Serge Lutens Une Voix Noire: Billie Holiday’s Gardenia

Posted on August 25, 2013 by Kafkaesque

Photo: “52nd Street, New York, N.Y.,” circa 1948, by William P. Gottlieb.

Last call was hours ago, and the nightclub is closing down. In the harsh glare of the neon overhead lights, the room — once so entrancingly mysterious and secretive — now looks merely seedy. The tables are littered with the remnants of glasses, many holding the congealed thick dregs of a brownish liquid, and a few used in place of an ashtray. The stale smell of cigarette smoke lingers in the air, and in overflowing ashtrays all over the room.

Dexter Gordon. 1948. Photo: Herman Leonard via vk.com

Up on the black, velvet-draped stage, a lone musician has stayed behind his band mates, sitting on a crate and holding his saxophone with a cigarette dangling from his mouth. He looks up at the singer who has returned to retrieve her gardenia from where she tossed it out into the dark room filled with her adoring fans. She finds it at one of the rickety tables closest to the stage, fallen into an almost-empty glass of scotch and cigarettes. It’s dying, covered in brown juices and ashes, and with its once-bright, velvety petals curled up at the edges. Yet, in the midst of all the booze and smoke, it still releases a rich, sweet smell that lingers in the air like a kiss before dying.

Billie Holiday. Source: Soundcloud.com

The images that fill my mind when I wear Une Voix Noire from Serge Lutens are the exact ones that he intends you feel. The perfume is an intentional homage to Billie Holiday, whose beautiful, dark voice thrilled so many and who was known for the gardenia that she wore tucked behind her ear. Une Voix Noire (“A Dark Voice” or “A Black Voice”) is a gardenia soliflore — a perfume centered around one dominant note — which seeks to replicate the feel of Ms. Holiday in the smoky nightclubs she packed to the rafters by imbuing the floral with tobacco and boozy alcohol. Sometimes, it feels laden with rum, often it feels like rum mixed with scotch, but it is always paired with a smoky tobacco, and the two elements transform the gardenia into something very unusual. This is not your fresh, bright, green or white gardenia. This is a flower that has the richness of age, and the melancholy of the dying.

Une Voix Noire is an eau de parfum that was created with Lutens’ favorite perfumer, Christopher Sheldrake, and released in 2012. Though it is a Paris Exclusive bell jar, the fragrance is available in the U.S. at Barneys in New York, or anywhere in the world directly from the Lutens website. “Le Grand Serge” describes the fragrance succinctly but extremely accurately:

The stars rise in chorus. The night sky is filled with the light of the moon.

Une voix noire : jazz, drinks and the night, and, beyond all that, a troubling line of white, gardenia-scented smoke.

As always, the full list of notes in a Serge Lutens fragrance are unknown but, at a minimum, they consist of:

Gardenia, Tobacco, and Boozy Alcohol notes.

Source: SnapperOne Blogspot. http://snapperone.blogspot.com/2011_05_29_archive.html

Une Voix Noire opens on my skin with gardenia and rum, followed moments later by tobacco. It is a brown gardenia, on the edge of decay, and with its petals wilted. It’s drenched with the remnants of last night’s alcohol, the final dregs turned caramel, potent, and a little sharp. There is a pungent acridness underlying the brown liqueur in these early moments: ashes. Someone stubbed out their cigarette in that almost empty glass of scotch and rum. Together, the stale smokiness and concentrated, slightly bitter booziness sharply evoke the feel of a nightclub after last call. You can almost see that empty room filled with smoke and the sad lingering note of the clarinet hanging in the air as servers buss away the dirty tables.

Source: Scoopweb.com

Underneath it all, gleaming a tobacco-stained cream colour, is the gardenia. The decayed, brown nature of the flower renders it all the more concentrated, ripe, and full-bodied as compared to its vibrant, living version with its bright freshness. Yet, that tobacco stain is flecked with an interesting colour: purple. Streaking its way across the creamy, velvet petals is the purple of dark, sweet Concord grapes, and perhaps a tinge of pink strawberry as well. This is a dying gardenia that opens with fruited notes, in what I’m guessing is a clear manipulation of the indoles at the flower’s creamy heart. The way that Christopher Sheldrake deconstructed the tuberose flower in Tubereuse Criminelle, manipulating the indoles and methyl salicylate to bring out the flower’s chilly, medicinal side, so too has he played around with the gardenia.

Source: co.marketmaker.uiuc.edu

One of the natural organic compounds in gardenia is methyl anthranilate which also exists in Concord grapes. According to Wikipedia, as a synthetized aroma-chemical, it is also used a lot in perfumery. Whether here, in Une Voix Noire, the grape element comes from the natural side of gardenia or something else, I don’t know, but the floral component in the fragrance is definitely fleshed out by the sweetness of fruit.

Source: rededgeimages.com

Twenty five minutes in, the tobacco note grows substantially more intense. Une Voix Noire now smells like the bottom of an ashtray into which booze was accidentally spilled. The gardenia is there, but it’s lying below the cigarette butts. It’s a disconcerting scent, and part of me recoils sharply from it. I’m not a fan of stale, fetid, acrid ashtray notes. Yet, there is more to Une Voix Noire, and one can’t so easily dismiss it on the basis of the surface notes. That gardenia gleams too richly at the fragrance’s core, and its sweet richness is incredibly heady. And, in a symbolic parallel, the sillage of Une Voix Noire matches the dark, smoky, husky forcefulness of Billie Holiday’s voice, as the fragrance is very potent at first.

Billie Holiday. Photo: Herman Leonard. Source: morrisonhotelgallery.com

I can see why some bloggers have said that the unusual amalgamation of notes requires patience, time, and openness before the fragrance’s strange beauty shines through and overtakes you. Though I can see it and understand it intellectually, the scent still throws me off-balance emotionally. Perfume reviews are a subjective, emotional, personal thing at their core, and we all project something of ourselves into how we interpret smells. Still, I’ve struggled with how to express the emotions it inspires in a way that doesn’t sound excessive. I know I’ll fail because, for me, Une Voix Noire evokes the final, last moments of an aging beauty before she dies. I find an incredibly melancholic, wistful sadness to the wilted, drooping, curled, brown petals of a once vibrant, glowing, fully erect flower. The ravages of the smoke and drink don’t help.

