rousse for €62.76, which is a fantastic price, and there seems to be free shipping, though I assume it’s only within the EU.

In the U.S.: Rousse is available in the more expensive $300 bell jar format sold exclusively at Barney’s New York store. The website has a notice 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.”

Personal Shopper Options: If you really want the Bell Jar but at a cheaper price, Undina of Undina’s Looking Glass reminded me of Shop France Inc run by Suzan, a very reputable, extremely professional, personal shopper who has been used by a number of perfumistas. She will go to France, and buy you perfumes (and other luxury items like Hermès scarves, etc.) that are otherwise hard to find at a reasonable price. Shop France Inc. normally charges a 10% commission on top of the item’s price with 50% being required as a down payment. However, and this is significant, in the case of Lutens Bell Jars, the price is $225 instead. The amount reflects customs taxes that she pays each time, as well as a tiny, extra markup. It’s still cheaper than the $290 (not including tax) for the bell jar via Barney’s or the US Serge Lutens website. Another caveat, however, is that Suzan is limited to only 10 bell jars per trip, via an arrangement with the Lutens house. There is a wait-list for the bell jars, but she goes every 6-8 weeks, so it’s not a ridiculously huge wait, I don’t think. If you have specific questions about the purchase of Lutens bell jars, or anything else, you can contact her at shopfranceinc@yahoo.com. As a side note, I have no affiliation with her, and receive nothing as a result of mentioning her.

Outside the US: In Europe, the price of Rousse is considerably cheaper at €140 from the French Lutens website or from their Paris boutique. Other language options are available, though the Euro price for the item won’t change. To the best of my knowledge, the Paris Exclusives are not carried by any department store anywhere, and the only place to get them outside of Barney’s New York boutique is the Paris Serge Lutens store at Les Palais Royal.

Samples: You can order samples of Rousse from Surrender to Chance starting at $3.99 for a 1/2 ml vial. I actually ordered mine as part of a Four Piece Export Sampler Set (even though Rousse is actually a non-export fragrance), where you can choose 4 Lutens Regular Line fragrances for a starting price of $18.99 for a 1 ml vial (as opposed to the usual 1/2 ml starting size).

Perfume Review – Serge Lutens Muscs Koublaï Khan: Animal Magnetism

Posted on July 19, 2013 by Kafkaesque

Marlene Dietrich as Catherine the Great in “The Scarlet Empress.”

Catherine the Great on horseback, riding to meet a young Cossack officer at a secret rendezvous where the lovers will tangle under Siberian furs before a roaring fireplace. Henry VIII seducing Anne Boleyn on more piles of fur on a winter’s night at a hunting lodge. The Sun King, Louis XIV, and one of his mistresses at Versailles, a palace redolent with the smell of the human body covered by powdered roses. The memory of riding my horse on a warm day, and the subtle aroma of his lightly musked, heated, muscular neck, mixed with the smell of the leather harness and saddle.

Special, limited-edition, rare bell jar bottle of Muscs Koublai Khan. Source: Serge Lutens Facebook page.

Those tangled thoughts and images are what cross my mind when I wear Muscs Koublaï Khan from Serge Lutens. Muscs Koublaï Khan (or “MKK” as it is often referred to for short) is a fragrance that always conjures up royalty in days long gone, along with fur and the memory of horses. It is an eau de parfum that I’d always wanted to try for very personal reasons. The tale in my family is that one side is a direct, linear descendant from the legendary Genghis Khan, leader of the Mongol hordes and the terror of both the Asiatic and the European plains. I’ve never bothered with genealogy and know nothing of its rules, so who knows how true it is, but I’ve always loved the story. So, a fragrance inspired by Genghis Khan’s grandson, Kublai Khan (or, as Serge Lutens writes it, Koublai Khan)? Clearly, it was something to try.

Regular bell jar of MKK, available for purchase today.

Then, I started reading about the famous Lutens creation — and I stopped in my tracks. Perhaps few fragrances come with such baggage. Horrified reactions abound on the internet, reaching such a crescendo of revulsion that any sane person would hesitate. From tales of crotch sweat, testicular sweat, camel feces, unwashed taxi drivers, and anal odor, to shuddering comments about how it would be socially unacceptable to go out in public reeking of Muscs Koublai Khan, the perfume has one of the most horrifying reputations around. I got a sample months ago but, every time I went to pick it up, I would think about “camel balls,” and I promptly put it back down again.

Imagine my disbelief, then, when I actually tried Muscs Koublai Khan and thought: “this is IT??? What’s all the fuss about?!” More to the point, I loved it. While I would never — ever — recommend MKK to someone just starting their perfume foray into niche brands or to anyone who isn’t a fan of animalic scents, I definitely think people who love musky Orientals and have some perfume experience should ignore the perfume’s reputation and give Muscs Koublai Khan a try.

