The Perfume Industry & EU Regulations

Posted on May 26, 2014 by Kafkaesque

There is a new Reuters article on what is going to happen with EU perfume regulation, and I found it interesting for reasons other than the usual repetition of how oakmoss is going to be banned. What is significant about the piece to me is what certain perfume houses said bluntly, what others did not, and the tonal shift amongst some industry leaders. So, I’m going to spend some time analyzing how various perfume brands are reacting to the EU proposals, now versus the past. In terms of actual regulatory news, the Reuters article talks a little about the small 90-day window for public consultation which just ended on May 14th, and the next steps in the legislative process. I’ll cover that, too.

BACKGROUND:

Oakmoss or tree moss.

Let’s start with some background if you’re unfamiliar with the convoluted details of the EU situation. As noted in my prior piece on perfume regulation, a 2012 Advisory Committee had offered certain draconian suggestions to the EU regulatory body on widespread restrictions of 12 ingredients. These were mere suggestions, but, as noted in a 2013 post I wrote, it had already led the perfume industry to begin changes to formulas of existing perfumes. To bring you up to date on the current situation, and to put it in a nutshell, the EU is currently:

planning on completely banning oakmoss, tree moss, and HICC, a synthetic that replicates the smell of lily of the valley (or muguet).
deliberating on how much 9 other key, very essential ingredients should be restricted and to what levels they should be limited. As the new Reuters article explains, these other ingredients include citral, found in lemon and tangerine oils; coumarin, found in tropical tonka beans; and eugenol, found in rose oil.”
deliberating on what sort of perfume labeling should be required.

Now, all of this is the exact same situation we faced when I wrote my earlier piece back in February of this year, but part of what the new Reuters article talks about is the public reaction to those proposals and the results of the consultation window where the EU sought opinion from those in the industry and its citizens. The article is called “Perfume industry braces for tough new EU rules” and was written by Astrid Wendlandt and Pascale Denis. It also talks about what the next steps in this process will be, but I found it interesting primarily for what I think it reveals about the various perfume companies and industry leaders, like Frederic Malle, Chanel, and LVMH.

THE PERFUME INDUSTRY RESPONSE:

Frederic Malle. Source: Paris.com

My favorite quote from Monsieur Malle in the new article pertains to the EU’s plans to restrict citral, though to what level we do not yet know:

“If we ban citral from perfumes, of which certain elements are allergens, we should ban orange juice. It is absurd. We should not ban nature, only learn how to live with it,” said Frederic Malle, who founded the French luxury perfume company Editions de Parfums Frederic Malle. [Emphasis added.]

Monsieur Malle also informed the reporters that he is already reformulating his fragrances:

Frederic Malle said he was forced to reformulate about a quarter of his scents due to the upcoming EU regulations, leading to extra costs – but costs which he found difficult to quantify as they also represented time invested to rework the formulas.

“It can take more than six months to reformulate a perfume, and a minimum of some 30 tests … and this is precious time that cannot be spent on creating new perfumes. So to protect a small portion of the population, we are making the rest suffer,” he said.

Note how very candid, blunt, and frustrated his comments are, and then compare them to the very gingerly worded, rather generic e-mail statements issued by Chanel and LVMH in the article. Chanel is quoted on the issue of the oakmoss ban which is going to severely impact several of its most famous fragrances, particularly Chanel No. 5. In talking about the oakmoss ban, the article states:

Source: entertainment.desktopnexus.com

Such mosses could be found in Chanel’s No.5 and Dior’s Miss Dior but the brands have been working on using altered versions, stripped of the molecules atranol and chloroatranol, regarded as potential allergens by the EU.

“Adapting is a challenge but it is precisely the talent of our “nose” to be able to preserve the qualities and olfactive (scent) identity of our perfumes while also taking into account new regulatory constraints,” Chanel said in an e-mailed statement.

That’s all Chanel seems to be willing to say on the record, which is consistent with prior articles where they have either refused to comment entirely, or the reporters have implied that Chanel doesn’t want to talk about what it’s doing to its perfumes in response to the EU situation.

As for the other luxury companies, the Reuters piece only had this to say:

Hermes as well as Dior and Guerlain – [the latter 2] both owned by LVMH – have also been preparing themselves for the new rules by progressively changing their formulas.

“The European Commission approach guarantees the security of consumers and preserves Europe’s olfactive heritage,” LVMH said in an e-mailed statement. Hermes, Dior and Guerlain declined to comment. [Emphasis to names added by me.]

Mitsouko, a LVMH fragrance from Guerlain that has already been impacted badly by EU/IFRA regulations. Photo source: Guerlain.com

LVMH’s comments demonstrate a distinct change in tone, if you ask me. Back in the earlier Reuters article that was the focus of my January 1, 2013 post on the widespread split in the industry, the journalists said this:

LVMH, which owns Dior and Guerlain, and Chanel are lobbying Brussels to protect their perfumes, many of which were created decades ago.

“It is essential to preserve Europe’s olfactory cultural heritage,” LVMH told Reuters in an emailed statement.

What a difference. Before, we had an industry leader demonstrating a willingness to fight and telling journalists that it was lobbying Brussels in order “to preserve Europe’s olfactory cultural heritage” against the proposed EU regulations. Now, we now have the exact same company saying that it is the European Commission’s approach which “preserves Europe’s olfactive heritage.” There is a night and day difference between those two LVMH statements.

My guess is that companies do not want to appear to be working against regulations that have been presented as protecting consumers. You and I know that the EU regulations are based on iffy science and the mere possibility that some tiny, minute portion of the population may perhaps, one day, maybe, hypothetically get a skin rash — but the general public does not. The way all of this is being presented on the surface is that the EU is kindly and benignly working in the public good. Companies may not want to risk the negative PR from appearing to be against regulations that are ostensibly intended to protect consumers. In truth, their fears aren’t wholly illogical. It’s not impossible to imagine tabloid headlines from ragsheets like the Daily Mirror or News of the World screaming, “Greedy Chanel wants to keep its massive perfume profits from Chanel No. 5 even if it makes consumers sick!”

Chanel’s jewellery window at Le Place Vendome. Photo: my own.

I think that is the only explanation for why some brands refuse to publicly discuss the EU changes at all. Consider Chanel’s bland statement on how its noses are talented enough to compensate for the total oakmoss ban in its most famous fragrances, and then compare it with Frederic Malle’s outraged bluntness on the complete idiocy of the situation. Do you think Frederic Malle doesn’t have the most talented noses who could also deal with the oakmoss situation? He does, but he’s willing to publicly stand up for the perfume makers in this battle perhaps because his company is not a multi-national conglomerate that puts out everything from skin care to fashion and expensive diamond jewellery.

His business is limited primarily to perfume, so he is in a much more life-and-death struggle. And he’s said so, bluntly. Back in that earlier Reuters piece which I keep talking about, Malle said:

“If this law goes ahead I am finished, as my perfumes are all filled with these ingredients,” said Frederic Malle…. The impact on luxury perfume brands as a whole would, he said, be “like an atomic explosion and we would not have the means to rebuild ourselves.”

Chanel’s 1932.

Here, in the current 2014 Reuters article, Malle talks candidly about how he is already reformulating his fragrances. Contrast that to what Chanel and others had to say in the earlier Reuters article:

Chanel declined to comment on whether it has ever changed the formula of its world-famous perfume, as did Guerlain, Dior and luxury brand Hermes, which all make high-end perfumes using natural ingredients.

“No comment” in this context pretty much speaks volumes, if you ask me.

I’ve seen the same divide in article after article. Frederic Malle is consistently the most blunt and critical; LVMH (owner of Guerlain and Dior) is never critical but is usually quite direct about its views of the EU regulations; Chanel sometimes makes a rare, always bland statement that never attacks IFRA or the EU, and is never about anything of any significance whatsoever; and Hermès lets the other luxury manufacturers fight its battles.

L’Oreal’s La Vie Est Belle, by Lancome. Source: myfdb.com

In the meantime, L’Oreal essentially smirks in the corner and appears not to give a damn, perhaps because a good chunk of its creations for such brands as YSL, Lancome, Viktor & Rolf, and many others are rather synthetic concoctions. The earlier 2012 Reuters article is much more tactful than I am about L’Oreal, probably because they aren’t nursing a serious grudge against the company as I most definitely am for what they’ve done to YSL perfumes. So, Reuters says only:

L’Oreal, however, already uses many synthetic ingredients in its perfumes and is thus keeping a low profile on the issue, industry representatives said.