Ninety minutes into Une Voix Noire’s development, the proud, aging flower feels buried at times under the weight of ashes. The boozy notes have receded in dominance, leaving an increased dryness. On occasion, there is almost a leathery nuance to the tobacco, adding to its tough forcefulness. It accentuates the melancholy of Une Voix Noire for me. Like the volcano at Vesuvio spewing out its ashes over Pompeii, the smoky nightclub has covered the gardenia, drowning out its sweetness. Even its deep, booming voice has been muffled a little, as the sillage drops and Une Voix Noire hovers quietly just a few inches above the skin. All the notes, except the tobacco, feel blurred and less distinct. Somewhere in the background, the lone musician in that empty bar is playing a mournful, single note on his saxophone in the smoky room.

Source: Trumpetland.com

At the end of the third hour, Une Voix Noire is a skin scent, but somehow, it feels as though a ray of hopeful light has started to shine through the smoke. The gardenia starts to fight back, brushing off the blanket of ashes, and rising to take a stand. Billie Holiday and her flower have come to take over center stage, returning Une Voix Noire to a gardenia scent with just a tinge of smoky sweetness. At the 4.5 hour mark, the fragrance is soft gardenia with tobacco that has almost a nutty, sweet undertone to it. There is a hint of a vanillic resin, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Siam benzoin with its slightly smoky sweetness were at play. Soon, Une Voix Noire is merely just a dusky gardenia that’s infused with slightly vanillic sweetness. The tobacco has receded to the edges, leaving only a nutty residue behind. In its final moments, the fragrance is a nutty, husky whisper of a flower mixed with vanilla. All in all, Une Voix Noire lasted 10.5 hours on my skin with generally moderate sillage that turned into a soft, gauzy skin scent at the start of the fourth hour.

Source: SnapperOne Blogspot.

As noted up above, Une Voix Noire evokes a lot of sadness for me. Perfumes generally transport me places, or conjure up visuals. They rarely make me feel blue and melancholic. Perhaps some of it stems from my own personal issues; I fear the death of those I love, and that becomes more inevitable as you (and they) grow older. Rational or irrational as it may be, Une Voix Noire feels as though it’s about aged beauty, twilight years, and a kiss before dying. It’s not only me, though my feelings and interpretation are much, much more extreme or blue than others. Mark Behnke of CaFleureBon also found Une Voix Noire to be quite wistful:

as the rum accord rises the gardenia takes on a wistful quality, a world-weary floral having a shot at the bar before closing down for the day. The tobacco adds the nicotinic headiness missing from the gardenia and it takes Une Voix Noire deeper into that good night. […] After I moved my expectations of a bluesy riff on gardenia out of the way and took the time to appreciate the creativity of focusing on the dying moments of the gardenia on display in Une Voix Noire; that was when it came alive for me.

For Bois de Jasmin, Une Voix Noire took some time to show its “unpredictable” beauty and sweetness, but she grew to love it:

I admit that this Lutens wasn’t love at first inhale the way Bois de Violette or De Profundis have been for me. I anticipated the heady, the dark and the bittersweet, and I missed them in this soft perfume. Nevertheless, I’m glad that I went along for the ride, because Une Voix Noire forced me to take our courtship slowly and to fall in love with it one layer at a time. […][¶]

Une Voix Noire is not a heady big white floral like Tom Ford Velvet Gardenia or Frédéric Malle Carnal Flower. There is nothing of the dewy, fresh blossom about it, and although the gardenia impression is obvious, it’s a flower on the brink of turning brown. It smells caramelized and woody, with a lingering sweetness that makes me think of chestnut honey and gingerbread. […]

What sways me the most about Une Voix Noire is its ability to weave a story. It’s unpredictable, yes, but every element of this perfume is compelling and beautiful. It’s a blossom that spent most of its life on someone’s corsage, rather than on a branch in the garden.

Others are transported by Une Voix Noire’s story too. On Basenotes, where the fragrance has an 89% rating and seems quite a hit with some guys, my favorite review comes from the commentator, “Diamondflame,” who writes:

A floral incense or an incense floral? Probably neither. And that’s exactly where the beauty of UNE VOIX NOIRE lies. It is sweet, it is smoky, it is floral. It refuses to be pigeonholed, adroitly straddling across known sub-genres. It is a deconstructed gardenia, bereft of indoles, interwoven with similarly synthetic supporting players – smoke, vinyl, metal, etc. Amazingly the composition works; the sum of individual parts being somehow greater than the whole. I really do not know what these have to do with Billie Holiday but if the back-story is anything to go by, I’m almost sold. I could picture myself in the early 1950s, slow-dancing in a shadowed corner of a club, breathing in the strange yet familiar mixture of exhaled smoke and the intoxicating fragrance of a female companion in my arms, enjoying the haunting vocals of a jazz legend. While this is probably not the easiest fragrance to wrap your head around I find it compelling, an evocative reinterpretation of classic film noir and femme fatales much in the same vein as Tabac Blond and Habanita. I applaud the house for taking this bold step outside its comfort zone.

Fragrantica commentators are more mixed in their feelings. Some dislike it immensely, in part due to the tobacco and, in part, due to a perception that the fragrance has a dirty “civet” note. For a few, the fragrance is merely a dull, boring gardenia, and little else. A number of people find various fruity notes in Une Voix Noire, ranging from peach to raspberry, strawberry, and even something a little grapey. Others pick up a metallic undertone, as did Bois de Jasmin. One commentator finds the Lutens fragrance similar to By Kilian‘s Beyond Love, but thinks Une Voix Noire is superior in both its dark and light notes. Going by the overall vote bars, far more people seem to “dislike” the fragrance than “like” it.

I don’t think Une Voix Noire is an easy fragrance. Like most of the Lutens’ Bell Jar perfumes, it is deceptively complex and requires patience to let its sometimes thorny beauty unfold. And, like almost all the Lutens’ Paris exclusives, Une Voix Noire seems to be a “love it or hate it” proposition. I don’t hate it at all but, for me, personally, the wistful melancholy at the fragrance’s heart is a little too much, as is the ashtray element that I experienced for a few hours. I’ve rarely seen other people talk about the tobacco manifesting itself that way on them, so it’s obviously an issue of skin chemistry. Still, regardless of how the tobacco comes out, Une Voix Noire is a fragrance that sings on a few different levels. Strange, raspy, dark, dusky, haunting, heady, sweet, and endlessly smoky, it feels like the very essence of Billie Holiday with her velvet gardenia. The lady sings the blues.