The 50 ml/1.7 oz bottle of MKK available.

Muscs Koublai Khan is an eau de parfum that was created with Lutens’ favorite perfumer, Christopher Sheldrake, and released in 1998. Though it was originally a Paris Bell Jar exclusive, American perfume buyers can easily find it in a regular 1.7 oz/50 ml bottle that is easily available and sometimes discounted online. In Europe, however, Muscs Koublai Khan is still limited to the Bell Jar format that is exclusive to Serge Lutens’ Paris headquarters, though I did find the smaller bottle available at one French online retailer.

“Le Grand Serge” describes Muscs Koublai Khan on his website as follows:

Valuable furs were spread for the Emperor of China to tread on, muddy boots and all.

Ultra-animalic musks and all kinds of tanned hides make a sensational debut in this fragrance. Pay no attention to their aggressiveness: once on the skin, they retract their claws in favor of padded paws.

Fragrantica classifies Muscs Koublai Khan as a “chypre,” which I think is odd, and says that the notes consist of:

civet, castoreum, cistus labdanum, ambergris, Morrocan rose, cumin, ambrette seed (musk mallow), costus root and patchouli.

Source: imgfave.com. Artist or creator unknown.

Muscs Koublaï Khan opens as sweet amber, mixed with a slightly urinous, very musky edge. It feels just like warm, heated skin that is faintly dappled by a light sweat. The whole thing is sweet, sour, musky, just a little bit fetid, and a tiny bit dirty, all at the same time. But it truly doesn’t smell like stale body odor. A citric rose note, laden with rich, almost syrupy honey, peeps up from the musky amber base. There is just the faintest hint of a floral, rosy, vanillic powder sprinkled on top. Lovely flickers of sweetness come from the patchouli, and it mixes with the mildest, most minute touch of cumin. The whole bouquet sits atop the gorgeously plush, velvety warmth of the castoreum and the sweet nuttiness of the labdanum amber. It’s all sexy as hell, and significantly tamer than I had expected.

Source: narutoforums.com

The ambered base is beautiful. It’s gloriously rich from the ambergris which, like the labdanum, is enriched by the warm plushness of the velvety castoreum, as well as by the naturally sweet muskiness of the ambrette seeds. That said, the ambergris doesn’t smell very concentrated or profound. It lacks the salty, wet, sweet, slightly sweaty muskiness of anything more than just a few drops of ambergris. At times, I wonder if it’s the real thing at all.

Perhaps the best — and, certainly, the most fascinating — part is the slightly urinous note from the civet. I realise that sounds odd and strange, and maybe you just have to be a really obsessed perfumista, but there is some appeal to that sour aroma. Just as really rich, really buttery food needs a dash of acidity to create a balance, so too does really rich perfumery. Here, the civet adds a really well-modulated edge that initially isn’t really like urine, but more like a sweet, little sour, almost vinegary, feline muskiness. To my surprise, it’s not rendered skanky or raunchy by the costus root which can sometimes take on a sharply feral aspect. (I likened its effects in Amouage’s Opus VII to “panther pee.”) Here, there is just the slightest musky dirtiness, perhaps akin to the smell of “dirty hair” that costus sometimes evokes, but it’s far from strong and certainly not over-powering. Still, I imagine that those who hate animalic notes in even the smallest dose will probably keel over from Muscs Koublai Khan’s combination of civet and costus.

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

Ten minutes into its development, Muscs Koublai Khan radiates an unusual bouquet of richly sweet, lightly vanillic, almost citrusy, powdered rose mixed with the scent of a warm, musky body. The combination of the civet with the powdered rose and the amber keeps triggering thoughts of Bal à Versailles, the legendary scent whose vintage form sought to replicate the scent of aristocrats at Versailles who used strong floral powders to mask their lack of hygiene. It’s often said that courtiers at Louis XIV’s Versailles palace would relieve themselves in corners without the slightest hesitation, and that is another aroma that Bal à Versailles sought to recreate in its nuances. I wish I had a vintage sample to compare to Muscs Koublai Khan, but my memory tells me that Bal à Versailles was a much more extreme, raunchy, dirty, skanky proposition. Muscs Koublai Khan is much better balanced, and far, far less dirty. Furthermore, the urinous note from the civet and costus root is too mild and too sweetened to evoke the same aroma. And, just to be clear, nothing in Muscs Koublai Khan reminded me of a urinal.