Other companies making perfumes on an industrial scale for luxury brands, such as IFF, Givaudan and Firmenich, are less concerned about the SCCS proposal because they can rely on synthetic materials and make new perfumes using them but the restrictions, if enforced, would force them to reformulate many of their scents on a scale never seen before.

Givaudan and L’Oreal declined to comment for this report.

Pierre Sivac, President of IFRA. Source: Cosmeticsbusiness.com

Yes, I’m quite sure that Givaudan declined to comment…. Speaking of the aroma-chemical giant, and its toady servant, IFRA, I found it interesting that the new Reuters article on the current situation did not discuss the perfume industry’s supposed representative. In fact, there was not one single mention of IFRA in the whole piece. Yet, IFRA was positively bowing at the EU’s feet back in February, rubbing their hands approvingly at the proposed restrictions. The Reuters piece from back then that I talked about in part in my previous post has IFRA’s president saying:

“We broadly welcome the proposed measures,” said Pierre Sivac, president of the International Fragrance Association [IFRA], the perfume industry’s self-regulatory body…. which is financed by scent makers such as Givaudan, New York-listed International Flavors & Fragrances and Germany’s Symrise [….] [Emphasis added by me.]

THE NEXT STEPS IN THE PROCESS & LABELING:

So, what is happening now and in the upcoming months? Well, according to the new Reuters article, we should get a report in July about the results of the open discussion period and what issues were raised. The article says,

[t]he consultation triggered more than 200 responses from industry players, consumers’ associations and researchers, which the EU said was a relatively high number.

“This has stirred quite a lot of passion,” said Hudson of the European Commission.

The Berlaymont building in Brussels, headquarters of the European Commission. Photo and source: acmphoto.photoshelter.com

The European Commission’s headquarters at the Berlaymont building in Brussels. Photo and source: acmphoto.photoshelter.com

Then, in August, a proposed amendment of the 2009 Cosmetics Regulation act with the new rules is expected to be sent to individual EU member nations. In September, a final version might be sent to the overall EU Council and Parliament. At that point, there would be 3 months in which the governing body or individual members could oppose it. I assume at the end of that time, roughly in December 2014, the whole thing would come to a final vote, but I’m rather hazy on how the EU legislative rules work. The bottom line, however, seems to be that January 2015 will be the start of a different perfume landscape.

Two issues remain open for further discussion and fine-tuning before they are submitted to any legislative body for consideration. Specifically, the question of how much 9 of the 12 targeted ingredients (like the citral mentioned above) should be restricted, and then the exact nature of labeling that will be mandated. With regard to the latter, the new Reuters article states:

The regulations will also require perfume makers to inform consumers about potential allergens contained in their products but it has not yet decided how this will work in practice and how many of them should be labelled.

It has raised the number of ingredients that must be labelled from 26 to more than 80 and is looking at ways to allow perfume makers to provide information about them on the Internet or through smartphone scans to avoid having to cram them on the package.

80 seems like a lot, but it’s a little less than the 100 which the Advisory Committee initially suggested a long time ago. What always amuses me about the labeling situation is what happened in 2005 when consumer groups forced an EU amendment requiring perfume companies to list 26 potentially allergenic ingredients on their bottles. According to the old Reuters piece, the perfume companies did so… in Latin!

Part of the problem for perfume companies when it comes to label lists seems to be that they don’t have any intellectual property protection. As the old Reuters piece explains:

Most perfume brands are reluctant to label their products. Unlike artists and writers, perfume creators have no intellectual property rights to the fragrances they compose for big brands, and so perfume brands fight hard to keep their formulas hidden.

Of course, it’s always possible to ascertain the ingredients in a particular fragrance by putting it through highly specialised machines that will detect not only the various elements, but the proportions thereof. That’s how cheap copies and fakes are already made. Yet, obviously, things become much easier if the full list is provided by the company itself under mandate of law. The proportions may not be there, but everything else would be.

If perfume companies are going to be forced to label their products down to the smallest minutiae, it seems only fair that parallel legislation be pushed through to confer intellectual property protection at the same time. Unfortunately, I haven’t heard of any such proposals. If any of you have, I’d love to hear about it.

In the midst of all this, perfume lovers have little choice but to wait and see how events transpire. This brings me to the Parfumo Petition which I told you about some weeks ago. It was delivered to Brussels on May 14th with 2,500 signatures. A press release statement recently sent to me by Angelika Foerster of Parfumo reads:

From the standpoint of the individuals fighting on behalf of the art of perfumery, 2,500 signatures cannot be overlooked in Brussels or dismissed as “insignificant”. Moreover, the campaign is ongoing and additional signatures will be collected after the petition is submitted. “The issue will not go unnoticed in EU everyday routine”, Foerster foresees. “We’ll continue to buttress our point of view with more and more signatures. The only thing that will stop us is if the commission acknowledges our position and thus revises the bill in an acceptable way.” Accordingly, signatures will continue to be collected at http://www.parfumo.de/petition – in favour of perfume and against overregulation.

In short, the petition is ongoing, so if you haven’t done so already, please sign it and spread the word. It doesn’t matter if you’re not an EU resident. “Signatures by non-EU citizens are welcome as per the Commission’s request for input from ‘any interested parties’.”

In the meantime, Hermes, Dior, Guerlain, Malle, and many others are already changing their perfumes. Over in the Middle East, it seems that IFRA/EU-like regulations are going to be adopted in places like the United Arab Emirates, with ripple effects already impacting Amouage’s production of its attars.

By one estimate, over 9,000 perfume formulas are going to be changed when this is all over, if they haven’t been already. In my opinion, that is probably a very conservative number, in part because it comes from the agenda-driven IFRA group. Given that there are well over 1,000 new fragrances which hit the market each year and the significant role of the 9 key ingredients which are being targeted for reduction, I suspect that overall figure may be higher. In short, 2015 may herald a new year in more ways than one.

Oriza L. Legrand Vetiver Royal Bourbon

Posted on May 24, 2014 by Kafkaesque

Source: Source: hdwallsource.com

The sky was green, swirled with mists of vetiver, mint, and herbs, but blackness hovered just on the horizon. Storm clouds of cade brought tar and campfire smoke, while leather, styrax and resins seeped up from a ground made earthy with brown tobacco absolute. A fine layering of wet leaves and moss lay strewn around, a last lingering sign of fall. A single small tent was visible in the vast expanse of blackened greenness, shining a golden ambered light. None of these things, however, could detract from the Aurora Borealis swirling all around, from the smoky vetiver and mint called Vetiver Royal Bourbon.

Vetiver Royal Bourbon is a newly released fragrance from the ancient house of Oriza L. Legrand (hereinafter just “Oriza“). It originally debuted in 1914, but it very much has the feel of a modern niche fragrance. In fact, it is rather like a lighter, thinner cousin to Profumum Roma‘s Fumidus, though there are definite differences. The similarity to a very bold, edgy, extremely distinctive scent like Fumidus makes Vetiver Royal Bourbon rather an amazing feat, given that the perfume is exactly 100 years old and has been only lightly re-tweaked for the modern era by Hugo Lambert, the nose behind the “new” Oriza fragrances and one of the brand’s two co-owners.

Source: Oriza L. Legrand.

Vetiver Royal Bourbon is an eau de parfum and part of Oriza’s relatively recent Soliflore Collection, a collection where all the fragrances are designed to highlight one specific note. The name in the title should tell you which one is the focus here, but Vetiver Royal Bourbon has a much larger ingredient list than you might expect. The perfume includes:

Top Notes: Peppermint, Thyme & Absolute Vetiver
Heart Notes: Cistus Labdanum [Amber], Iris, Vetiver Bourbon & Sandalwood.
Base Notes: Essence of Cade, Leather, Styrax, Immortelle, Tobacco, & Oakmoss.

Source: hdwallsource.com

Vetiver Royal Bourbon opens on my skin with vetiver, vetiver, and more vetiver. However, it is thoroughly intertwined with mint, aromatic herbs, and a eucalyptus-like mentholated camphor. The very green mix is followed by hints of smoky and phenolic, tarry blackness from the cade, as well as even lighter touches of brown tobacco. The whole thing is sprinkled with a subtle booziness that is quite hard to explain. It’s definitely not the single malt Scotch whisky of Fumidus, but it’s not really like purely ambered warmth, either. It lies somewhere between amber and the “bourbon” in the perfume’s title.