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: Un Voix Noire is an eau de parfum that is available only in a 2.5 oz/75 ml bell jar which retails for $300 or €140. You can buy it directly from the U.S. Serge Lutens website or from the International one.

In the U.S.: Un Voix Noire is sold exclusively at Barney’s New York store for $300.

Personal Shopper Options: 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 Une Voix Noire is considerably cheaper at €140 from the French Lutens website, the International one, 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 Un Voix Noire from Surrender to Chance starting at $3.99 for a 1/2 ml vial. It is also available as part of a Five Piece Non-Export Sampler Set, where you can choose 5 Lutens Paris Exclusives for a starting price of $18.99 for a 1/2 ml.

Perfume News: 2013 Fragrance Sales Figures, Revenue & Fragrance Markets

Posted on August 24, 2013 by Kafkaesque

I’m always interested in the financial side of the fragrance industry, even though I sometimes can’t make heads or tails of the specific fine point and details. I recently found some numbers for a few of the corporate giants like Givaudan whose ingredients are often the building blocks for the perfumes we wear and whose perfumers create some of the many fine fragrances released each year. The numbers demonstrate something we already knew: traditional Western fragrance markets are weakening, and the future for many perfume companies lies in emerging markets. [Update: In 2014, I took a more in-depth look at a number of Western perfume markets, from Germany to the Netherlands, France, Italy and the UK, but also examined the Indian perfume industry and the Middle Eastern one. There is also a look at the revenue figures for various industry leaders like LVMH, Givaudan, and IFF. You can read all that at: The Global Fragrance Industry. There are also posts on the massive Brazilian market, the Chinese and Japanese ones, and a 2/2014 post on the U.S. market. In another 2014 post focused more on the niche market in the context of Frederic Malle, the second half talks about Estée Lauder, L’Oreal, Elizabeth Arden, Coty, and P&G.]

What’s interesting is that Latin America is one of those emerging markets, but the Asian one isn’t quite as strong as everyone may think. In fact, analytical reports from the Euromonitor indicate both the Chinese and Japanese perfume sectors are impacted by socio-cultural issues regarding fragrance use. Still, some of the numbers involved in terms of overall, global perfume sales and revenues are astronomical. Please note, however, that almost all of the articles below focus on the more established and significantly larger commercial fragrance market, not the niche one.

Continue reading →

Nasomatto Black Afgano

Posted on August 19, 2013 by Kafkaesque

Source: Nathan Branch.

I never thought I’d spend time researching hashish for a perfume blog, but it seems to be an unavoidable aspect of Black Afgano, the famous, slightly notorious fragrance from the Dutch niche house, Nasomatto. It’s a pure parfum that supposedly seeks to replicate the effects of hashish and, perhaps, even its actual smell. The whole thing is done in a very wink-wink, coy manner, right down to the perfume’s ingredients which are kept secret and which some jokingly claim include a little bit of the drug.

Some people aren’t joking about it, though, and they genuinely believe Black Afgano contains hashish or cannabis. (Technically, there is a difference between hashish and cannabis.) I find the possibility extremely amusing and hard to swallow, but they may have a reason for their conviction. According to the Nathan Branch blog, at the time of Black Afgano’s release, there was much “talk about how perfumer Alessandro Gualtieri spent several years experimenting with actual Afghanistan hashish (even “smuggling” it to his lab) in order to make a perfume that either features the essence of hashish or smells somewhat like the stuff[.]” Like me, he also dismisses the likelihood of hashish as a note, saying “that strikes me as more a fantasy story that’s good for generating hipster buzz.” Still, the bottom line is that hashish and Black Afgano seem intertwined, whether in terms of the perfume’s description or in terms of people’s expectations. A number of people truly expect to smell cannabis, and, for some, those expectations led to disappointment and harsh criticism.

Hashish via fadedfools.com

I’ve never done drugs of any kind, and have no familiarity with hashish or its related, supposedly weaker counterpart, cannabis. In Europe, however, everyone knows about Amsterdam’s open stance on drugs, and I had quite a few high-school classmates who’d tried the city’s famous hash brownies (or who… er… exported… other souvenirs of their trip). I knew full well the visuals, even if I didn’t experience the product, and I have to say, the visuals are dead-on for Black Afgano. The scent, though, was a surprise, and nothing like what I had expected. In a nutshell, Black Afgano is a very nice amber oriental dominated by medicinal oud, incense, nutty labdanum, chewy tobacco, patchouli, and vanilla. A wholly conventional, if potent and super-rich, oriental — and hardly the dangerous, completely daring, hardcore fragrance that I had expected. In fact, it strongly reminded me of another, earlier, much more pioneering, and genuinely innovative oud scent: YSL‘s famous M7 in vintage form.

Source: Nathan Branch at website linked up above.

Black Afgano was created by Nasomatto’s founder, Alessandro Gualtieri, and was released in 2009. The Perfume Shoppe has a description of the scent, and its notes:

One of his boldest creation invokes the best quality of hashish. It is the result of a quest to arouse the effects of temporary bliss. The fragrance’s description (“smuggled” ingredients, harsh herbs, marijuana-as-incense) conjures wild thoughts yet Black Afgano’s dark brown juice is syrupy and the fragrance opens with strong aromas of oud and musk. There is also a hint of wood-scented cigarette smoke in the opening minutes of the fragrance. Black Afgano’s mid-notes develop into smelling like marijuana with a dry, herbal-leafy accord (cured tobacco) tinged with a sweet sweaty note. In the dry down Black Afgano becomes vanillic ambery with a touch of patchouli. The lasting power of Black Afgano is sensational. Bold and masculine which says “Dare to wear me”.

