Perfume Review: Parfum d’Empire Cuir Ottoman

Posted on July 4, 2013 by Kafkaesque

The fluffiest, grey-white clouds flecked with gold, and the most expensive Italian leather shoes — that’s what comes to mind when I wear Cuir Ottoman by Parfum d’Empire, the always interesting French niche brand founded and run by Marc-Antoine Corticchiato. It is a house that seeks to embody history in a bottle, focusing on long-lost empires and the most ancient of ingredients that were “coveted for centuries for their refinement, aphrodisiac properties and use in sacred rituals. It is this age-old link between perfume, eroticism and spirituality that he has sought to revive with Parfum d’Empire.”

Source: 1ms.net wallpapers.

Cuir Ottoman is a unisex eau de parfum that is intended to explore the best of Turkish leather, done in a manner as indolent as a sultan’s Turkish bath, and wrapped with white flowers “as white-fleshed and opulent as the odalisques painted by Delacroix, Ingres and Matisse.” It’s a glorious thought and, as someone who once planned on becoming a historian, I’ve repeatedly said how much I love the historical inspirations for Parfum d’Empire’s fragrances. The descriptions are often dead on, too, and convey a real sense of the fragrance’s essence. This time, however, I just don’t see it.

Victorian dandies. Men’s fashion plate, 1848. Source: Wikipedia.

Cuir Ottoman is the most civilized, refined, sophisticated, smooth, leather fragrance I’ve come across in a while. It starts out being the epitome of cool austerity before turning into an indulgently fluffy, soft cloud — two things I’d never associate with the hedonistic excesses, brutality, or carnal appetites of the Ottoman Empire. To me, this is more Queen Victoria’s leather: well-mannered, preternaturally proper, formal, and controlled in the most luxuriously sophisticated manner. If not Victorian leather, then perhaps Beau Brummell’s from the Regency Era with his focus on refinement that had a slightly dandyish quality about it. Make no mistake, this is not a “Wham, Bam, Thank You, Ma’am” leather that bulges with muscles or macho masculinity. If that’s what you’re expecting, you’ll be sorely disappointed. If, however, you’re looking for supple smoothness that skirts on the feminine and, later, just barely nods its head at the gourmand, then look no further.

Source: Basenotes/

The Parfum d’Empire website has a lovely story that explains the elements and inspiration for Cuir Ottoman, but perhaps the most relevant part for the purposes of this discussion concerns the treatment of leather:

Though the leather note is appreciated by connoisseurs, it is so assertive it is seldom featured in perfumery. […][¶][So, Marc-Antoine Corticchiato] set off for the Ottoman Empire, inspired by the secular tradition of leatherwork in Anatolia — up to the 19th century Turkish leather was the most highly coveted in Europe. He added iris, which already presents leathery facets, after learning that its powdery notes were often used to soften the smell of the finest skins.

Soft leather, powdery leather, leather refined to preclude all animalistic savagery and brutishness — I think you see where we’re going. The full list of notes in Cuir Ottoman complete the rest of the picture. As provided by Luckyscent, they include:

jasmine, leather, iris, benzoin, balsams, resins, incense.

A. Testoni (Amedeo Testino) via Testoni.com

Cuir Ottoman opens on my skin as the most expensive of new, Italian leather shoes. Testoni, perhaps. Or perhaps a more accurate description would be the most expensive of leather handbags, right down to their calfskin, suede interior. The aroma of new leather, with its beautifully immaculate smoothness, wafts around my skin, followed by flurries of powder-soft iris that flit about as delicately as snowflakes. The iris flakes are just barely floral, just imperceptibly powdery, but completely velvety and buttery in feel. In the background lurks the merest hint of jasmine, but that’s about it. There is nothing even remotely animalistic, brutal, raw, or musky in its manifestation on my skin. No rough leather with an almost fecal edge the way some uncured leather can have; no phenolic, tarry, smoky or barnyard notes; and no animalic, urinous, intimately raunchy, or sour notes. Not one bit.

Suede lining to Bottega Veneta black woven tote. Source: discounthandbagbuy.com

Cuir Ottoman shifts very slowly, and only in degrees. At the forty minute mark, it starts to become warmer and a smidgen sweeter. The iris slowly starts to recede from its cool heights and becomes lightly flecked by jasmine. It is still primarily, however, an iris leather fragrance that smells exactly like new leather shoes or a new handbag. The fragrance continues to soften and, at the one hour mark, the sillage drops substantially. The fresh leather feels completely warmed over now and so smooth, it’s almost creamy. About 90 minutes in, the tonka bean rises to the surface, adding a beautiful, delicate, and perfectly balanced sweetness to the other accords.