Source: wallpoper.com

At times, something about the overall opening combination feels very much like a vetiver and patchouli duet to me. The true, original, black patchouli note that was so common with hippies in the 1970s could be very green, with nuances of both peppermint and camphorated menthol. The really absolute, undiluted versions also have leathery, tobacco, and oily, turpentine nuances, as demonstrated by Farmacia SS. Annunziata Patchouly Indonesiano. In contrast, more ’80s-style patchouli was golden-brown-red, warm, woody, often infused with an ambered touch, and sometimes a little boozy.

Both styles of patchouli with all of their characteristics are reflected here with Vetiver Royal Bourbon’s opening bouquet, though the notes are subtle, and aren’t all equal in terms of their prominence. To be clear, Vetiver Royal Bourbon does not actually contain patchouli — of any kind. But the peppermint, cade, amber, tobacco, styrax all manage to replicate various aspects of the note, even if it is in indirect form. The only thing which is missing is the sweaty dirtiness of black patchouli. That is most certainly not visible in Vetiver Royal Bourbon, not by any means.

Vetiver roots, the primary source of the aroma. Photo: Herbariasoap.com

One of things I find interesting about Vetiver Royal Bourbon is how the vetiver plays off of the other notes. Vetiver can smell like a variety of things, depending on the place from which it is sourced or how it is treated. It can be earthy, dry, grassy, minty, rooty, mineralized, or sometimes a little like lemongrass. On my skin, Haitian vetiver frequently manifests a strong mintiness, something that not everyone else experiences.

Here, Oriza has used actual peppermint to accompany the note, which rather leads to a situation where I’m getting double the dose. It’s a little bit of a problem for me, as minty vetiver is really not my thing and, in fact, even mintiness from patchouli can be a bit difficult for me. With Vetiver Royal Bourbon, each and every time I mention the note, you should assume that it smells of both vetiver and mint. The two things are really inseparable in Vetiver Royal Bourbon, from the very start of the fragrance all the way until its dying breath.

Yet, there is much more going on in the perfume’s opening moments. Under the top layer of green vetiver-mint, there is a subtle touch of earthiness, no doubt from the tobacco, followed by campfire smoke from the cade, burnt resins dominated by the styrax, and tarry, blackened leather. The oakmoss is subtle, but it adds to the story, too, conjuring up images of wet leaves festooning the ground in a damp, very misty, foggy countryside on a fall day. Much more apparent is that streak of boozy amber that I talked about earlier.

Source: Facebook page of “Amazing Landscapes, Nature, Animals and Places.” Photographer may be Nergis İnan.

It all reminds me strongly of Profumum‘s famous (or, perhaps, infamous?) Fumidus, though there are sharp differences. There is no Laphroaig whisky here, no saltiness, no diesel touch, and no passing suggestion of a compost heap. The sense of something peaty from the vetiver is more muted, as is the black rubberiness from the cade. As a whole, Vetiver Royal Bourbon feels greener, more herbal, and slightly more medicinal, especially for the first hour. Fumidus doesn’t really have anything comparable to the eucalyptus-like camphorated note that is evident here, and the mint that I experienced is probably limited to my weird skin chemistry and the tricks it plays with vetiver in general. Plus, even then, the mintiness was milder.

Photo: My own.

Fumidus feels like a much black scent as a whole. While there is a definite streak of that in Vetiver Royal Bourbon, thanks to the cade and styrax, it feels much less substantial or heavy here. Fumidus has birch tar conjoined, arm in arm, with the vetiver, but the balance is different in Vetiver Royal Bourbon. I think the cade note trails in 3rd place in the Oriza scent behind the vetiver-mint. Then again, cade is very similar to birch tar. One perfumer told me that he sees cade as a more masculine note than its olfactory cousin, while I think it has a more turpentine-like quality. The thing is, both Fumidus and Vetiver Royal Bourbon demonstrate quite a bit of the latter.

In Oriza’s creation, the cade’s turpentine nuance starts to awaken 20 minutes into the perfume’s development, along with a certain tarriness. Black leather and sticky, smoky, styrax join it, as they seep upwards to coat the pungently green, minty vetiver. The end result is to substantially weaken the impression of patchouli, and it soon fades away entirely. The perfume also becomes much less earthy, though an occasional hint of thick, slightly dirty tobacco absolute lurks at the edges.

“Novemthree” by Olaf Marshall. Source: vitaignescorpuslignum.blogspot.com

From a distance, Vetiver Royal Bourbon’s predominant bouquet now is of a chewy, dense, slightly dirty, minty, smoked vetiver. And, by and large, it remains largely the same way until its very end, with only a few exceptions. As a soliflore, Vetiver Royal Bourbon is never going to be a complex, twisting, morphing creature. It is a very linear scent, but there are changes to the secondary notes, their prominence, and the perfume’s sillage. It’s largely a question of degree.

One of the bigger changes pertains to Vetiver Royal Bourbon’s weight. It opens as an incredibly light fragrance, sheer, and feels quite insubstantial at first. The perfume is miles away from Fumidus in this regard, as the Profumum scent has great opaqueness, heavy oiliness, and density. In contrast, the Oriza scent feels as light as air, even though the actual notes are relatively strong. Vetiver Royal Bourbon doesn’t have Chypre Mousse‘s forcefulness, but it feels more potent than many others from the line, including Muguet Fleuri.

The odd thing is how that wispiness changes. Vetiver Royal Bourbon never gets into Fumidus territory, but it does grow deeper, richer, and fuller over time. The first hint of it arrives after 20 minutes, as the labdanum, tobacco, and styrax stir in the base. An hour and a half into the perfume’s evolution, Vetiver Royal Bourbon’s leathery quality grows more pronounced in the foundation. Up top, the cade’s turpentine and smokiness start to overshadow the aromatic, herbal and mentholated camphor notes. Once in a while, there is almost a burning feeling to the scent, as though a vetiver wildland had been covered with black pitch and tarry asphalt, then set on fire. The perfume now feels much heavier that it did at the start, though Vetiver Royal Bourbon is still a light fragrance as a whole. To put it bluntly, Vetiver Royal Bourbon is no longer anorexic, because the vetiver has been fed a meal of richer notes.

Source: wallpapervortex.com

By the end of the 4th hour, the labdanum is in full bloom, turning Vetiver Royal Bourbon sweeter and much warmer in feel. The various smoky, tarry, leathered, and turpentine undertones are in slow retreat. Vetiver Royal Bourbon is now primarily a minty vetiver scent cocooned in a warm, golden embrace with milder, increasingly muted smokiness and blackness. There is a slight powdery quality to the fragrance, but it’s really more of a texture than any actual powder. It’s almost as if the labdanum amber is a bit grainy, if that makes any sense.

Source: Source: hqwide.com

Over time, the ambered glow fades on my skin, and Vetiver Royal Bourbon turns into a minty vetiver duet. It’s as though the vetiver has been purified, set free of both the smoky, blacker, leathery elements and of the labdanum’s warmth. What is left is a scent that very dark green in visual hue, and largely limited to pure vetiver. I’m afraid its mintiness is too much for me, especially as it demonstrates a tiny medicinal touch on my skin with lingering traces of mentholated camphor. In its final moments, the perfume is a mere wisp of vetiver greenness. All in all, Vetiver Royal Bourbon consistently lasted over 9 hours on me: 10 hours with 3 small sprays, and just under 9.5 with 2.

I have worn and tested Vetiver Royal Bourbon four times in total. On all of those occasions, I never detect any immortelle. Not at any point on my skin. The perfume never varied in its core essence or in the structure that I’ve outlined here today, but there were two very minor differences. In one test, the booziness of the amber was significantly less noticeable. In another, the earthy, tobacco, and oakmoss undertones were even more muted and subtle.

I have the very vague, wholly unscientific sense that heat was the deciding factor in the last circumstance. More of Vetiver Royal Bourbon’s subtle nuances came out in the heat, while cooler temperatures (and higher air-conditioning levels) squashed some of the elements. And, as with a number of Oriza fragrances, applying a greater quantity of the fragrance seems to amplify some of its base notes.

There is great purity in Vetiver Royal Bourbon’s vetiver focus, as well as a triumphant celebration of its minty and smokier aspects. All of that makes it a little too much for me personally, but that is merely a question of individual tastes and the fact that I don’t love vetiver in such concentrated amounts. Fumidus was too much for me as well, though I respect it just as much. In both cases, it is the mintiness of the vetiver that is my difficulty, not the blackness, tarriness, or smokiness. I think those things are very well handled in Vetiver Royal Bourbon.