The specific, official elements in Black Afgano are unknown. Nasomatto doesn’t release notes for its perfumes, and lists nothing on its website. Fragrantica has nothing, either, but Luckyscent vaguely references “coffee, oud, tobacco and hash.” It seems far too minimal a list. While different blogs mention different elements, Scent Intoxique has one of the better ingredient lists, with “cannabis, herbal notes, resins, woods, coffee, tobacco, frankincense, oud.” Nonetheless, I don’t think that’s complete either, and since everyone has their own version of what is included, here is mine:

Coffee, oud, frankincense, tobacco, labdanum, herbal notes, dried fruit, wood, vetiver, vanilla, patchouli, amber resins and/or benzoin.

YSL M7.

Black Afgano opens on my skin with a blast of coffee and oud, followed quickly by tobacco, fruited raspberry and cherry notes, labdanum, and incense. There are strong undertones of both leather, and something that is aromatic but floral. In truth, it is extremely close to YSL’s fabulous, vintage M7, only more concentrated and potent (which is a plus, as M7 was incredibly sheer and short in duration on my skin). Black Afgano has the exact same cola note from the labdanum amber resin, though it’s more raspberry in nature here than in M7 where it was almost wholly cherry-like. The medicinal nature of the oud, and the manner with which it combines with the amber, incense, and slightly honeyed undertones of the labdanum, feel very close as well. There are differences, however: M7 opens with herbal lavender, juicy bergamot, and a powerful element of cardamom; it lacks even a drop of coffee, something which is quite robust in Black Afgano’s start. Yet, ultimately, M7 is hardly about the lavender or citruses, and the two fragrances have enough similarities that my jaw was a little agape.

Source: science.howstuffworks.com

Putting M7 aside, Black Afgano’s opening is quite lovely. The rich coffee feels like freshly roasted beans, as well as the somewhat wet, black grinds. The labdanum is beautiful here, showing all the reasons why it is my favorite type of amber resin. It’s dark, very nutty, just barely animalic and musky, with a tinge of dark leatheriness underlying its glowing, golden heart.

Source: colourbox.com

The other notes are lovely too. The tobacco element is similar to the sun-dried, sweet leaves in Serge Lutens‘ Chergui with their sweetly honeyed touch, but there is also a thick, almost wet feel to the note in Black Afgano. I never detect cigarette smoke or ashtrays, though. At the same time, there is a subtle suggestion of patchouli at play in Black Afgano, and it’s the dark, dirty kind which adds some rich, textured depth and chewiness to the tobacco. Flickers of dark, rooty, slightly earthy vetiver lurk in the base, while, up top, there is a surprising fruited note. It smells strongly of raspberries, with a touch of plum, and it adds another source of sweetness to counter the darker elements. The whole thing is very much like the middle and drydown stages to M7 that I’d hoped to experience in full potency, but which my wonky skin turned instead to a thin, sheer gauze. And absolutely none of it smells of hashish or cannabis….

Norlimbanol. Source: leffingwell.com

The swirl of dark, smoky, chewy, wood, incense, labdanum, and tobacco notes have something else underlying them. It almost feels like ISO E Super, but it’s not. I can’t pinpoint which precise synthetic is at play, but I know it’s there and it adds to the slightly medicinal feel of the oud. I was very relieved to have some help from the blog, Scent Intoxique, whose review of Black Afgano noted two synthetic elements:

Straight out of the bong you’re greeted with a dense aroma chemical sucker punch made up of synthetic Givaudan oud, coupled with an underpinned cedar effect in the form of Kephalis (which is an Iso-E-Super substitute, only with a more woodier/smokier feel).

Finally I can make out some quite prominent vetiver/tobacco notes, adding to the “greenness” which the general nose picks up. I may be off, but I definitely feel like I’m picking up one of the main players here and that’s Norlimbanol™, which is described as an “extremely powerful woody/animal amber note. That has a dry woody note in the patchouli direction”.

As described by Chandler Burr, “Norlimbanol is one of the most amazing scents around, a genius molecule that should be worth its weight in gold; Norlimbanol gives you, quite simply, the smell of extreme dryness, absolute desiccation, and if when you smell it, you’ll understand that instantly—the molecule is, by itself, a multi-sensory Disney ride.”

It’s this same compound which I believe gives the scent its subtle leathery undertones along with the amber.

I don’t share his enormous familiarity with either aroma-chemical, but I’d bet he’s right. That said, I would say the labdanum is also responsible for the leather nuances in Black Afgano, though they aren’t very profound or dominant on my skin. And I’m pretty sure there is actual patchouli at play as well.

Forty minutes into Black Afgano’s development, the fragrance begins to shift. The notes turn hazy, overlapping each other and creating a soft bouquet. The coffee, medicinal oud, sweet raspberry, cola, slightly honeyed tobacco, and nutty, leathered labdanum are all still there, but they’ve lost some of their edge and distinctiveness. A quiet hint of powderiness lurks underneath, and the whole thing has started to lose projection.

Painting by Holly Anderson. “Spherical Romance Art Set” via Artbarrage.com. https://www.artbarrage.com/item.php?id=656

With every hour, Black Afgano becomes quieter and quieter, though its primary overall bouquet remains on a singular, linear trajectory for many more hours to come. At the end of the second hour, the fragrance hovers just barely above the skin scent, and thirty minutes later, sits right on it. Around the same time, both the coffee and vetiver fade away entirely, the patchouli becomes much more noticeable, and a chocolate note creeps into the mix. Some aspect of the labdanum’s dark, nutty, slightly leathery characteristic has combined with the patchouli to create a definite but subtle chocolate undertone to Black Afgano. Around the 3.5 hour mark, a quiet hint of vanilla pops up in the base, and it eventually becomes much more prominent.

By the start of the fifth hour, Black Afgano is a blur of sweet woodiness with smoke. The fragrance is a well-blended hazy bouquet of medicinal oud, cola labdanum with its faintly raspberry-like undertone, patchouli, amber, incense, and vanilla, but they are really hard to tease apart. Flickers of tobacco and leather lurk at the edges, but they never feel distinct either. Soon, Black Afgano turns even more nebulous and abstract, wafting only patchouli, vanilla, and labdanum amber with faint tendrils of black incense. In its final moments, the fragrance is nothing more than the merest suggestion of patchouli with ambered sweetness.