Source: Zavvi.com

Twenty minutes in, Muscs Koublai Khan becomes muskier in a more rounded way, taking on a velvety, smooth, deep quality that is as luxurious as it is sensuous. It really feels like the scent of warmed bodies under a cozy, thick, fur blanket. For all the talk about sweat or urinous edges, the thing that Muscs Koublai Khan truly evokes is the scent of skin itself. Not stale, sweaty skin, but skin that is heated and just barely sweaty from perhaps a romp under the sheets. Yes, the perfume has some animalistic tendencies, but nothing about it evokes testicular “ball sweat,” anal secretions, or fecal notes. Just heated bodies intertwined in intimacy.

By the same token, nothing about the cumin note makes me think of unwashed, stale body odor. In fact, the cumin is almost imperceptible on my skin which normally amplifies the note. It’s not even a millimeter like the rancid, wholly intimate, extremely dirty note of unwashed genitalia that it triggered in Vero Profumo‘s Rubj eau de parfum. Nor is it like the stale armpit sweat of Frederic Malle‘s Bigarade Concentrée. Granted, the cumin here is not the pure, dusty spice of something like Parfum d’Empire‘s Ambre Russe, but its muted, emasculated nature and the way it flickers just once in a blue moon in the background is hardly what I was expecting.

Photo: Lydia Roberts, 2011. Source: Tumblr http://www.tumblr.com/tagged/lydia-roberts

Muscs Koublai Khan remains relatively unchanged in its core essence for a large portion of its development. It is a beautifully sweetened rose scent flecked by vanilla powder and a citric, slightly urinous civet note, all atop a gorgeously plush, velvety, rich amber base that radiates the warmth of heated, musky skin. The notes fluctuate in prominence, intensity and strength, but Muscs Koublai Khan on my skin is primarily a musky amber fragrance with rose and vanilla. The civet note waxes and wanes, reaching its highest peak around the middle of the second hour where it definitely feels a little sharper than it did originally. Then, it becomes tamer, softer, and richer, perhaps thanks to the castoreum which casts out its warm tendrils to enrich everything it touches. There is also a subtle leathery undertone to Muscs Koublai Khan which becomes more noticeable at the end of the first hour and which feels a little raw at times. It, too, becomes gentler, sweeter, and warmer after a while, thanks to the amber’s plush embrace.

“Theequus” – photo by David Sinclair, via Crossed Wires Tumblr. (Website link embedded within photo.)

For all that the sophisticated elegance of Muscs Koublai Khan evokes historical figures covered by rich furs, it also calls to mind a more personal memory for me. Something about the overall combination of notes reminds me of riding. If you’ve ever been a horseman, you’ll know the aroma, especially after a gallop in the warm sun. The musky smell of a horse’s warm body, just lightly veiled by sweat, that is sweet but, yet, just a little sour as well. The soft heat of his muscular neck, combined with the faintest whiff of leather from the saddle and harness, all bundled up with a golden muskiness. That aroma is a subtle undertone of Muscs Koublai Khan for a brief time around the 90-minute mark and in an extremely mild form, even though the fragrance bouquet is primarily radiating the sweetest rose, its light touch of vanillic powder, and a plush, ambered base.

The overall combination is far too civilized and sophisticated to evoke the pillaging, raping, filthy brutality of the Mongol hordes. For me, one needs to go down a little later in history to a later Slavic legend, Catherine the Great, whose sensual appetites were almost matched by her passion for the hunt and for refined luxury. Muscs Koublai Khan would have very much suited the Great Catherine from its floral, vanillic rose that is powdered like her face, to the languid, feline heat of warmed bodies intertwined under blankets of the richest Russian furs.

Model, Bregje Heinen, photographed by Jean-François Campos for Flair November 2010.

Perhaps the most surprising change with Muscs Koublai Khan is how the volume quickly decreases to a purring hum. Less than forty minutes into its development, Muscs Koublai Khan seems to get a little blurry around the edges and the sillage drops quite a lot, though its smell is still extremely potent up close, thanks to the civet. At the end of the second hour, the perfume is so airy and lightweight that it feels far weaker than a hardcore oriental eau de parfum. In fact, Muscs Koublai Khan is far sheerer than I had expected. It lacks the opaque, baroque heaviness of Maison Francis Kurkdjian‘s ravishing Absolue Pour Le Soir, another animalic, musky, amber oriental fragrance but one which is, ultimately, night and day apart from Muscs Koublai Khan. Absolue Pour Le Soir is actually much dirtier than Muscs Koublai Khan, not to mention heavily spiced, more floral, and infused with almost as much beautiful sandalwood as it is with musk and amber. Muscs Koublai Khan is tamer, more linear, more muted, and much less complex, though it is beautiful in a very different way and perhaps more refined than the Absolue with its more hardcore, slightly beastly edge.