In fact, the Oriza perfume would be a great alternative to those who struggled with the much greater quantity of smoky birch tar in Fumidus, as well as its thick, oily density. I can’t see many people wearing Fumidus in summer, but Vetiver Royal Bourbon’s lightness makes it a fresher alternative that you could definitely pull off in the heat.

Alexander Skarsgård by Ralph Mecke for GQ Style German. Source: iloveromancenovels.blog63.fc2.com

As a whole, I think the perfume is unapologetically masculine in nature, and the handful of raves that I have seen for the scent on Oriza’s Facebook page all come from men. One chap stated how much he appreciated the vetiver’s darker facets, the lack of earthiness, and the perfume’s overall refinement. Another asked about the eucalyptus-like note, and I have a vague memory of someone else talking about the smoky leatheriness. I mention these comments largely because there are no other reviews for the fragrance that I can share with you. Vetiver Royal Bourbon is too new to have a Fragrantica entry, and no-one has tried it on Basenotes.

Oriza is a house whose creations sometimes have a very vintage feel, but Vetiver Royal Bourbon is a fragrance that could have been launched today by another niche house. It simply does not feel like a fragrance that was released 100 years ago, not by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, I’ve spent a good deal of time amusing myself with thoughts of people’s reactions back then to the smoky, leathery, Fumidus-like vetiver in a world where Jicky, L’Heure Bleue, Phul-Nana, powdery florals, and scented waters ruled the day. Vetiver Royal Bourbon must have been completely revolutionary for its time, but it fits in perfectly in today’s modern world.

Vetiver Royal Bourbon is very affordable for a niche scent, especially for 100 ml of eau de parfum. The perfume costs $125 or €90, which is less than the €120 price of its other Oriza siblings outside the Soliflore line. It is currently available on Oriza’s website and at a variety of European retailers. (See the Details section below.) For American readers, I’ve been told that Vetiver Royal Bourbon should be available next week (or at the beginning of June) at Luckyscent, a site which is now carrying the full Oriza L. Legrand line, including the lovely soaps and candles.

So, if you love smoky, minty vetiver, do give Vetiver Royal Bourbon a try. I think it’s very well done.

Disclosure: Sample courtesy of Oriza L. Legrand. That did not influence this review, I do not do paid reviews, and my opinions are my own.

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: Vetiver Royal Bourbon is an eau de parfum that comes in a 100 ml or 3.4 oz bottle, and costs $125 or €90. It is available directly from Oriza’s e-store. A great sample set is also available but it does not include the Soliflore range of fragrances, such as Vetiver Royal Bourbon. In the U.S.: Luckyscent now carries the full Oriza L. Legrand line, and should be receiving Vetiver Royal Bourbon this upcoming week or at the start of June 2014. It will cost $125. Oriza is also carried at New York’s JuJu s’amuse. It has two locations, and I’ve provided the number for one, in case you want to check whether they do phone orders: 100 Thompson Street New York, NY 10012, with Ph: (212) 226.1201; but, also, 1220 Lexington Avenue (at 82nd Street), New York, NY 10018. Other vendors in Europe: Oriza’s perfumes are also sold at Paris’ Marie-Antoinette (which was my favorite perfume shop in Paris), as well as one store in Sweden. In the Netherlands, the Oriza line is carried at ParfuMaria, but VRB is not yet listed. Germany’s First in Fragrance also carries the Oriza Legrand line, but it is the same story there. Both stores should eventually get the fragrance. Oriza L. Legrand is also sold at a few places in Japan. For details on those retailers and the Swedish store, you can check Oriza Points of Sale page.

LM Parfums Ultimate Seduction

Posted on May 23, 2014 by Kafkaesque

She was the image of sweetness, softness, and femininity as she walked in the garden. Young, but sure of herself, confident, and at ease. She didn’t need a man to be content, though there were plenty who sought her. She didn’t follow the dictates of fashion, though she wore elegant clothes. She simply did what made her feel happy, seeking comfort, simplicity, and softness in her life.

Photographer: Carl Bengtsson. Source: fashionproduction.blogspot.com

That is the woman I imagine when I wear Ultimate Seduction, the latest fragrance from Laurent Mazzone and LM Parfums. It is a pure parfum extrait that was just released and whose essence is that of a very approachable, simple, sweet fruity-floral. For me, it radiates youthful femininity, and it has done so since I first tested the fragrance 8 months ago in Paris. Back then, Ultimate Seduction was called Lost Paradise, and Laurent Mazzone told me the inspiration and thought behind it. Contrary to my impressions of youthful innocence, the backstory is one that is all about a steamy love affair, and a sophisticated woman intent on seduction. The recent photo campaign that was released to accompany Ultimate Seduction’s launch underscores that point:

Source: Laurent Mazzone & LM Parfums.

Source: LM Parfums.

As you can see, there is a definite theme behind the text and images. Laurent Mazzone told me the story he saw in his head for both Ultimate Seduction and the woman who wore it. My memory is a little hazy as to all the specific details, so I apologise in advance to Monsieur Mazzone if I get some parts of it wrong, but the story is important in explaining certain aspects of the perfume that he created.

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

Marion Cotillard by Mert & Marcus for French Vogue, September 2010. Source: Glamscheck.com

The woman in Monsieur Mazzone’s imagination wore Ultimate Seduction as a tantalizing suggestion, discretely wafting out from under a little black dress, on her way to meet her lover. (The clothing may be my own extrapolation, or it may have come from Monsieur Mazzone who is heavily involved in the fashion world and who had come to attend Paris Fashion Week.) Regardless of the clothing details, the gist of the story is that the woman was elegant, fashionable, worldly, strongly confident, and on her way to a steamy rendezvous with her lover.

Ultimate Seduction was meant not only to express her own sweet femininity and to drive her lover wild, but to also symbolise the juicy passion of their hot affair. And juicy sweetness is a strong part of the fragrance’s essence, thanks to the following perfume pyramid:

TOP NOTES: Pink pepper, black currant, orange
HEART NOTES: Violet, iris, rose
BASE NOTES: patchouli, amber, blond wood, cedar, praline.

Blackcurrant or cassis. Source: The Perfume Shrine.

Ultimate Seduction opens on my skin in a blast of tangy tartness, infused with juicy, fruited sweetness. There is a lovely heaping dose of black currants which I’m used to calling cassis, so I’ll stick with that term. The fruit can sometimes smell sharp, indolic, and, on some unfortunate people, reminiscent of cat pee or urine, but that is not the case here. Instead, it is merely a sour tartness that feels very green and incredibly bright.

The cassis is accompanied by a host of other notes as well. There are: blood-red roses dripping with heavy, syrupy, purple patchouli molasses; fruity pink peppercorn berries that occasionally have a peppery blackness to them; and ripe, juicy oranges. The whole kaleidoscope of bright, tart, sour, juicy fruitiness rests upon a very thin foundation of dry cedar. In the background, there are hints of a silky vanilla note that dart about, though the note quickly retreats into the shadows to await later developments.

Fruit molasses or jam. Source: Shutterstock.com

The floral elements are completely overshadowed on my skin in the opening moments by the fruits and patchouli. The cassis, in particular, grows stronger after a few minutes, adding a truly necessary tartness to counterbalance the other, sweeter elements. I’m a bit dubious about the pink peppercorns which used to be a big trend about 5 years ago in perfumery, but it is a subtle touch. Unfortunately for me, the purple, syrupy fruit-chouli — one of the notes that I like the least in perfumery — is quite profound. Regular readers know that this sort of patchouli is one of my bête noires, especially when combined with roses, and it is the main reason why I had such an immediate, instantly negative response to the fragrance when I first tried it 8 months ago.

Yet, I want to say clearly that Ultimate Seduction is much better than the “Lost Paradise” that I encountered that day long ago in the Hotel Costes. It is much tarter, tangier, brighter, and, for the first hour or so, much greener and crisper as well. Ultimate Seduction feels better balanced, more well-rounded, with better body and more elegance. The company says that the perfume has not been changed in terms of its notes since the time it was called Lost Paradise.

However, it does acknowledge that it smells slightly different in terms of its nuances, and explains that maceration is the reason. Ultimate Seduction has had 8 months to steep, strengthen, and grow deeper. Perhaps, but I am convinced that Ultimate Seduction is significantly tangier and tarter than it was, and I have to wonder if the sweetness, patchouli, and rose levels have been modulated down a notch. Don’t get me wrong, the perfume is still very sweet in its opening phase — too sweet for my personal tastes, even now — but it’s no longer the cloying tidal wave (with overly gooey fruitchouli roses) that it was back then. In all honesty, even with my patchouli issues, there are times when I thoroughly enjoy Ultimate Seduction’s opening. It’s all thanks to the cassis, which is a simply beautiful touch here in its almost mouth-watering tartness.