All in all, Black Afgano lasted just short of 10.75 hours on my skin. It was nothing like the purported legend of longevity that I’d read about with its rumours of a single drop lasting for 24 or 36 hours. I know my skin is wonky and consumes perfume, but this was really a surprise, especially for a fragrance that is pure parfum extrait! A few people on a Basenotes thread reported a similarly moderate or average lifespan, but the majority find Black Afgano to have monumental longevity. My experience with the sillage, however, was wholly consistent with all the reports; everyone agrees that it is a scent that doesn’t project much and which remains very close to the skin.

part of “The Blooming Tree,” Painting by Osnat Tzadok, via osnatfineart.com
http://www.osnatfineart.com/art/landscape-paintings/6088-The-Blooming-Tree.jsp

I have very mixed feelings about Black Afgano. It wasn’t at all what I expected. In fact, I’m a bit perplexed by how Black Afgano — that supposedly hardcore, brutish, super macho, edgy, dangerous scent — makes me envision curling up in winter before a fire in a sweet, smoky, woody amber cloud, but it does. It’s a totally safe, easy, approachable, comfort fragrance for me, without any edge whatsoever. I absolutely enjoyed wearing it, and I’m pleased I have an alternative to the rare, discontinued, vintage M7 which actually lasts on my skin. Vintage M7 lasted a whopping 3.5 hours on me, and the equally discontinued, reformulated M7 was even worse! Both fragrances only felt noticeable for a mere, solitary, wholly abysmal hour, so even the soft, minimally projecting Black Afgano is a step up in that regard. And, again, it was a very pretty, even occasionally beautiful, warm, rich amber on my skin. As Now Smell This put it: “Black Afgano is a handsome oriental fragrance for men; it’s a “well-rounded” perfume with no ragged/jagged edges. Black Afgano smells more like the incense people use to cover up their pot use than it does the drug itself.”

Source: lolzparade.com

Yet, despite my enjoyment of the scent, there is the issue of hype. When I wore Black Afgano, I wondered to myself, “Is this IT??!” Even if one puts aside its similarity to other fragrances, it doesn’t feel revolutionary or edgy at all. Black Afgano has such a reputation for ferocity, and I don’t understand that given the largely soft, sweet cloud I experienced. In fact, I have to wonder if there is some sort of hipster cool or bravado swagger associated with the scent that makes people — young men, in particular — like to hype it up? Is this part of a certain subculture in the perfume world that likes to brag about “panty dropper” fragrances? Is Black Afgano the perfume equivalent of a Porsche’s penis extension symbolism for guys who thinks it makes them seem super cool, macho, and virile? Or is it all the fault of my skin which has muted the fragrance’s supposedly “beastly” roar?

Whatever the reason, I simply don’t get the fuss. Black Afgano is a perfectly lovely fragrance — one I enjoyed, in fact — but what I smelled didn’t rock my world, make me feel like a dangerous rebel, or make me lust for a bottle right away. Don’t kill me, but I could see a grandfather wearing Black Afgano in a sweater and slippers by the fire as he sips a glass of scotch, just as much as I can see a hot young guy or woman wearing it. In my opinion, Amouage‘s Tribute is the beastly, smoky, dangerous Darth Vader or Hell’s Angels of fragrances. Black Afgano could work in a NASA library.

The reactions to the scent are very interesting. There is that one small sub-group that I mentioned earlier (who are almost invariably young males) which adores to brag about the dangerous toughness of the scent. Then, there is a much larger group which simply enjoys Black Afgano’s dark, chewy, sweet-smoky, ambered nature, without regard to the perfume’s reputation. Finally, there is a massive group who seems to loathe the fragrance, either on its own merits or in conjunction with the extreme hype.

On Basenotes, the views seem very split. For example, in one thread, most of the Basenoters are extremely negative about the scent, despising it as rather unwearable or genuinely unpleasant, or else regretting having bought it. Apparently, a month earlier, there was another Basenotes discussion which was wholly positive in nature. In the official Basenotes entry for Black Afghano, the fragrance has an 82% score out of 33 reviews: 66% (or 20 people) gave it Five Stars and 21% (or 7 people) gave it three.

On Fragrantica, early reviews seem to be wholly gushing in nature, while the vast majority of subsequent assessments are sharply negative. I can’t tell you the number of people who find the scent to be over-hyped. For some, it’s because they are genuinely upset that there is no actual smell of weed. If you think I’m exaggerating, I’m not. For example:

Cant believe the price for this rotten flanker of M7 , i would call it a suffocating oxygen sucker. Where is the marijuana and coffee btw?

Nothing like the hashish or cannabis, and those notes were exactly what I was looking for. And I know too well what I`m talking about.

Apparently, some people were hoping to get a legal form of hashish in perfume form. I’ll spare you my thoughts on that quixotic dream. More interesting (and sane) to me, are the repeated references to M7 amongst Fragrantica posters. I’m glad to know it’s not just me, but I’m a little surprised by some of the anger over the similarities. Yes, actual anger about Black Afgano, and it’s not just the quoted commentator up above, but some others as well. M7 has a worshipped, protected, cult status amongst many perfumistas, but still! Again, I think the issue of hype is partially responsible, with many finding the fragrance to be much ado about nothing (particularly in light of M7), or being disappointed by their expectations when they experienced a perfectly nice, conventional, sweet, smoky, woody, amber fragrance.

Perhaps the more useful part of the reviews is the discussion of similar fragrances other than M7. On Basenotes, a few people shared my thought that Black Afgano has a similar tobacco note to that in Serge Lutens‘ Chergui. On Fragrantica, 20 people voted for a similarity to Carner Barcelona‘s Cuirs. I haven’t tried it, so I don’t know how true that may be. On both Basenotes and Fragrantica, a number of people bring up Montale‘s Dark Aoud. I haven’t tried the latter, either, so I can’t compare, but it may be something to keep in mind if you can’t get Black Afgano. Apparently, Nasomatto only makes the fragrance once a year in somewhat limited quantities, so I’ve read a few people claim that it’s not always easy to obtain. (However, I had absolutely no problems finding sites from the U.S. to Russia and South Africa that sell Black Afgano, so take that claim with a grain of salt.) However, the Montale is significantly cheaper at $110 for 50 ml than Black Afgano, which costs $185 or €108 for a 30 ml bottle. Also, as a slight warning, Black Afgano supposedly stains clothing, so if you get it, be careful where you spray it.