Cuir Ottoman is so well-blended that, at this point, the notes swirl together as soft as a cloud. It’s a nebulous, fluffy, absolutely creamy blend of iris, leather and vanilla, threaded with the lightest touch of jasmine and vanillic powder into one smooth, sum total. The individual elements are there, but they’re not as individually distinct as they once were. Instead, they simply create an overall feel and olfactory impress of highly refined softness that radiates delicate warmth, florals, and sweetness the way a cloud is shaded by light. It’s a masterful twist on leather that doesn’t evoke the remotest vision of the Sultanate or the Ottoman hordes.

Source: naturalhdwallpaper.com

In fact, it doesn’t really evoke leather much at all after the first two hours, especially when the note turns more into a muted version of suede. The reason stems, in part, from the iris powder but, increasingly, it’s because of the tonka bean which turns Cuir Ottoman into something just barely hinting at the gourmand. As the vanilla becomes more and more prominent, even the iris accord feels more indistinct. Around 2.5 hours in, Cuir Ottoman is a powdered vanilla and suede fragrance that feels creamy, soft and smooth, and which hovers just above the skin. The fragrance remains that way for hours and hours, almost yummy in its vanilla essence and lightly evoking Guerlainade, Guerlain’s signature of powdery but creamy tonka bean.

All in all, Cuir Ottoman lasted 12.75 hours on my voracious, perfume consuming skin which is quite astonishing given the airy, light, sheer quality of the fragrance. I’ve noted the same thing with all the fragrances from the line which, indubitably, I find too sheer for my personal tastes but which have incredible longevity. Yet, despite my preference for significantly heavier fragrances (I’m still hoping for the spectacular Ambre Russe in triple-strength concentration!), the light, airiness of Cuir Ottoman is really ideal and well-suited to the nature of the scent. It is perfectly modulated in every way, right down to its weight. Cuir Ottoman isn’t supposed to be something brutish, opaque, or heavy, and the texture wouldn’t work with the delicacy of its notes.

There is a lot of love out there for Cuir Ottoman, except from Luca Turin. (Naturally!) In Perfumes: The A-Z Guide, “His Majesty” sniffs out a disdainful Three Star review which reads, in part, as follows:

This leather is in fact barely a leather at all, more a sweet-woody-tea-like composition. It is solid and beautifully crafted, but feels a little like the compulsory figures at skating: solid, precise, impressive, and unsurprising.

I agree with parts of his assessment, especially about how little Cuir Ottoman feels like a true or hardcore leather fragrance. I also agree that it is solid, beautifully crafted and impressive, but I mean it all in a much more positive way. Is it unimpressive because it’s so refined? In my opinion, that is actually part of what makes Cuir Ottoman stand out. After all, people (especially Luca Turin) lavish praise on Chanel‘s Cuir de Russie for its smoothness and luxurious take on leather, so why fault Cuir Ottoman for those same attributes? I think the latter is infinitely more wearable than Cuir de Russie which, on my skin, was piles of horse manure under a heavy veil of soap. No, thank you.

On Fragrantica, the majority of the reviews are overwhelmingly positive for Cuir Ottoman. People’s experiences seem to verge into three camps: those who find the opening to be harsh, sharply animalistic or raw; those who spend paragraphs raving about the fragrance’s refinement and luxurious nature; and those who think it’s a distinctly feminine fragrance, either because of the limited nature of the leather or because of the powder. A large number of those who fall into the first camp still adore the fragrance, finding it to be softened and balanced by the subsequent accords, and concluding that Cuir Ottoman is a “mesmerizing… masterpiece.” (Other adjectives from both men and women include: sensational, classy, rich, virile, luxurious, refined, and erotic.) The handful who have posted negative reviews have had the leather turn on them, finding it to be either: a “shoe polish note,” faintly urinous, reminiscent of burning plastic, or rubbery and smoky like a garage. Interestingly, some have experienced far more smoky incense than any leather at all, so, as you can see, it all depends on your skin chemistry.