“Flower spiral” by Sarah Cheriton Jones via fineartamerica.com

As noted earlier, the floral elements are quite overshadowed at first. I don’t smell any iris on my skin, now or at any point. Yet, occasionally, there are wafts of a dewy, rather metallic violet note in the background. It’s akin to a small firefly being buffeted about by multi-coloured Mistral winds of sour-tart black currants, oranges, red peppercorn berries, and purple fruitchouli roses. The violet simply can’t withstand the strength of the other notes, though it makes more of an effort to do so later in the perfume’s development.

Another very subtle note that appears after 30 minutes is something that seems almost like a lemony-bergamot tonality. There is no bergamot listed in the notes, but I detect something that differs from the tart, crisp acidity of a blackcurrant. It really smells more like a citrus note, though it is subtle. Whatever the source, it helps to add further brightness to the fruited bouquet.

Remember Monsieur Mazzone’s story about the woman discreetly wafting her seductive scent for her lover? Well, the word “discreetly” is important because Ultimate Seduction opens as a soft scent, before turning quite intimate. The sillage is not enormous: 2 sprays from an actual bottle gave me 2 inches in projection; 3 sprays gave me 3 inches. I don’t think a greater application would yield much more than that, because Ultimate Seduction is intentionally meant to be something akin to lingerie.

Photographers Mert & Marcus, photo campaign for Brian Atwood. Source: hommemodel.blogspot.com

Photographers: Mert & Marcus, for the Brian Atwood campaign. Source: hommemodel.blogspot.com

Granted, Monsieur Mazzone wants it to be very sexy lingerie that you would wear to meet your lover, but lingerie nevertheless. To that end, Ultimate Seduction feels very gauzy and airy, even in the opening moments. The force of the sweet, tart, juicy fruits is strong, but the perfume itself is surprisingly lightweight, right from the start. Frankly, I found the degree of sheerness to a little surprising for an Extrait de Parfum or Pure Parfum, but Ultimate Seduction has stellar longevity to compensate.

I’m afraid I don’t see any of the torrid heatedness, insanity, obsession, madness or toxicity that Ultimate Seduction is meant to represent. To be fair, there are few fragrances that conjure up even half of those things for me. My beloved vintage Opium is one of them. In my opinion, if there were any fragrances in the LM Parfums line that would qualify for those terms, it would absolutely and unquestionably be the gorgeous, intoxicating, heady, but also strangely comforting Sensual Orchid, not Ultimate Seduction. In fact, my review for the former was expressly all about a woman dressing (or, rather, undressing) to seduce her lover, as represented by this image:

Gisele Bundchen by Mert & Marcus, for Vogue Turkey March 2011.

Try as I might, nothing I smell in Ultimate Seduction conveys to me the sort of imagery that the several Mert & Marcus photos up above represents. (And, yes, I really love Mert & Marcus.) Instead, I see this woman:

Photographer: Carl Bengtsson. Source: fashionproduction.blogspot.com

There is absolutely nothing wrong with the latter, and she’s a beautiful woman with great softness and elegant femininity, but she symbolises a very different sort of perfume than the one Ultimate Seduction is meant to be. My point is that the marketing for Ultimate Seduction may lead you to think that it is a very different scent than what actually appeared on my skin.

Part of my difficulty is that fruity-florals with jammy patchouli always seem like very young, youthful scents for me. They are safe, approachable, and can be well-done on occasion as Ultimate Seduction is, but the entire genre simply does not scream seduction, sophistication, lustiness, or even edginess to me. Ultimate Seduction is a highly feminine, soft, sweet fragrance with a very traditional mainstream profile, but it has been done in a very refined, smooth, seamless way. It’s the quality that speaks out, not the scent itself.

As a side note, while I think that most fragrances can be unisex on the right person or with the right attitude, I think Ultimate Seduction skews quite feminine. I really can’t see a lot of men wearing it — unless they truly adore sweet fruity-florals — but perhaps I simply have strange associations in my head for the genre.

Ultimate Seduction has 3 distinct stages, and it is the very long, final drydown phase which is the loveliest in my opinion. The opening stage dominated by the tart cassis and other elements slowly segues into a secondary bridge phase, where the vanilla rises up from the base to merge with the fruity-floral elements and thereby create a transition to the final phase centered all around a creamy, slightly dry, very smooth, tonka vanilla.

Stage Two begins precisely at the end of the first hour, as the vanilla blankets everything, softening them, diluting the tartness of the cassis and the heaviness of the fruited patchouli. Oddly, the one exception seems to the violet note which makes a brief reappearance and feels a little more metallic. It is short-lived, however, and fades away after another 20 minutes. The orange sinks into the base, while the black currant’s green tartness begins to weakens. 90 minutes into the perfume’s development, it feels more like a suggestion than anything else.

Photo: my own.

All the notes start to blur into one, overlapping, losing their distinct edge and clarity. Ultimate Seduction feels like one of those images where everything has filtered through a soft lens, and all the shapes have been blurred out. Even the patchouli rose feels more muted, almost as if it had been tamed by the vanilla. The loss of the tart, sour tanginess is a real shame, but the weakening of that syrupy sweetness almost makes up for it. What’s left is an increasingly abstract fruity-floral with a lusciously silky, airy, vanilla mousse, and only occasional whispers of green tartness.

Photo: my own.

By the end of the 2nd hour, Ultimate Seduction is completely blurry, and evokes soft clouds made of the almost translucent, pink, ethereal petals. Words keep running through my head for the next few hours like a litany: “Soft. Petals. Feminine. Soft, soft, soft!” I keep imagining a sea of petals, all pink, white, peach and cream, with a touch of lingering fruity redness. The perfume itself now smells like a misty cloud of pink, abstract fruity-rosiness with vanilla. The whole thing has a seamless smoothness that is impressive, even if hazy perfumes are not my actual cup of tea.

In fact, I’m honestly a little surprised to like Ultimate Seduction as much as I do, particularly given my reaction to “Lost Paradise” all those months ago. One reason is that the perfume definitely gets much better after the opening hour, even if the tartness has largely dissipated. A bigger reason is that there is something very easygoing, approachable, and uncomplicated about the scent. Some days, I just want to put on a smooth, expensive-smelling fragrance, feel good, and not have to analyze the bloody thing. The main reason though is the smooth softness that I keep talking about, and that wonderful, silky, but slightly dry vanilla. The two things together somehow manage to make the perfume feel almost like the lingerie that it’s meant to partially represent. And, like lingerie, by the middle of the 3rd hour, Ultimate Seduction is an very intimate scent that lies just fractionally above the skin.

In the second stage, the petal-soft combination of fruity rose and vanilla is subtly counterbalanced by an undercurrent of dry woodiness. It is a very muted, quiet note that runs through the base, but it was noticeable in 2 of my 3 tests of Ultimate Seduction. It occasionally smells of cedar, but, most of the time, it’s merely an abstract dryness and woodiness. I wish it were a little stronger, to give Ultimate Seduction a bit more of an edge, but it sometimes it feels like a ghost, disappearing for a while before reappearing again in the background. Then again, I don’t think this is a perfume that is meant to have any “edges” at all.

Photo: my own.

The final, very long drydown phase begins roughly 3.5 hours into Ultimate Seduction’s development, and is all about the vanilla. The perfume is now primarily a vanilla scent, infused with fruitiness. The rose is now merely an abstract, amorphous floralacy, and it lurks at the edges alongside the equally abstract dry woodiness. Once in a blue moon, the black currant’s tartness is noticeable, but it’s generally too well-blended into the general “fruitiness.” The best part is really the vanilla note. I think it’s lovely because it’s not one of those traditional, very gooey, cloying, sweet vanillas. It really feels more like tonka, actually, which brings me to another point.

You may have noticed that I haven’t mentioned “pralines” once in this review, even though that is what is actually listed in Ultimate Seduction’s notes. For me, “pralines” have a very different aroma (and taste) than what I detect here. I associate the term with a more buttery, more caramel-like nuance. It’s nuttier and substantially sweeter than the note in Ultimate Seduction which smells instead like a really silky crème anglaise sauce mixed with abstract fruitiness. Ultimate Seduction is not a gourmand fragrance on my skin, thank God, and the notes are too carefully calibrated to be as sweet as the praline fragrances that I have tried in the past. Its primary characteristic at this point is petal-soft creaminess, more than anything either overt or sweet.