Treating Black Afgano in a vacuum, and without reference to the larger context, the fragrance doesn’t work on everyone’s skin. One problem is the tobacco note. A friend of mine wanted to like Black Afgano, but said it smelled like “a sour and stale ashtray” on his skin, and he’s not alone; I’ve seen a few references to an “ashtray,” along with chewing tobacco, and pot smoke. A tiny handful struggle with something completely different: cumin. I have never seen any site or blog list cumin as one of the notes in Black Afgano, but clearly, something in the scent replicates a stale or sweaty aroma to some noses. Finally, some people have problems with the synthetics, detecting either a rubbing alcohol note (which would be the ISO E Super-like element mentioned up above), Ambroxan, or various unpleasant, abrasive chemical aromas. One person even compared the scent and feel of Black Afgano to latex paint!

The bottom line — and the reason for this extended discussion– is this: Black Afgano is complicated scent on a variety of different levels, some of which have absolutely nothing to do with the fragrance’s actual aroma. It’s a perfume that comes laden with expectations, whether it’s about the notes, its effects, or its reputation. Block it all out. If you do, and if your skin plays nicely, then you may experience a very rich, deep, oriental, amber scent. Not a revolutionary one that will knock your socks off, but quite a nice one. If your skin doesn’t comply, then it will be a dark, unpleasant tobacco or synthetic oud experience for you. And if you’ve smelled or own vintage M7, your primary reaction may be déjà vu.

Either way, Black Afgano won’t be the dark, brooding, difficult, revolutionary “beast” of legend. It’s not radically daring, it’s not a high, it’s not like cannabis, and I highly doubt you’ll be transported away in state of euphoric, drugged-out bliss. My advice is to approach Black Afgano with low expectations, and not to expect the Lost smoke monster or some sort of hashish drug replacement. If you’re lucky, then you may be surprised at the loveliness of the chewy, dark, incense-y, tobacco-y, nutty labdanum and cola, oud opening. You may really enjoy the soft patchouli, vanilla, and ambered sweetness of the drydown, and you might even think Black Afgano is a cozy, comfort scent at the end of the day. Whatever you do, however, don’t buy Black Afgano blind, and don’t believe the hype.

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: Nasomatto is a concentrated parfum extrait (or pure parfum), and is generally sold only in a 30 ml/1 oz bottle. However, a mini 4 ml version is available directly from Nasomatto, who sells the 30 ml bottle for €108 and the 4 ml mini for €38. Nasomatto ships world-wide. In the U.S.: Black Afgano retails for $185 for 30 ml. It is available at Bergdorf Goodman, Barneys, Luckyscent, , BeautyBar, C.O. Bigelow (where it is currently sold out). Outside the U.S.: In Canada, you can find Black Afgano at The Perfume Shoppe which sells the 30 ml bottle for US$185. In the UK, Black Afghano costs £108, and is available at Roullier White, Bloom Parfumery, and The Conran Shop. Liberty London sells the Nasomatto line, but I don’t see Black Afgano listed on the website. In France, you can find Black Afgano at Premiere Avenue for €108. In Spain, it’s sold at Parfumerias Regia, in Italy at Sacra Cuore, in Russia at what seems to be Nasomatto’s own Russian site, along with Orental.ru. In Germany, Black Afgano is sold at First in Fragrance (where it’s priced higher than retail at €120). In the Netherlands, you can obviously find it at Nasomatto’s own shop in Amsterdam. In Australia, you can find Black Afgano at Libertine which sells the 30 ml bottle for AUD$220. In Hong Kong, I found Konzepp carries the fragrance, in South Africa at Rio Perfumes, and in the UAE, I found it on Souq.com but it seems to be sold out or currently unavailable. Samples: I obtained my sample from Surrender to Chance where prices start at $4.99 for a 1/4 ml vial. Samples are also available for purchase at many of the sites linked up above.

Amouage Al Mas & Asrar Attars

Posted on August 18, 2013 by Kafkaesque

Source: free wallpapers at antemortemarts.com.

Red, yellow, orange, and gold. An explosion of vibrantly bright colours that are infused with tendrils of smoke, and which soon turns into the browns of smoky oud. The beauty that is saffron showcased in two ways: sweet and dry, gourmand and woody. And the richness of an ancient attar as a common thread between the two. They are Al Mas and Asrar, “The Diamond” and “The Secret,” from the royal perfume house, Amouage.

I was lucky enough to have the opportunity to try these two, lesser known Amouage attars, thanks to the kindness of a reader of the blog, “Dubaiscents,” who generously sent me a sample of each. I was surprised by how the two attars seemed to be mirror opposites of each other, showing two differing approaches to the traditional Middle Eastern combination of saffron and oud. (Attars are concentrated perfume oils, and if you’d like to know more about the millenium-old process by which they are created and how they differ from essential oils, you can read the brief explanation in my review of the glorious Tribute attar.) Both Al Mas and Asrar are simple attars that are well-done, and which I thoroughly enjoyed testing, but neither one really sings loudly to me.

AL MAS:

Al Mas. Source: straightrazorplace.com

On Valentine’s Day, 2010, Amouage released Al Mas, which apparently means “diamond” in Arabic. It opens as a delicious gourmand attar centered on saffron and rose, atop a subtle base of woods. Unlike some modern attars which use paraffin to compensate for the lack of real sandalwood oil as a base, Al Mas includes some of that precious oil, in addition to oud. The notes, according to Surrender to Chance, include:

roses, oriental spices, saffron, amber, musk, sandalwood oil, oudh wood oil and cedarwood.

Source: ForATasteofPersia.co.uk

The first few seconds of Al Mas on my skin are a little similar to the glorious Tribute attar, only without the tarry birch and its loads of dark smoke. The impression of a gourmand version of Tribute lasts but for a few moments, however, as the fragrance quickly turns into every delicious Middle Eastern saffron dessert imaginable. There are gallons and gallons of sweet, syrupy saffron and rose, followed by amber, musk, and the most delicate hints of oud.