For me, personally, Cuir Ottoman veers far from my style and taste in perfumery, but I find something incredibly appealing, fascinating, and compulsively sniffable about the fragrance. It oozes refinement from start to finish, but the cozy, creamy, gauzy, just barely, minutely gourmand drydown phase is especially addictive. I doubt I’d ever be tempted to buy a full bottle, but the perfume has my heartiest admiration. It is a scent that I’d strongly recommend for those who are a bit terrified of leather in perfumery, though I wonder if the drydown might not turn into something evoking “baby powder” on some skins. Nonetheless, I think Cuir Ottoman is extremely versatile, wearable, and also, well-suited for an office environment given its soft sillage but superb longevity. It is also incredibly affordable, especially for such a high-quality, superbly well-crafted niche fragrance. Cuir Ottoman may lean a little feminine for some men, however, so if you prefer a more macho, tough, obvious leather fragrance, then I’d suggest something more along the lines of Montale‘s very masculine Aoud Cuir d’Arabie. But, if you’re looking for an ultra sophisticated, suave, leather-suede that reeks of refinement and elegance, then Cuir Ottoman is definitely one to try.

DETAILS:

Cost, Availability & Sample Sets: Cuir Ottoman is an eau de parfum and costs $75 (or €66) for a small 1.7 oz/50 ml bottle, while the large 3.4 oz/100 ml bottle costs

$110, €92, or £84.50. Parfum d’Empire’s website carries only the large 100 ml bottle at the European price of €92. If you want to try out Cuir Ottoman and some other fragrances from the line, Parfum d’Empire offers two different sample sets directly from its own website. The first Mini Sample Set is for 3 fragrances of your choice in 2 ml vials for €6 or €10 (depending on your location) with free shipping, while the Full Sample Set of all 13 Parfum d’Empire fragrances also is for 2 ml vials with free shipping and costs €14 or €22 (for the EU or the rest of the world). In the U.S.: You can buy Cuir Ottoman at Luckyscent which sells the smaller bottle in a 1.7 oz/50 ml size for $75, along with the larger 3.4 oz/100 ml bottle for $110 and a sample for $3. MinNewYork sells that same 50 ml bottle for $100. Elsewhere, The Perfume Shoppe which has a Canadian branch in Vancouver is currently out of stock of Cuir Ottoman. Outside the U.S.: In the UK, you can find Cuir Ottoman at Les Senteurs which sells the large 100 ml bottle for £84.50, along with a sample. In Paris, you can find Cuir Ottoman in both sizes at Jovoy Paris which sells the smaller 50 ml/1.7 oz bottle for €66. I believe the Parfum d’Empire line is also sold at Les Galleries Lafayette. For the rest of Europe, Germany’s First in Fragrance sells the large 3.4 oz bottle for €115, along with samples, while France’s Premiere Avenue sells it for the retail price of €92. Both sites ship internationally. In Australia, Libertine sells Cuir Ottoman for AUD$150 for the 50 ml/1.7 oz size. In the UAE, you can find Parfum d’Empire fragrances at Les Galleries Lafayette in Dubai. For all other countries from Oman to Italy and Russia, you can find Cuir Ottoman at a retailer near you using the Store Locator on Parfum d’Empire’s website. Samples: To test Cuir Ottoman for yourself, Surrender to Chance sells samples starting at $3.49 for a 1 ml vial. Many of the sites listed above sell samples of it as well.

Perfume Reviews – Dior Leather Oud & Granville (La Collection Privée)

Posted on July 3, 2013 by Kafkaesque

John Wayne riding through the arid desert canyons of New Mexico. Gary Cooper in a suit in the bracing, brisk air of Normandie. Two very different images of two very different men stemming from two very different fragrances in Dior‘s prestige La Collection Privée line of perfumes. (The line is sometimes called La Collection Couturier on places like Fragrantica and Surrender to Chance, but I will go with the name used by Dior itself on its website.) The fragrances are Leather Oud and Granville, and both were created by François Demarchy, the artistic director and nose for Parfums Dior, to reflect different aspects of the life of Christian Dior.

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Perfume Reviews: Library of Flowers Linden & Arboretum

Posted on July 2, 2013 by Kafkaesque

It all started as somewhat of a dream when I, sleep-deprived from insomnia, decided to order some perfume samples at 4:27 a.m. upon email notice of a Flash Sale from Surrender to Chance. I wanted some floral scents to counterbalance the blog’s heavy focus on ambers, orientals, and woody fragrances. And I actually thought I was ordering another brand entirely — April Aromatics — which just goes to show you how little sleep I sometimes get. What started as a dazed dream ended up as a bit of a nightmare.

Source: The Perfumed Court.