Source: popularscreensavers.com

Over time, the vanilla begins to change. At the start of the 5th hour, it turns drier, and there are the first hints of graininess. It’s not powdery, but more like grainy tonka texture, if that makes any sense. For the most part, though, it’s still extremely creamy, soft, and smooth at this point.

For the many, many hours which follow, Ultimate Seduction is all about the tonka, lightly flecked by fluctuating, increasingly insignificant amounts of abstract fruitiness. Sometimes, the cassis returns to peek out, while at other times it is the orange (which takes on a rather neroli-like aspect). Once in a blue moon, the woody cedar shows up. Generally, though, Ultimate Seduction is merely a soft tonka scent with a slightly grainy, occasionally powdered texture that has only the smallest strands of abstract fruits.

Ultimate Seduction lasted just under 14 hours in most of my tests of the fragrance. In its final moments, it was only a smear of soft sweetness. For the majority of its life, Ultimate Seduction was primarily an intimate, discrete scent on my skin, but it was still easy to detect up close until the start of the 9th hour. After that point, however, I had to make some concerted effort to find it, by putting my nose actually on my skin and sniffing hard. Yet, I was surprised to see that the most minute traces of the scent lingered on tenaciously each time I wore the fragrance. On one of the occasions when I used 3 sprays — and I was using an actual bottle, not an atomizer — I was rather shocked to smell Ultimate Seduction 16th hours later. It took effort and concentration, but there is no doubt the perfume was still there. And my skin eats perfume much faster than the average person.

Source: LM Parfums.

The longevity stems from the fact that Ultimate Seduction is one of the LM Parfums’ handful of pure parfums, and thus comes with a high concentration of fragrance oils. Ultimate Seduction shares the same pricing structure as some of its other siblings from the Extrait line, like Sensual Orchid or Chemise Blanche. It costs €195 or $225 for 100 ml of concentrated perfume. The perfume was released in Europe a few weeks ago, so it’s already available for purchase there. For American buyers, Osswald should be getting it in a few weeks.

Ultimate Seduction is not my personal style or genre, so it’s not a fragrance that I would ever have gotten for myself, but I enjoyed the times I wore it. It’s very approachable and easy-going, and there is something incredibly appealing about its uncomplicated smoothness. Its superior quality is what I think makes it stand out amongst others in the same genre.

I think Ultimate Seduction will work for people who really enjoy very soft, discreet, fruity-florals. It’s not an edgy, complex, complicated, or revolutionary scent, but it is a very refined, smooth take on the genre. I think it’s infinitely better, more elegant, and more luxurious than, for example, Guerlain‘s badly named Chypre Fatal which is actually the furthest thing possible from a real chypre, and is instead another fruity, patchouli-rose scent with vanilla. There are big differences between the two fragrances — beyond just the fact that Chypre Fatal is dreadfully insipid, flaccid, boring, simplistic, and obnoxiously over-priced — but I’m talking about overall genres or general profiles.

In short, if sweet fruity-florals with a tangy opening and a soft, creamy finish are your thing, give Ultimate Seduction a sniff. At the same time, I have to add, if you’re really looking to seduce with an over-the-top, divaesque, truly sensual fragrance with even greater creamy smoothness and enormous lushness, then I urge you to give Sensual Orchid a chance as well. It was my very first exposure to the LM Parfums line, and I loved it from the start. I think it’s really stunning.

Disclosure: Ultimate Seduction was sent to me courtesy of LM Parfums. That did not impact this review. I do not do paid reviews, and my opinions are my own.

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: As noted above, Ultimate Seduction is an extrait that comes in a 100 ml bottle for €195 or $225. In the U.S.: Osswald NY should get the perfume in a few weeks. You can check their LM Parfums page at that point to see if Ultimate Seduction has arrived in store. Outside the U.S.: Ultimate Seduction is currently available from several European vendors, with more to follow shortly. At this time, you can buy Ultimate Seduction directly from LM Parfums and Laurent Mazzone’s separate perfume retailer, Premiere Avenue, which currently has a 10% off code for the fragrance until May 20th, 2014. The same 10% discount also applies to the 5 ml decant sample of Ultimate Seduction which is normally priced at €19. In terms of other retailers, Ultimate Seduction is currently available at First in Fragrance (which is also selling a sample, though perhaps smaller in size), Paris’ Jovoy, and the Netherlands’ ParfuMaria. In the U.K., Harvey Nichols is the exclusive distributor of LM Parfums, but I don’t see Ultimate Seduction listed on their page at this time. The LM Parfums line is also available at Essenza Nobile, the Netherland’s Silks Cosmetics, and Italy’s Alla Violetta. In the Middle East, I found most of the LM Parfums line at the UAE’s Souq perfume site. It should also be sold at any Harvey Nichols in the area, as that is one of the LM Parfums’ distributors. For all other countries, you can find a vendor near you from Switzerland to Belgium, Spain, Lithuania, Russia, Romania, Croatia, Azerbaijan, and more, by using the LM Parfums Partner listing. Laurent Mazzone or LM Parfums fragrances are widely available throughout Europe. Samples: In the U.S., you can obtain a sample from Osswald, once the perfume arrives in their store. Their Sample Program is based on the price of the fragrance with a 3-order minimum and free domestic shipping. A sample of a fragrance in Ultimate Seduction’s price range ($200-$299) is $6 for a 2 ml spray vial. Outside the U.S., some of the sites listed above, like First in Fragrance, sell samples as well. ParfuMaria has quite an extensive sample program that you may want to look into.

Robert Piguet Knightsbridge (Harrods Exclusive)

Posted on May 21, 2014 by Kafkaesque

I generally try to avoid covering fragrances with unbearably limited distribution, and Knightsbridge by Robert Piguet certainly qualifies for that description. It is a scent that is available in only one place on earth, now and forever. Harrods London. In a happier universe, Harrods would ship worldwide, but it doesn’t, which makes reviews like this mostly an exercise in curiosity, masochism, or both.

Source: robertpiguetparfums.blogspot.com

Unfortunately, intellectual curiosity is one of my besetting flaws, and there has been some talk in perfumista circles about of this elusive, supposedly incomparable fragrance. Mark Behnke, a chap I respect, found it to be the best release of 2013 when he was at CaFleureBon. And a dear friend of mine seems to love it. So, when a Paris friend was travelling to London, I asked if he would get me a sample to assuage my curiosity. He sent me a lovely portion, which I’ve been testing and I thought I’d share my conclusions. (I also ended up with samples of Harrods’ exclusive Creed and Bond No. 9 creations, too. I don’t cover Bond No. 9, so that one will never be reviewed, but the Creed might be, perhaps.)

Knightsbridge is an eau de parfum that was created by Aurélien Guichard and released in 2013. According to Mark Behnke’s full review, Robert Piguet’s Creative Director, Joe Garces, asked Mr. Guichard to create a fragrance that replicated the scent of Harrods at 2 a.m. Personally, I’m not sure I want to smell like a department store after hours, since my imagination does not conjure up good things, but rest assured that Knightsbridge does not smell like a cleaning crew swiping down counters with Windex or industrial disinfectant.

Harrods interior. Source: boards.cruisecritic.com

Harrods describes Knightsbridge as follows:

In tribute to Harrods of London, Robert Piguet has created an exclusive new fragrance. Composed of some of the most expensive fine fragrance elements, Knightsbridge de Robert Piguet is sure to dazzle wearers with its opulent presence.

The perfume opens with creamy notes of nutmeg and rose before a sumptuous heart of sandalwood and orris transitions into a rich base of leather and tonka bean.

Fragrantica categorizes Knightsbridge as a “leather” fragrance, and confirms that its list of notes is:

nutmeg, rose, sandalwood, orris, leather and tonka bean.

Source: winemag.com

I’ve stared at that list of notes repeatedly, and like a crazy person, blinking in utter bewilderment because what I detect emanating from my skin for the first 5 hours smells neither like a “leather” fragrance, nor what that list led me to expect. The main and immediate thing that I smell when Knightsbridge opens on my skin is…. booze. Massive amounts of boozy cognac infused with fruit, to be precise. In fact, to be really specific, massive amounts of boozy cognac infused with dark fruits and Concord grapes that smell as though a methyl anthranilate synthetic had been used or fruited, purple, patchouli molasses.