Muscs Koublai Khan soon starts to take on quite an abstract aura. At the start of the third hour, the fragrance is a soft, nebulous blur of amber, vanilla and quietly animalic musk. The flecks of a citric, civet-infused, and lightly powdered rose start to recede, slowly become less and less noticeable. By the start of the third hour, the rose is largely gone, leaving behind only an ambered, powdered, vanilla musk with a hint of civet. And there Muscs Koublai Khan remains for hours and hours, turning more and more abstract and amorphous. It soon loses the civet, becoming just an musky, powdery, sweet amber fragrance. Though Muscs Koublai Khan’s sillage hovered just above the skin for the second and third hours, its projection drops even more. (That said, I dabbed it on, and, apparently, it’s a very different issue if you spray Muscs Koublai Khan.) Around the sixth hour, the ambery perfume becomes a complete skin scent. By its very end, almost exactly 12.5 hours from its opening, Muscs Koublai Khan is just a hint of a sweetened, musky powder, and nothing more.

I think Muscs Koublai Khan — and the extreme reactions to it — need to be placed in context. For one thing, the average perfume user nowadays is used to a very different sort of musk in perfumery. Clean, white musks abound, and the extent of something ostensibly “dirty” is probably Narcisco Rodriguez‘s musk For Her. Muscs Koublai Khan is a whole different kettle of fish. Perfumes with civet (and even castoreum) are no longer common in perfumery, so people aren’t so exposed to what musk used to be all about when perfumes like Bal à Versailles and its cohorts celebrated the skank provided by civet, castoreum and real Tonkin deer musk. For animal cruelty and ethical reasons, many of those ingredients are no longer used and their scent has to be replicated through vegetal musks like ambrette seeds. I’m glad for that, but it does mean that exposure to a dirty sort of musk — even through vegetal recreation — can trigger a repulsed response in those who expect musk to have the modern, common characteristics of white, laundry-clean freshness.

Muscs Koublai Khan is not a perfume that I would recommend to everyone. Those who are brand new to perfumery may find the civet and musk accords repulsive. Those who are experienced perfumistas, but who feel that even the smallest drop of something animalic in their perfumes renders it unbearably “dirty,” will undoubtedly feel the same way. But those who adore true Orientals and who can appreciate some animalic nuances should absolutely try it. Don’t let Muscs Koublai Khan’s dangerous reputation keep you away. I think you will be like a lot of bloggers who have tried Muscs Koublai Khan and wondered: what is all the Sturm und Drang about?

Take, for example, the review at Pere de Pierre where the blogger clearly was prepared to be blown away by Muscs Koublai Khan’s terrible reputation:

Of all the “bad boy” fragrances, the outlaws, the ones whose whispered descriptions contain the words “unwashed” and “crotch”, often in succession, and sometimes with “of a Mongolian horseman after three days of burning, raping and pillaging” appended, it may be that none has a more salacious reputation than Muscs Koublaï Khän.

Thus, it was with great anticipation that I first pulled the stopper on a sample. Civet and castoreum? Bring it!

The first sniff of the vial seemed promising; yes, there was civet in there.

On application, though, it seemed much like Kiehl’s Musk Oil, a similarity that has been noted by many a reviewer before. A simple floral musk, nothing terrible or even animalic about it.

Fortunately, it did not take long before MKK began to develop, something that Kiehl’s does not ever seem to do, on me anyway.

MKK shuffled its accords and painted scenes with them. However, they were not dramatic, sharply pitched scenes of lust and conquest; they were more like dreamy landscapes with dark clouds scudding through a sky above shifting fields of roses and poppies. Sensual, yes, but more of a lazy Sunday afternoon lovers’ feast than a frenzied, climactic battle. […][¶]

In subsequent wearings, only once did the civet ever really raise its head, and it was glorious; I wouldn’t mind if it did it more often. But mostly, this is a sultry, sometimes even sweet, and floral musk.

Kiehl’s Musk is not the only fragrance to which Musc Koublai Khan has been compared. The other one is Frederic Malle‘s Musc Ravageur. I haven’t tried it yet, but the general consensus seems to be that there are differences. The blogger, The Candy Perfume Boy, did a comparison of the two fragrances, and his section on the Serge Lutens begins with: “I just can’t see what all of the fuss is about.” He found Musc Koublai Khan to be disappointing in its tameness, and not particularly filthy. As a gourmand lover, he far preferred Malle’s Musc Ravageur with its “edible” characteristics. On Fragrantica, one reviewer writes about the Lutens: “it’s similar to Musc Ravageur, but Koublai Khan is rounder and deeper (and more discreet) while MR is more playful and contemporary.”

Speaking of Fragrantica, one commentator clearly shares my experience with horses, writing in a review that I’ve reformatted only for the sake of trying to keep things shorter:

I fell in love with it. [¶] Maybe it will be easier for those of you who are familiar with horses to comprehend what I will try to describe.