Library of Flowers is the latest perfume house from Margot Elena, who also founded and owns Tokyo Milk and Lollia. The new brand focuses entirely on flowers, and is described as “American small batch perfumery” that has been “carefully crafted to create memorable journeys through sight and scent… [M]oments are captured in artful perfumes waiting to be released upon happy whim. The perfect pick me up to nourish the senses and inspire the gardens of the imagination.” It turns out that the line even got a small feature in the April 2013 issue of Oprah’s O Magazine. I ordered Linden and Arboretum — and one of them was absolute, unmitigated hell.

LINDEN:

Library of Flowers Linden.

Each Library of Fragrance perfume features a single top, middle and base note, and is an eau de parfum. Thus, for Linden, the notes are:

Top: Linden Blossom Middle: Narcissus Bottom: Clover Honey.

Linden blossom is sometimes called Lime Blossom, and comes from the Tillia tree. It has a sweet, bright, floral aroma that is infused with honey notes. I love honey in fragrances, so I was quite looking forward to Linden, ordering mistake notwithstanding.

Linden blossom. Source: www.selfsufficientish.com

Linden opens on my skin with airy, green, floral notes like magnolia and sweet honeysuckle combined, lightly sprinkled with honey and with a whisper of soapiness lurking underneath. The smell feels almost clear as a bell, except that there is an unusual fuzzy feeling around the edges. It almost feels like light, springy, fluffy, floral-infused cotton balls. The sweet coziness of the scent kept conjuring up images of those extraordinarily fluffy, plush, white, bathrobes you get at very expensive hotels, and which have a very clean, lightly soapy, floral aroma. As the moments progress, the whiff of soft cotton grows stronger underlying that billowy, airy, clear, clean, fresh, softly floral bouquet. I didn’t quite know what to make of it. True, there are faintly floral notes as well; there is a daffodil (narcissus) element that emerges briefly, but it smells more laundry-like than anything you’d smell in a field or florist shop.

Bounce fabric softener and anti-lint dryer sheets.

Then, exactly twelve minutes later, BOOM! Chemical, synthetic notes take over, screeching out exactly like Bounce fabric softener sheets for the dryer. It feels as though I’ve cloaked my entire arm with soapy, clean, white musk and chemicals, right down to Bounce’s underlying chemical florals. It’s unbearably hideous for someone like myself who finds the words “soapy, fresh and clean” — let alone “Bounce fabric softener sheets” — to be expletives in perfumery. And, actually, expletives were abounding out of my mouth as Linden progressed unchanged (and with initially powerful projection) to remain as the very pinnacle of chemical, laundry detergent artificiality for the next seven hours. Terrible, really terrible.

Shortly before the eighth hour, Linden suddenly decides to shift a little. The Bounce accord recedes, somewhat (it’s all relative), and the perfume manifest a strong honey note atop more individually distinct floral notes. Instead of amorphous, abstract, chemical florals, there is now a clear element of sweet honeysuckle mixed in with creamy magnolia. Lindn is still primarily a clean, fresh, white musk fragrance, though it is now, thankfully, a skin scent. Despite that sudden breakthrough, Linden eventually returns to being nothing more than a fresh, white, floral musk — abstract, chemical, and wholly artificial. It finally dies away 10.25 hours later. Words cannot express my utter disgust with the whole thing.

ARBORETUM:

Arboretum with box.

Arboretum is an eau de parfum, and its notes are simple:

Green cardamom, ylang ylang, and amber resin.

Arboretum opens on my skin with green, floral notes infused by honey. There is a fresh, light, almost fruited cardamom that feels as though it is still a green pod on a tree, instead of dried and concentrated. The floral notes are interesting because, to my nose, they resemble white lilies — stargazer lilies, to be exact — more than anything close to ylang-ylang with its buttery, sometimes banana-like, custardy richness. The note is fresh, green, airy and crisp. Arboretum’s base is flecked by light dashes of sweet vanilla which feels quietly muted and somewhat synthetic, though nothing close to the horrifying degree of Linden. Twenty minutes in, Arboretum starts to gain some fresh, clean, white, synthetic musk accords in its base, but the primary bouquet is still of airy, green lilies. The sillage is decent at first, but quickly becomes much softer.

Ylang-ylang

Arboretum doesn’t change enormously for the first half of its life. By the middle of the third hour, it is a soft, white, floral musk with a tinge of soapy lilies underlying it, and very much a skin scent. Around the start of the sixth hour, however, Arboretum suddenly takes on amber hues, and the ylang-ylang makes a strong appearance. The fragrance is now a buttery, custardy, soft, velvety, slightly banana-like, ylang-ylang floral atop soapy amber and light musk. Arboretum no longers feels so crisply airy and green, but, rather, warm and very much like a silky, golden gauze. The fragrance continues to soften until, finally, around the middle of the eighth hour, it is merely a soft, abstract floral note tinged by a vague sense of something ambered.