Zoolbia. Source: Biblechef.com

The saffron dominates, turning everything in its path into visions of fiery red, gold, orange, and bright custard yellow. The syrupy, sweet rose follows suit, combining with the saffron to add to the overall impression of a rich Middle Eastern pastry or dessert. If you’ve ever had Persian Sholeh Zard or Zoolbia, Indian Phirni or Kheer, Lebanese Riz B Haleeb with saffron, or any variety of syrupy, saffron and/or rose-infused pastry from Egypt to Turkey, you’ll have some idea of both the visuals and the feel of Al Mas. Yet, the attar isn’t completely and wholly a foodie’s saffron fantasy. There are delicate whiffs of a very nutty, warm, mellow sandalwood and sweetened oud which flicker at the edges, along with the merest hints of a peppery cedary and musk. A subtle smokiness curls its tendrils around the far edges, sometimes feeling more like the suggestion of frankincense than anything sharply concrete.

Usbu Al-Zainab via TheCookingDoctor.co.uk (recipe & link within. Click on the photo.)

Five minutes in, Al Mas turns profoundly nutty and honeyed. I almost expect to see pistachios and nuts sprinkled on top of the saffron rose. A powerful layer of treacly, gooey, thick honey quickly infuses the duo, overwhelming the hints of smoky incense and adding to the impression of Middle Eastern desserts. Whatever mild, momentary resemblance there may have been to the Tribute attar in the opening minute is long obliterated under the tidal wave of sweetness. The sweetness in Al Mas impacts the rose, turning it deeper, sweeter, and quite fruity in its syrupy heart. The fruitedness really makes me wonder if there is a very dark, purple patchouli at play in Al Mas as well. I would swear that there is the subtlest, tiniest hint of raspberries underlying the scent, and it’s hard to shake off for much of the first hour.

Around the 90-minute mark, Al Mas shifts and changes. It suddenly turns much drier, and starts to hover closer to the skin. The smoke has increased, as has the oud, countering the sweetness in the fragrance with an equal amount of smoky woodiness. With every passing hour, the syrupy, gourmand elements in Al Mas weaken, and the oud-frankincense combination grows in strength.

Source: samsunggalaxy.co

The fragrance turns into a skin scent about 3.5 hours in, wafting a sheer, delicate gauzy veil of oud smoke with nutty, sweet saffron and a touch of rose. Al Mas feels quite thin in comparison to that extremely heavy, rich, almost unctuous start. I actually applied far more of Al Mas than I did of Tribute, but the latter was a profoundly richer, deeper, stronger, and more nuanced scent with far less. Al Mas, in contrast, is much simpler in nature, and primarily limited to a smoky oud-with-saffron combination despite using almost double the amount (4 small drops). I’m a little surprised by how quickly the rose element faded away on my skin; by the start of the fourth hour, it’s largely disappeared. Soon, Al Mas is nothing more than wispy oud with saffron and, 7.5 hours into its development, it dies completely.

Al Mas isn’t listed on the Fragrantica site, and I can’t find any blog reviews for it except for one. Over at The Perfume Posse, a reviewer called Musette writes about the attar but I find myself somewhat confused by her assessment. She talks about the fragrance’s lightheartedness with geranium, clary sage, and lily of the valley! She also says: “The notes (courtesy Surrender to Chance) are counterintuitive to what I deemed ‘attar’ : orange blossom, lemon and rosemary; middle notes of lily of the valley, geranium and clary sage; and base notes of sandalwood, oak moss and musk.” None of those notes are what are commonly attributed to Al Mas or, even, what is currently listed on Surrender to Chance’s entry for the perfume oil. There must be some sort of mix-up in attars, and in the sample she obtained. Either that, or my nose is completely wonky because I swear I don’t smell a whiff of anything remotely “light-hearted,” green, and white in Al Mas. On me, the attar is primarily saffron and rose, and then, later, smoky oud and saffron.

ASRAR:

Asrar. Source: via profumeriapepos.eu

When Amouage had its 25th Anniversary celebrations in 2007, they released a special attar called Asrar (also, sometimes written as “Asrer“). According to Fragrantica, Asrar means “secrets” in Arabic, and the tale associated with the attar is as follows:

Interwoven with golden hints of, the plot of Asrar, whose name in Arabic means “Secrets”, is decorated with notes, as if by magic, they appear under the nose an oriental garden nestled between Dream and Reality. […] A touch of saffron, a handful of spices, four drops of amber, musk, and then a puff of a distillate of Oudh, the bark of an infusion of exotic wood and sandalwood.

The full notes in Asrar, as compiled from Fragrantica, Surrender to Chance, and the ASF-Dubaishop perfume retailer, includes:

oud, oudh distillate, rose, amber, frankincense, musk, saffron, orange blossom, sandalwood oil, and moss.

Asrar opens on my skin with a powerful blast of fiery saffron that is so rich, it feels almost buttered. It’s so buttered and hot, in fact, so hot and buttered, that I almost expect a plate of Basmati rice to ensue. Moments later, other elements appear. There are subtle whiffs of burnt orange, smoky orange, and sweet, buttered orange with saffron, but they are very brief. Equally light and muted are the flickers of rose and frankincense which lurk below. The main, primary focus, however, is that strong blast of saffron. It differs from the note in Al Mas where it is wholly gourmand in feel, because, here, the saffron is a little bit smoky, a touch woody, and infused with a burnt element.

There is also something oddly chilly about the bouquet, a flicker of something almost mentholated that perplexes me. It’s not like eucalyptus or like medicine, but just barely floral in suggestion. My guess is that the indoles in the orange blossoms have been concentrated to such an extent that they’ve taken on a vaguely icy feel. It’s hard to explain, but there is a surprising, subtle coolness to Asrar that sharply counters the hot butteriness of the saffron. Yet, on my skin, it never translates at any point to orange blossoms — and I tested Asrar twice. The attar also doesn’t feel even remotely orange-y, despite the initial, disappearing whiffs in the first minute, so my skin obviously muted the note for the most part.

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

It is another flower, instead, which dominates the first hour of Asrar on my skin: the rose. It makes its debut about five minutes in, and it’s another syrupy, sweet, slightly jammy rose that feels a little bit fruited in its richness. Like everything else, it is flecked by the fiery, heavy saffron, and the two notes dance a solitary tango for most of the first hour.

Thirty minutes in, the chilly nuance vanishes, and is replaced on the sidelines by a hint of smoke that has a slightly burnt undertone. At times, the smokiness smells like burnt woods, but, at other times, it resembles the pungent, acrid sharpness that you’d get from blackened caramel. At the 90-minute mark, the note coalesces and takes shape as noticeable, distinct oud. It adds a more concrete woodiness to the scent, but it retains its slightly smoky undercurrents as well, perhaps from what Amouage terms of “oudh distillate.”