First wave, it smelled like a horse with saddle and all that has been running a mile on a sunny summer day. Since I love horses and their smell, well, it didn’t bother me at all. Au contraire. [¶] It was musc and a bit sweet and also a bit “sweaty”. [¶] Then the dry down became very soft and almost powdery, almost buttery. In the middle of the composition I also smelled like hay and kind of what it would smell like when you walk in a wild field in summer.

So for me, that perfum is very comforting. [¶] The funny part is that my husband thinks the same as me when it come to the smell of this perfume. He says that it also smell “very clean”!? [¶] My best friend (women) love the first “snif” then she looked at me with a strange look on her face and she says that she also smell like “pee”?????!!!. And at last my best friend (man) told me it smells like baby powder!!

I think Musc Koublai Khan is all those things: sweetly horse-y (but in a really subtle, muted way), summery, almost clean in the sense that it evokes a person’s skin scent more than body odour, but with slightly urinous nuances, and sufficient powder that a handful of people may think it resembles baby powder towards the end.

The Non-Blonde, however, didn’t smell anything horsey about the fragrance at all. Her review talks about how clean it actually smells, but also cautions about over-application:

If you google Muscs Kublai Khan and dig enough, you would find colorful reviews, mentions of horses, genitalia and horses’ genitalia. Which is where I make the “whatcha talking ’bout?” face.

I cannot argue with the fact MKK smells “raw”, which probably translates to “animalic” for some. I’ve heard rumors of cumin, but I don’t get any at all. Quite the opposite, actually, if we agree that a cumin note in perfume represents the dirty and the sweaty. What I’m getting is actually clean, sweet and warm. The dirty part is not the scent itself, but the warm skin feel it evokes and all the things one might associate with a skin in this state. In his review for Perfume Smellin’ Things, my scent twin Tom called it “clean bodies in compromising positions”, and that’s exactly right.

[…] On my skin it’s a thing of beauty and has nothing to do with the great unwashed. It’s also incredibly strong and persistent, even after the big show of the ultra sweet top notes fades away.

It’s so strong, actually, that anything more than a couple of dabs can get extremely distracting. Over apply and you will keep smelling MKK, thinking about MKK, feeling MKK. It will occupy your thoughts in a NSFW way, so be careful. Another word of warning: Muscs Kublai Khan is meant to be dabbed and not sprayed. I’m saying this as someone who prefers to spray just about anything and regularly decants parfum extracts into mini atomizers. I did the same with MKK and it’s just wrong. You don’t want to cover a lot of skin with this, and spraying releases way too much.

You may think all this gushing and raving is bias from bloggers who are Lutens groupies, but that would not be true. Take the blogger, Pour Monsieur, who says he flat-out hates Lutens fragrances, and finds “them overly complex, pretentious and unwearable.” Yet, he writes that “Muscs Koublai Khan is the one huge exception, and is truly a special scent. It is the best musk fragrance in the world, hands down.” [Emphasis added.] In his review, he explains why:

This is more “body smell” rather than “body odor”.  It reminds me of the smell of sweat on clean, warm, tanned skin.

It’s a complex scent, but not the ego trip of the other Lutens fragrances I’ve tried.  The sense of perfect balance and complexity in Muscs Koublai Khan is amazing, and makes it so comforting to wear.  It smells like there are several different types of musk used in MKK – light, heavy, white, dark, etc..  They’re all unified by soft floral and herbal notes, which add depth to the scent and prevent it from smelling like someone’s asshole. […][¶]

Muscs Koublai Khan is not only the most wearable Serge Lutens perfume I’ve ever smelled.  It’s perhaps the most wearable scent I’ve ever worn, period.  This is a fragrance, more than any other I’ve tried, that absolutely must be worn on skin, and that’s because it smells like skin.  When you wear this, it becomes a part of you, smelling like it’s part of your body.  It’s both extremely masculine and extremely feminine, depending on who’s wearing it, and it melds itself to its wearer.  I can’t imagine Muscs Koublai Khan smelling unsuitable on anybody.  So it’s both daring and suitable for anyone.  Think about what an incredible acheivement that is for a perfumer.

I don’t agree that Muscs Koublai Khan is the most wearable Lutens, but I think many of his other points are true.

I’ve spent all this time covering other people’s assessments of Muscs Koublai Khan’s tameness for a reason. The horror stories don’t always apply, and it’s not just me with my heavy bias towards Orientals and my love for Serge Lutens. Even those who can’t stand Lutens fragrances think this one is special. And I’m definitely not alone in finding all the Sturm und Drang about MKK’s supposed terrors to be very different from the reality on one’s skin. But I cannot repeat enough, this is not a perfume to try if you’re looking for something totally clean and without the slightest bit of animalic edge. Laundry-fresh it is not! And if you’ve never encountered civet or are new to niche perfumery, then you may be in for a shock. In fact, I suspect you’ll think it smells of poo.