Methyl anthranilate. Source: Wikipedia

I don’t understand any of it. I’ve tested Knightsbridge 3 times now, and every single time there is a powerful boozy note that runs through a good portion of the perfume’s development on my skin. None of the reviews or comments that I’ve read for the fragrance mention it. And nothing in the notes should warrant either cognac nor fruitiness, let alone Concord grapes, fruit-chouli, or the spiced apples that later appear. The list doesn’t include any amber synthetic to trigger a cognac-like warmth, and I don’t believe roses naturally carry methyl anthranilate. I checked with my friend who obtained my sample, and there is absolutely no doubt that he got Knightsbridge, not some other fragrance by accident.

As I’ve mentioned, I suffer from intellectual curiosity (and an even bigger case of OCD), so I did some research, and eventually found Robert Piguet’s company blog. There, tucked away in the archives, was description of a luncheon held at Harrods to celebrate Knightsbridge’s release. Specifically, talk of a dessert that included a Calvados crème anglaise sauce to symbolise or parallel the perfume:

The luncheon menu was created to link the ingredients in each course with the notes in Knightsbridge de Robert Piguet. The first course of Cornish crab and mango salad with raspberry and chervil dressing, followed by the entrée of roast brill with courgette piperade, spinach and nutmeg sauce and ending on a sweet finale of spiced apple bread and butter pudding with Calvados anglaise was designed to highlight Knightsbridge de Robert Piguet’s top note of nutmeg and rose, middle note of sandalwood and orris and base note of leather and tonka bean. [Emphasis added by me.]

Calvados apple brandy. Source: NYTimes.

Calvados is a golden liqueur like cognac that is made from apples, while crème anglaise is a vanilla sauce. I definitely smelled the latter from the middle to end phase of Knightsbridge, along with the spiced apples that took over the cognac’s undertones. So, whatever is actually in Knightsbridge, at least Robert Piguet itself seems to recognize red fruits, spiced fruits, and cognac as elements similar to those in the perfume. In short, perhaps the company has followed the path of several other houses (Profumum and Stephane Humbert Lucas 777, I’m looking directly at you!) in having a very truncated, abbreviated list of notes. It’s either that, or I truly am crazy.

“Bleeding Rose” by April Koehler. Source: redbubble.com

Getting back to Knightsbridge, there are other elements interwoven in the unexpected blast of cognac and dark, syrupy fruits. Iris is threaded lightly throughout, smelling buttery and, on occasion, slightly powdery. Much more significant, however, is the rose which feels very fruity and dark, thanks to that grape-y molasses or patchouli. Small hints of tonka vanilla dart in and out, adding a softness to the strongly boozy bouquet. The nutmeg is equally muted, smelling more like an occasional whiff of abstract spiciness than anything else.

Source: JAR Facebook

The most interesting thing for me initially is the iris, and how it plays off the other notes. It’s a very cool element, almost like the “cold stone” description that a friend of mine sometimes uses to describe iris scents. Yes, there is a buttery element, but that fades quite a bit after the first few minutes pass, leaving a stony coldness that contrasts greatly with the heated warmth of the fruited cognac, as well as the undercurrent of spicy richness.

From afar, Knightsbridge’s opening bouquet on my skin is a very saturated, deep bouquet of boozy, fruited cognac with jammy, blood-red roses, lightly flecked with cold, stony irises, abstract spices, and a touch of tonka vanilla. There is no leather on my skin — either actual or the abstract suggestion thereof. Instead, there is a very sticky, thick and dark undercurrent that runs through the fragrance. The extreme fruitiness of the scent makes it feel like a very molasses-like, purple patchouli, but there are also occasional, tiny flashes of something darker, possibly resinous, as well.

Source: stockhdwallpapers.com

For all its richness and strength, Knightsbridge doesn’t feel opaque, but airy and lightweight. I applied the equivalent of 2 small sprays from an actual bottle, and Knightsbridge initially wafted a good 4 inches above my skin in the opening moments. Using the equivalent of 1 spray (or 2 spritzes from my little atomizer), the opening sillage was only a bit less. In all cases, however, the strength of the perfume’s boozy cognac blast comes across very strong, heady, and rich. And, in all cases as well, the sillage soon drops, resulting in a fragrance that has only moderate projection when taken as an overall whole.

At times, especially when smelt from afar, it seems as though Knightsbridge’s opening bouquet doesn’t change for quite a while, but, if you pay close attention, you will notice small changes. 30 minutes into the perfume’s development, the vanilla grows stronger and, by the end of the first hour, it rises up fully from the base. At the same time, the Concord grapes become substantially weaker, and even the boozy cognac takes a small step back. That allows some of the other elements to shine forth in a more individually distinct way, like, for example, the roses which leap forward in strength. The nutmeg also becomes a little more prominent, but the stony iris seems to have largely disappeared.

Source: RGPeixoto on Flickr. (Website link embedded within photo.)

At the end of the first hour and the start of the second, the overall impression from afar has changed. Instead of cognac leading the way, Knightsbridge’s main focus now seems to be a very rich, heavy rose fragrance infused with syrupy, sweet, dark fruits and fruited booze. I can see why the scent is so popular in some quarters, but little of it is my personal cup of tea at this point other than the cognac. In the absence of any leather, and only a momentary, minute, tertiary flash of iris, the first hour is merely another boozy fragrance with patchouli-like jammy roses and dark fruits — and lord knows, there are plenty of those about.

One of the reasons for my early unenthusiasm is that I detected a distinct whiff of synthetics on two of my three tests of the perfume. I’ve struggled greatly with some of Robert Piguet’s new or newly reformulated scents because they seem to use a lot of synthetics, including cheap musk. I’ll spare you a recount of my trauma at the hands of Mademoiselle Piguet with its juxtaposition of bug spray, painfully bitter greenness, and excessive sweetness, but that was not the only fragrance with which I have struggled. (Baghari was extremely unpleasant and synthetic as well, and I was not keen on Calypso, either.)

Concord Grape Jam. Source: Tasty Yummies blog. (Link to website embedded within photo.)

Knightsbridge is a much higher quality, more luxurious smelling fragrance than several of its siblings (especially the utterly heinous Mademoiselle Piguet), but it was occasionally a problem when sniffed up close for too long. In fact, in my first test, I was quite literally cross-eyed at one point from a migraine. At first, I couldn’t figure out if the issue was a white musk (always one of my bête noires in high doses) because there is a very subtle whiff of cleanness underlying Knightsbridge’s opening hour. I think that may actually be the iris note, and that the real problem is perhaps the methyl anthranilate or whatever causes that grape-y nuance.

Interestingly, though, the synthetic aspect was not a problem when I applied much more of the fragrance. At a higher dosage, the aromachemical that caused me grief was not at all apparent. This is something that I’ve noticed with a good number of other fragrances that contain synthetics: they smell significantly better with larger doses, because that amplifies the other accords and lets them shine forth, thereby hiding the problematic elements in the base. The same trend applies to Knightsbridge as well. However, as I always try to make clear, I’m much more sensitive than the average person to synthetics, and many people don’t even notice them, so you probably won’t have any issues at all.

Source: Normann Copenhagen. (Link to blog site with recipe for mousse embedded within photo.)

While Knightsbridge’s opening stage left me utterly unimpressed with anything but the cognac, let me say clearly and bluntly that the rest of it is lovely, especially the drydown. At the start of the 3rd hour, the tonka vanilla becomes almost as prominent a note on my skin as the generic, jammy, dark rose. In fact, it is largely thanks to the vanilla that the rest of the perfume is so wonderfully appealing. Long before I read the Robert Piguet luncheon description, particularly the dessert that they chose to parallel Knightsbridge, I wrote in my notes that the tonka was positively silky, and like a coating of smooth, rich vanilla sauce made from real Madagascar pods mixed with fluffy, airy cream. When I read about the Piguet dessert having a crème anglaise sauce, I had to smile because that is exactly the aroma (and taste) that I detected as well.

Photo: my own.

At the start of the 3rd hour, the vanilla hovers just on the edge of overshadowing the rose, but it isn’t quite there yet. Instead, it blankets and coats the jammy, fruity, red petals, and slides into the booze. The latter has started to change as well, losing almost all of its grape-y undertones and taking on a distinct whiff of spiced apples. It is as though the liqueur has turned into Calvados, instead of mere cognac. The end result is a bouquet of vanilla-rose jam, lightly spritzed with Calvados, and holding the promise of more vanilla to come. None of it feels gourmand to me, by the way; Knightsbridge may be too fruity for my personal tastes, but it’s not sweet enough to fall anywhere close to the dessert category. Instead, it is simply a very rich, luxurious smelling fragrance with a truly stunning tonka note atop a dark, boozy base.