Source: top.besthdwallpapers.info

The agarwood and its smoke slowly become more and more prominent, taking over the buttery heaviness of the saffron and cutting it with dryness. Around 2.75 hours into Asrar’s development, the fragrance is primarily smoky oud with saffron. The rose has retreated a little to the periphery, and there is the start of a slightly medicinal edge to the wood notes. By the end of the fourth hour and the start of the fifth, Asrar is primarily an oud scent that is simultaneously dry, a little smoky, and a little medicinal. There are quiet undercurrents of saffron underlying it, and the whole thing sits right on the skin. Asrar remains that way until its very end when it’s nothing more than dry, somewhat medicinal oud with smoke. All in all, the attar lasted just short of 8 hours on my skin, and had generally soft sillage.

Orange Blossom. Photo: GardenPictures via Zuoda.net

I couldn’t find any blog reviews for Asrar, but there are short assessments at some of the perfume groups. On Fragrantica, one person found the attar to be very similar to Tribute, while another thought Asrar was a herbal, floral garden ruled by saffron but with an undertone of “freshly applied rubbing alcohol,” no doubt from the oud. The third found Asrar to be simultaneously “very, very sweet,” and discordantly harsh. On Basenotes, there are also three reviews of Asrar, all of which give the fragrance 5-stars. For the most part, the commentators seem to detect much more orange blossom than I did. For example, one person wrote:

The combination of orange blossom and rose smells very familiar and friendly, but the oud and the saffron give a medicinal edge to it. It’s also very spicy, it almost feels “hot” in the nose! Absolutely unisex and in my humble opinion better than Homage or Tribute. The combination of warm top-notes and a mysterious, almost fierce base is totally stunning!

The second commentator also noted the floral elements in Asrar, adding: “It shares a little something with APOM by MFK, but with several additional notes. Everything anyone could want in a feminine attar.” The last found Asrar to be far better suited for her than Amouage’s Ubar, Lyric, or Gold perfumes, and as warmly comforting as a bath:

a rare scent, sweet and yet a little bit pungent through the massively overpowering effect of the saffron. Asrar is mainly a *saffron* scent. Thus, it has a slight reminiscence of a Tibetan temple, of Iranian saffrani chai (saffron tea) of the brand “Zanbagh”. But, then, it is infinitely sweeter than a temple, it is sweet and warm like a warm warm bath, like a lovely embrace… […] After a while, a new smell develops on my skin, like a slight reminiscence of Indian paan, the stuff they eat after dinner there, which lifts the scent up through it’s zest from the mere warmy nicey lovely bath idea[.]

The fact that all six Fragrantica and Basenotes commentators had such widely divergent experiences is interesting to me. Obviously, skin chemistry plays a key role, but I think it’s also a question of the personal experiences through which one’s nose filters the powerful saffron note. For some, it will translate as too sweet, for others, it will be a comforting scent with some foodie associations. Ultimately, how you feel about Asrar may depend on the extent to which the florals and the oud (with its medicinal undertones) come out to counter the warm, fiery, buttery richness of the saffron.

ALL IN ALL:

I enjoyed parts of Al Mas. I thought the opening was delicious, perhaps because I love saffron enough to counter my usual issues with foodie or dessert fragrances. The rose and the subtle, brief hints of sandalwood were very nice, too, but at the end of the day, the fragrance isn’t really me. On the plus side, however, Al Mas is significantly and substantially cheaper than Amouage’s better known attars like Tribute and Homage. You can find the smallest size starting at $151, which is a few hundred dollars off Tribute’s opening price of $370. If you love saffron, gourmand fragrances, or ouds that eventually turn dry and smoky, Al Mas is definitely worth checking out.

As for Asrar, I didn’t fancy it quite as much. On my skin, the saffron felt like a woodier, drier, less gourmand, but significantly more buttery-hot version of the note in Al Mas. I wish I had experienced the orange blossoms, but instead, there was the oddly medicinal edge to the fragrance that isn’t my favorite aspect of agarwood. As a whole, I don’t think my skin chemistry highlighted the prettier aspects or nuances of Asrar, since it seems quite lovely on others.

As a whole, both perfumes are well done, though quite simple and uncomplicated in nature. They’re also on the more affordable end of the scale for an Amouage attar, relatively speaking. Though they share some overlap in notes, Al Mas and Asrar feel very much like mirror opposite interpretations on saffron and oud, with one starting on a gourmand note before turning woody and smoke, while the other is more fiery and buttered before engaging in a similar transformation. The oud accord is different in each, as is the floral undertone, so both Al Mas and Asrar may be worth a sniff for different reasons.

DETAILS:

Cost, Availability & Stores: Al Mas and Asrar are concentrate perfume oils, and come in two sizes: 12 ml and 30 ml. Neither one is sold in the U.S. nor available directly from the Amouage website, but you can find them easily from various online retailers. The cheapest price comes from the Dubai perfume site, ASF-Dubaishop. Al Mas costs $151 for the 12 ml bottle, and $226 for 30 ml. Asrar or Asrer costs $207 or $307, depending on bottle size. The prices for Al Mas are higher at Kuwait’s Universal Perfumes which sells a 12 ml bottle of the “new version” (whatever that means) for $259.99. The Amouage attars are also sold at a slightly higher price at Zahras Perfumes, with Al Mas costing $175 and $325 respectively, and Asrar priced at $190 and $350. I found Asrar at a European online vendor called Profumeria Pepos which sells the attar for €168 for a 12 ml size. Italy’s All Violette sells several Amouage attars. Asrar is priced at €169 for 12 ml, though I’m not sure if it is currently in stock, along with a sample of Asrar for €20. Kuwait’s Universal Perfumes sells Asrar for $299 for a 30 ml bottle. In terms of other vendors, I assume you can also find the attars at the Amouage boutique in London, and possibly at Roja Dove’s Haute Parfumerie in Harrods, but that is just a hopeful guess. Samples: Surrender to Chance sells samples of Al Mas starting at $10.99 for a 1/4 ml vial, while Asrar starts at $13.99 for a 1/4 ml vial.