However, for those who adore Orientals and have some perfume experience, I beg you not to believe all the stories about Muscs Koublai Khan, and to give it a test sniff. Uncle Serge is completely right when he says: “Pay no attention to [the musks’] aggressiveness: once on the skin, they retract their claws in favor of padded paws.” It’s very true, and that’s why I’d wear Muscs Koublai Khan in a heartbeat if I had a bottle. The perfume has enormous sexiness (the Non-Blonde is right in saying it triggers NSFW thoughts or images), and a sort of fascinating, raw animal magnetism that is simultaneously very refined as well. Muscs Koublai Khan is also totally unisex, and has great longevity. Lastly, for U.S. buyers, it is easily available — and often at a discount, in fact — so there are no accessibility barriers.

So, try it and, when you do, I doubt that you’ll think of the ravaging, filthy Mongol hordes. But your thoughts may not be totally clean, either….

DETAILS:

General Cost & Discounted Sales Prices: Muscs Koublaï Khan is an eau de parfum that comes in two sizes: a 1.7 oz/50 ml size and a larger 2.5 oz/75 ml bell jar version. The retail price for the 1.7 oz size is $140, or €99, with the 75 ml bell jar going for $300 or €140. However, Muscs Koublaï Khan is currently on sale at FragranceX where the 1.7 oz/50 ml bottle is priced at $113.99. The price is also reduced at Parfum1 which sells the 1.7 oz bottle for $126 with a 10%-off coupon for new customers. I don’t know how long these specials will last.

Serge Lutens: you can find Muscs Koublaï Khan in both sizes on the U.S. and International Lutens website (with non-english language options also available).

U.S. sellers: Muscs Koublaï Khan is available in the 50 ml size for $140 at Luckyscent, Barney’s (which also sells the expensive bell jar version), and Aedes.

Outside the U.S.: In Canada, you can find Muscs Koublaï Khan at The Perfume Shoppe for what is US $140, since it is primarily an American business with a Vancouver branch. They also offer some interesting sample or travel options for Lutens perfumes. For Europe and Australia, it gets harder. The perfume seems to be deemed “Limited Edition” for many European vendors, in the sense that MKK was originally a Paris exclusive and limited for sale elsewhere in Europe. So, it has not been easy for me to find online vendors. In the UK, I can’t find Muscs Koublaï Khan listed at Harrods, Harvey Nichols, Liberty or Les Senteurs — shops which normally carry most Lutens fragrances. However, in France, Premiere Avenue sells it for €96 and I believe they ship world-wide, or at least through the Euro zone.

Samples: You can test out Muscs Koublaï Khan by ordering a sample from Surrender to Chance where prices start at $3.99 for a 1/2 ml vial. There is also a Lutens Sample Set for $18.99 where the vials are also 1/2 ml each, but you get your choice of 5 Lutens Non-Export fragrances (ie, those that are Paris exclusives).

Perfume Review – Serge Lutens Fille En Aiguilles

Posted on July 18, 2013 by Kafkaesque

Pine Forest by Brandt Wemmer. Source: Fineartamerica.com

Imagine Santa Claus in a snowy pine forest. With the strains of Tchaikovsky’s Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy playing loudly in the background, he decides to cook a gigantic pot of perfumed deliciousness. The elves line up with their ingredients that he, like a mad chef, throws into the pot with a heart laugh: 4 cups of the darkest of pine cone essence, reduced down to a syrup; 4 cups of the darkest brown sugar; 3 cups of dark candied sugar plums and dried fruits that he tosses in, in tune with the addictive rhythms of Tchaikovsky and with a nod to the Nutcracker; 3 cups of smoky frankincense; 1 cup of assorted spices from ginger to cloves and nutmeg; 2 tablespoons of earthy, rooty, dark, foresty vetiver; a dash of ISO E Super; and a hint of almost abstract apple cider. He sets the gigantic pot over a smoker filled with dried pine cones, incense, and perhaps a few cedar chips, then dances around the forest as he awaits for his perfumed distillation of the essence of Christmas.

Photo: Ross. Used with permission.

That is Fille en Aiguilles, perhaps the best pine forest fragrance that I’ve ever smelled — and I’m not one who normally enjoys that note. But what an utterly joyful scent! The best of winter forests combined with the mysterious sweetness of Christmas treats, happy festivities, and excited anticipation. Pine is an extremely difficult scent to pull off in perfumery, as it can easily and quickly lend itself to the aroma of Pine-Sol household disinfectant, cheap car air-fresheners, or unpleasant medicine. I’ve dismissed more than a few extremely expensive, pine-centered fragrances for being over-priced air fresheners, or for evoking Glade plug-ins that I don’t want anywhere near my person. But Fille en Aiguilles is different, and it’s all thanks to the mad wizardry that is the inspired combination of Serge Lutens and the brilliant Christopher Sheldrake.