As a whole, Arboretum was a pleasant scent, though I don’t know how much of my assessment is relative to the sheer horror that was Linden. Arboretum certainly never felt close to the painfully synthetic, cheap, and artificial qualities of its sibling. I somewhat enjoyed the lily parts, and I thought the green cardamom aspect was quite interesting. If you’re looking for an inexpensive, greenishly airy, white floral fragrance that eventually becomes slightly richer, warmer and more ambered towards the end, I suppose you could do a lot worse. But, under no circumstances, would I recommend Linden. Save yourself $54, and just take a few dryer sheets to scrub up and down your arm instead.

DETAILS:

LINDEN Cost & Availability: Linden is an eau de parfum that is available in 1.7 oz/50 ml bottles for $54 or as 70.8 g solid perfume for $21. It can be purchased directly from the Library of Flowers website (which also offers a variety of accompanying products like bath gel, handcream and a Linden candle) and which offers free domestic shipping on all orders over $75. For International shipping, call the company at t 1-888-896-6398 for details. You can also purchase Linden perfume from Beautyhabit which ships overseas. Samples: You can find Linden at Surrender to Chance where prices start at $2.99 for a 1 ml vial or at The Perfumed Court where prices start at $2.95.

ARBORETUM Cost & Availability: Arborteum is an eau de parfum that is available in 1.7 oz/50 ml bottles for $54 or as 70.8 g solid perfume for $21. It can be purchased directly from the Library of Flowers website (which also offers a variety of accompanying products like bath gel, handcream and a candle). You can also purchase Arboretum perfume from Beautyhabit. Samples: You can find Arboretum at Surrender to Chance where prices start at $2.99 for a 1 ml vial, or at The Perfumed Court. Both sites offer sampler sets of the whole Library of Flowers line should you be so interested.

Perfume Review: Jovoy Paris La Liturgie des Heures

Posted on July 1, 2013 by Kafkaesque

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

A sea of pine trees as far as the eye can see, half covered with snow, half green-grey and reflecting the cold winter light. Pine cones and needles blanket the forest floor, releasing their fresh, pungent, resinous oil with every crunching footstep. A thin stream of white smoke issues from a nearby church, its ancient stones protecting its darkened, dusty inner sanctum where priests are getting ready for Mass. They light the candles for Vespers and burn the myrrh. It’s time for the one of the oldest canonical rituals of the Catholic Church, the Liturgy of the Hours.

That is the vision which comes to mind when I wear Jovoy Paris‘ fragrance, La Liturgie des Heures (hereinafter “Liturgie des Heures” or just “Liturgie.”) Most hardcore perfumistas have heard of Jovoy, a Paris boutique that is a mecca for buying the most high-end, exclusive or rare fragrances, but what many people don’t know is that Jovoy was once a perfume house. As Luckyscent explains, Jovoy was founded in 1923 by Blanche Arvoy and “was known for selling perfumes for the ‘gentlemen’s nieces’, a polite way Parisian dandies described buying gifts for their mistresses[.]” Amusingly, Jovoy itself candidly admits to this twist in its past:

The perfumes of the early hours of Jovoy were made for the mistresses of the Paris of the Roaring Twenties. In other world, opulent fragrance for women who wanted to be seen, using in quantities prohibited by modern law, raw material now often missing.

Jovoy Paris La Liturgie des Heures

Though the house declined in the bleak years of the Depression and ended completely during WWII, it was resurrected in 2006 by Francois Hénin who launched a new range of fragrances. In 2011, La Liturgie des Heures joined their ranks. It is an eau de parfum that was created by Robertet perfumer, Jacques Flori, and which is described by Francois Hénin as evoking “the image of an old monastery where the scent of burning incense fills the air just like the chanting of daily prayers.” Fragrantica lists its notes as follows:

Top notes: fresh green notes, cypress
Heart notes: incense, olibanum [frankincense], cistus [labdanum], myrrh
Base notes: musk

Source: listofimages.com

La Liturgie des Heures opens on my skin with a burst of pine trees, incense and green notes, followed by traces of a sweet, almost nutty myrrh, slightly leathered labdanum, and musk. One is transported to a cold, pine forest covered by crisp snow, but I have to admit, the notes are a little too reminiscent of pure pine oil and verge on a non-chemical version of Pine-Sol household cleaner. There is almost an oily feel to the pine, as if you had just mashed up the tree’s needles in your hands, leaving a strong, overly fragrant, concentrated oil behind. The aroma feels a little odd juxtaposed next to the leather undertones and the very cold, dry, vaguely dusty undertones of High Church incense. Yet, once you wrap your head around the combination, it almost feels pleasant.