Source: dailymail.co.uk

The real changes and beauty of the scent arise after the start of the 4th hour. Knightsbridge turns gauzy and thin, with reduced sillage that lies just above the skin, though the perfume is still strong enough for avoid the “skin scent” label for a little while longer. To my surprise, the rose has faded quite dramatically, and now trails behind the vanilla and Calvados as the main note. There is still no leather of any kind on my skin, and the spiciness has retreated to the sidelines. The booziness, however, has made a major comeback on my skin, and it’s really lovely with the vanilla.

Lurking deep in the base is something new. There is a note akin to brown patchouli which appears about 4.5 hours into Knightsbridge’s development, the sort of patchouli that I love. It’s red-gold-brown in visual colour, while being spicy, warm, and lightly woody in smell. There is the tiniest suggestion of a tobacco nuance underlying it as well, just as in old-school, conventional, brown patchouli.

Photo: Randy Mayor. Source: myrecipes.com

Knightsbridge continues to grow softer and more abstract. All lingering traces of the rose vanishes at the end of the 5th hour, while the rest of the notes blur into each other, and the subtle nuances fade. By the middle of the 7th hour, Knightsbridge is a boozy, warm, vanilla crème anglaise with whiffs of spiced apples emanating from the cognac. To quote that description of the dessert meant to parallel Knightsbridge at Robert Piguet’s celebratory luncheon, it is “a sweet finale of spiced apple bread and butter pudding with Calvados anglaise[.]” And it truly is a lovely sweet finale, one filled with coziness, softness, and comforting warmth. It’s not a particular strong scent at this point, merely a sheer, light one, but Knightsbridge isn’t too hard to detect if you bring your nose to your arm.

Knightsbridge remains a Calvados vanilla scent for the rest of the drydown. In its final moments, it is nothing more than a blurry smear of boozy sweetness. All in all, Knightsbridge lasted roughly 10.75 hours with a larger dosage, and 9.5 with a smaller one. The overall sillage varied between moderate and soft, depending on how much fragrance I used. While the opening bouquet always had excellent projection for the first hour or so, and while scent felt very robust at that point, I wouldn’t use my “Wagnerian” classification to describe Knightsbridge as a whole.

Source: wallpaperscraft.com

As noted earlier, I haven’t seen anyone describe Knightsbridge as a boozy fragrance in the few reviews or comments that are out there. In a Basenotes discussion thread that was created upon news of the Knightsbridge’s release, there is only one commentator who describes how the perfume actually smells. “Kagey” writes:

Knightsbridge has a definite Visa-like feel to it – that smooth leather with a creamy backdrop of vanilla, with iris and something else – it smells almost like fruit or spiced flowers. It’s nice but I don’t think I need it.

Over at CaFleureBon, Michelyn Camen describes Knightsbridge in much the same way, but she joins Mark Behnke in putting the perfume in first place in their annual, year-end post on the best fragrances of 2013. There, she writes:

I was enthralled by the rich leather at the base, (the best buttery leather accord I have smelled in years and don’t get me started on the creamy sandalwood). Knightsbridge’s opulent orris heart stole mine. This is the best fragrance from Perfumer Aurelien Guichard for Piguet since Visa and in my opinion his best work to date.

Iris. Photo via free-desktop-backgrounds.net, then edited by me.

I haven’t tried Visa in order to compare, but I do have a general memory of another fragrance to which Knightsbridge has sometimes been compared: Dior‘s Homme. According to that Basenotes’ discussion thread that I quoted earlier, “word on the street” has it that the two fragrances are similar. Now, my memory of Dior Homme is admittedly a little faded, but I don’t think Knightsbridge is similar based upon what happened on my skin. For one thing, Dior Homme is not a scent that I would describe as heavily boozy. For another, on me, Knightsbridge is not an iris-centric fragrance, there is no cocoa or patchouli, and it’s not leathered in any way at all.

Getting back to other people’s experiences with Knightsbridge, Mark Behnke’s earlier, full review describes the scent in terms of an imaginary stroll through Harrod’s:

[A]s I walk towards the Haute Parfumerie the last lingering persistent note of a day of perfumistas sampling the wares is that of a rose. The rose has a bit of nutmeg to accentuate the spicy facets within the rose. As … I pass through the beauty section I smell the iris in the powder. M. Guichard has something richer in mind and he captures the iris with a completely decadent orris butter that is so rooty and opulent you just don’t want it to end. Paired with a creamy sandalwood this is what luxury means as this feels like the finest silk sliding through my hand with a frisson on my fingertips. Before I get to the front of the store I stop and breathe deep at the Louis Vuitton display and the smell of the finest leather meets me. I try on a pair of gloves and bring it to my face inhaling deep. The choice of tonka to support the leather accord makes a perfect ending to my night alone in Harrod’s.

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

On Fragrantica, there are only two reviews for Knightsbridge, and both are positive.

Absolutely stunning. Has a really classic yet modern feel to it. The rose is prominent at the start with a warm spicy background. It develops into a warm, balmy concoction that pleases my nose. Surprisingly it’s mildly reminiscent of ‘Calypso’ but much more rich and slightly more masculine. I’m a man who is more than happy to wear a ‘woman’s’ perfume(I hate the labels, if it smells nice I say wear it), but with this I feel there is finally a woody, balmy floral that most men could wear.

this fragrance has the soul of other Piguet’s fragrances such as the creamy accord of Baghari, rose accord from Rose Perfection, Woody accord of Futur, and Animalic accord of Bandit. [¶][…] one note that is particularly noticeable is Iris and it is the closest to the iris accord in dior homme of any fragrance i have smelled so far..but there is a twist..the iris in Dior Homme is sparkling whereas it is resinous in Knightsbridge.

Well, all I can say is that I obviously had a very different experience from everyone else. There was nothing animalic or Bandit-like at all about Knightsbridge on me, almost nothing woody, very little iris, and definitely no leather. I also had a different longevity issue than some of the people on Fragrantica, where Knightsbridge has one vote for “poor” longevity, and another one for “weak.” On the other hand, I can see why the majority votes for sillage are tied between “soft” (2 votes) and “moderate” (also 2 votes).

As a whole, I think Knightsbridge is a good, solid scent with a lovely drydown, but I don’t share the wild love for it that I’ve seen amongst some people I respect. I can’t think of a way to put things diplomatically, so I’ll just say that we all have different skin and experiences — and my experience would not qualify Knightsbridge for my Top 10 of the year. What I smelled was very enjoyable at times, but I don’t find anything particularly interesting, original, clever, or unique about either jammy, fruit-chouli roses with cognac, even if they are lightly flecked with a light touch of iris for about 40 minutes. And lord knows, there are plenty of nicely done, boozy vanillas on the market.

In all honesty, I think some of my feelings are — consciously or subconsciously — influenced by Knightsbridge’s extremely limited accessibility. The thing is, I simply did not experience anything distinctive or superlative enough to go to great lengths to obtain a bottle from Harrods. The perfume costs £150 which comes to roughly $253 at today’s rate of exchange, so to harness the efforts of a perfume mule who will buy it blindly for you and lug it back in their suitcase seems like the sort of effort warranted only for a truly exceptional, unique fragrance. Knightsbridge does not rise to that level, in my opinion.

It would be different if Knightsbridge were widely available. In that case, I’d definitely encourage everyone who loves roses, tonka, and booziness to give it a passing test sniff, especially in light of its lovely drydown. I wouldn’t wear Knightsbridge myself, but I think a good number of you would enjoy it very much, even if you didn’t think it was the most spectacular perfume you’d tried all year. Unfortunately, given Knightsbridge’s exclusivity and Harrod’s refusal to ship outside the U.K., I don’t think the fragrance is really worth substantial effort.

All of that is a subjective, personal valuation, however. Those who love the notes in question — whether the ones that I encountered, the Dior Homme concoction, or Mark Behnke’s rose-iris-leather-vanilla combination — may feel very differently. In which case, I hope you know someone who is travelling to London and willing to be your perfume mule.

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: As noted, Knightsbridge is exclusive to Harrods, now and forever. The perfume is an eau de parfum that comes in a 100 ml bottle and costs £150. Harrods does not ship (“export” in their words) outside of the U.K., and the perfume will never be offered at any other site, not even Robert Piguet’s own website. I have not seen Knightsbridge offered on any of the American decanting sites. My own sample was a gift from a friend.