Fille en Aiguilles. Source: Serge Lutens’ Facebook page.

Filles en Aiguilles is an Eau de Parfum Haute Concentration that was released in 2009. I’m not quite sure what Serge Lutens meant as the inspiration for this fragrance as his website description talks about pine forests and, oddly enough, the beach. (The beach?!) But it’s clearly intended to be a playful, joyful scent, either way, with a winking pun in the name. As Ozmoz explains:

The name of this perfume, for instance, is an inspired pun: ‘Fille en Aiguilles’ means both “Girl in High Heels” and “Girl in Needles” (as in pine needles, one of the ingredients), and it sounds a lot like “Needle & Thread” too. Despite the name, this woody-resinous oriental shaded with frankincense and fruity accents is not just for women: Fille en Aiguilles can easily be worn by men, too, an idea that tickles Serge Lutens’ fancy.

According to Fragrantica, Luckyscent, and Surrender to Chance, the notes in this very unisex perfume consist of:

Pine needles, vetiver, sugary sap, laurel bay leaf, fir balsam [resin], frankincense, candied fruit and spice.

Photo: David Gunter Source: Flickr. (Website link embedded within photo.)

Fille en Aiguilles opens on my skin exactly as described up in the introduction. It’s not a very complicated, morphing, changing scent — which makes it pretty unusual for “Le Grand Serge.” But, oh, does it bring a smile to one’s face. It’s beautifully dark, smoky, sweet, wintery, and so incredibly well-balanced that not a single note ever seems excessive. Even the normally hated ISO E Super seems to fit in, feel wholly appropriate, and actually helps the fragrance. (Yes, I can’t believe I’m saying that, either!)

Sugarplums. Photo: Phil Gyford, Flickr. (Link embedded within photo.)

Fille en Aiguilles is utterly joyous in an inexplicable way, not only because it sums up Christmas, but because it has some tantalizing mystery in that beautiful combination of notes. It radiates like a prism, throwing off different elements at different times. Sometimes, the deep forest rises up to greet you; sometimes, it’s the forest floor with the earthy vetiver mixed with pine cones; often, it’s that deliciously sweet, sticky, brown sugar syrup; and occasionally, it’s the ginger and dark, sweet fruits. At all times, however, the notes are wrapped up in the most gorgeous, dark tendrils of frankincense smoke, like a ribbon around a perfect, glowing, jewel of a Christmas box waiting to be unwrapped.

Photo: StormchaserMike Photograph via Flickr. (Link to website embedded within.)

Fille en Aiguilles never changes profoundly and remains in a consistent, linear line until the end. The only difference is in its strength, as the perfume softens less than an hour into its development and hovers just above the skin. Midway during the third hour, Fille en Aiguilles’ edges blur; it starts to turn almost abstract and amorphous as a sugared, beautifully smoked, spiced, woody scent. You can still detect the pine or fir note if you take a forceful, really big whiff of your arm, but it’s lurking below a general, resinous, sweet, woodiness infused by a spicy, lightly musked warmth. At the start of the sixth hour, Fille en Aiguilles is soft, muted, almost honeyed woodiness, lightly blended with rich, winter spices and imbued with a strong hint of frankincense. In its very end moments, Fille en Aiguilles is just the quietest trace of spiced sweetness. All in all, the fragrance lasted 8.25 on my perfume-consuming skin, with initially moderate sillage that quickly turned quite soft and unobtrusive.

There are a lot of raving, adoring reviews for Fille en Aiguilles out there, but perhaps my favorite comes from EauMG who writes as much about the feel of the fragrance as its lovely scent:

Fille en Aiguilles is the best pine fragrance ever made.

Fille en Aiguilles opens with spiced apple cider, snow on pine trees and a flickering fire. This is an atmosphere; Fille en Aiguilles is a place. It’s a picturesque chalet in the mountains and you’re by the fire looking out the window, watching water droplets roll down fir branches and icicles morph into longer, glistening shapes. You feel the steam of warm apple cider hit your cheeks before you take a sip. The feel of spices and warm liquid roll down the back of your tongue. Comfort in the cold. This is Fille en Aiguilles — spiced gingery cider, pine needles, balsamic sap and warm resins. A crackle from the fire with a little bit of smoke… and a base of warm, cozy musk.

EauMG notes that, on her, Fille en Aiguilles had above-average projection and longevity. And she ends her review by calling the fragrance “a masterpiece.”

Source: high-definition-wallpapers.info

Fragrantica has similar sort of comments, from women and men alike. A vast majority talk about: walks in winter forests, “Christmas in a bottle,” childhood memories, gorgeous dried and sweet fruits, smoky church incense, how it’s one of the best Serge Lutens creations, and/or how it was love at first sniff. A few share my issues with projection, finding Fille en Aiguilles to be so discreet that they eventually had to press their nose right onto their skin and, even then, the scent was extremely soft. A handful of others had problems with duration instead. A couple thought it was too intense, or that it had far too much incense. And about 15 people voted that Fille en Aiguilles bore a strong resemblance to Parfum d’Empire‘s Wazamba. I haven’t tried the latter yet, so I can’t comment, but I should note there are some who say Fille en Aiguilles is nothing like Wazamba.

In the middle of the love-fest, there are some who had a very different experience. Two people found Fille en Aiguilles to be quite harsh and unpleasant; one thought it was very masculine and cold, while the other thought it was astringent and just like Pine-Sol. In contrast, on Luckyscent, a few people explicitly say that Fille en Aiguilles is nothing like Pine-Sol, so clearly, it all depends on one’s skin chemistry, perceptions, and taste.

Photo: Federico Bebber. Source: MyModernMet.com

I think that anyone who loves woody, Christmas-y, wintery scents should try Fille en Aiguilles. So should those who love incense fragrances because, for me, the perfume is as much about the sweet, balsam-infused smoke as it is about the pine or fir trees. Fille en Aiguilles is also wholly unisex with an equal number of men as women loving it. It is very wearable, even to the office if one doesn’t spray on a lot. Even better, Fille en Aiguilles is often quite discounted at some online perfume retailers, making it relatively affordable for such a beautiful, high-quality, niche fragrance. It it an all-year round fragrance? Well, I would wear it in summer, but then I’m someone who goes purely by mood or feel in my perfume selection, and never by seasonality. For most, however, I imagine that Fille en Aiguilles would be limited solely to the winter. But, truly, what an incredibly lovely holiday fragrance it would be. Fille en Aiguilles is more than just cozy, though it is that as well. I think it’s actually quite mysteriously sexy with those dark smoky touches, and the sweet resins mixed with dark, sugared fruits. Try it, and you’ll see. I think the vast majority of you won’t be able to stop sniffing your arm!

DETAILS:

General Cost & Discounted Sales Prices: Fille en Aiguilles is a concentrated eau de parfum that comes in a 1.7 oz/50 ml size and which retails for $140, €99 or £83.00. However, Fille en Aiguilles is currently on sale at FragranceNet where the 1.7 oz/50 ml bottle is priced at $80.91, or $95.19, with an additional 15% OFF with the coupon code RESFT5 and free domestic shipping. Sears sells the perfume by way of a third-party vendor for $91.14 with $6.95 shipping. Fille en Aiguilles is also on sale at Beauty Encounter for $100, and you can Google to find discount codes, eBates codes, or first-time customer discounts for the site as well. Lastly, Parfum1 is selling it for $126 with a 10% discount coupon for first-time customers. I don’t know how long these specials will last.

Serge Lutens: you can find Fille en Aiguilles on the U.S. and International Lutens website, with non-English language options also available for the latter.

U.S. sellers: Fille en Aiguilles is available for $140 at Luckyscent, Barney’s, and Aedes.

Outside the U.S.: In Canada, you can find Fille en Aiguilles at The Perfume Shoppe for what may be CAD$140, but I’m never sure about their currency since it is primarily an American business. They also offer some interesting sample or travel options for Lutens perfumes. In the UK, you can find Fille en Aiguilles at Harrods or Liberty where it costs £83.00 for a 1.7 oz/50 ml bottle. You can also find it at Les Senteurs where that same bottle costs more at £95.00. The site sells samples of Fille en Aiguilles for £3.50. In France, French Sephora sells Fille en Aiguilles for €101.50, while Premiere Avenue sells it for €95, and I believe they ship world-wide, or at least through the Euro zone. In Brussels, you can find Fille en Aiguilles at Senteurs D’Ailleurs. In Australia, it is on sale at the FragranceNet site (I think the Australian version?) for AUD $104.72, instead of what it says is the Australian retail price of AUD $154.02. It is also on sale on the Hot Cosmetics site for AUD $161, instead of supposedly AUD $218. It sold out on the Grays website where the 1.7 oz/50 ml bottle retails for AUD $145, but you can find it at Mecca Cosmetics for AUD $200. For other countries, you can use the Store Locator on the Lutens website.

Samples: You can test out Fille en Aiguilles by ordering a sample from Surrender to Chance where prices start at $3.99 for a 1/2 ml vial. There is also a Four Lutens Sample Set for $18.99 where the vials are larger at 1 ml each, and you get your choice of 4 Lutens Export fragrances (ie, not those that are Paris exclusives).