As the minutes pass, the undertones of frankincense, myrrh and leather undulate, swaying from the foreground to the background. Sometimes, Liturgie smells like nothing more than a Christmas tree; at other times, the subtle touch of sweetness from the myrrh and churchy incense meet the pine notes head-on. Thirty minutes in, the base notes rise fully to the surface and the perfume becomes sweeter, more layered, and less like Pine-Sol oil. The myrrh turns the frankincense warmer, less dusty and arid, while the leather adds touches of a darker, almost leathery resin to the pine. A subtle, clean muskiness joins the trio and, flickering in the background, a subtle whiff of soapiness.

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

Liturgie continues on for another two hours as a warm, slightly sweetened, incense-infused, resinous pine tree scent with fluctuating levels of soapiness and musk. By the third hour, however, the clean white musk has grown in strength. Sharp and synthetic, it makes Liturgie feel a lot like Heeley‘s Cardinal, especially now that the pine note has receded to the background. I truly can’t stand synthetic white musk, let alone soapiness, and both elements form a strong backdrop to the scent. By the middle of the sixth hour, La Liturgie des Heures is primarily centered around nutty myrrh, ambered labdanum, and the sweet church incense — all infused with soap and clean, white musk.

The fragrance sticks on its linear course for another few hours, until it fades away to an amorphous, abstract, musky, clean sweetness. All in all, Liturgie lasted 8.25 hours on my skin and with moderate-to-low sillage. Others, however, have reported significantly less time, with one commentator on Basenotes writing that “[p]rojection is on the low side of average and longevity is well below average at 2-3 hours on skin.”

Liturgie wasn’t my cup of tea, and my feelings for it strongly parallel those of Freddie from Smelly Thoughts whose brief review reads as follows:

La Liturgie des Heures opens not too dissimilar to April Aromatics’ Calling All Angels, with its dry woods and incense, only this is a touch more peppery, and more “sticky”. Along with the overload of bitter resins and incense – bits of harsh greenery cut through it: pine and cypress mainly… a mix of sticky, sweet forest floor, and more herbal coniferous greens.

It pretty much stays this way throughout it’s life. It’s totally not my kind of perfume and not how I like to smell (also very bored of the overload of foresty/incense fragrances)… but still, this is a solid enough example for people who like that kind of thing Not bad!

I agree. It is a solid perfume that should please those who like churchy, incense fragrances — if they don’t mind either soapiness, white musk, or smelling just like a Christmas tree.

There are a number of High Church-type fragrances out there, but I’m only familiar with Heeley’s Cardinal. I think Liturgie has some similarities, but primarily in terms of the synthetic white musk. A Fragrantica commentator, “magic gingerbread,” who has far greater knowledge of this genre of fragrances has some interesting comparisons which may prove useful to a few of you:

Quite beautyful incense and coniferous fragrance reminding me somewhat Hinoki by CdG. Especially at the beginning when I smell raw olibanum resin and balmy, cold and fresh cypress note. This stage is unfortunately of rather weak sillage. Drydown is much stronger in projection, but no suprise in that, it is pure labdanum and that’s the way labdanum behaves – here it’s slightly sour, thick and oily, kind of like in Norma Kamali’s Incense. Nice, but I prefer olibanum stage.

The name “Liturgy of the hours” clearly suggests a churchy fragrance, but I don’t see it that way. Most certainly I don’t see any churchy association in corniferous olibanum note. However labdanum brings me some images of deep, old catacombs from the early age of christianity. Anyway, this is not catholic catherdal type of fragrance like Avignon or Cardinal.

Again, I’m not an expert on churchy fragrances, so I can’t comment on the comparisons. All I can say is that I love labdanum but didn’t enjoy its manifestation here, thanks to the impact of the terribly clean, soapy accord; and I found it hard to muster up much enthusiasm for La Liturgie des Heures as a whole. I think that stems, in part, because of some notes I really dislike, and, in part, because of Liturgie’s linearity. But it’s not a terrible fragrance and, if you’re really into churchy scents, then you may want to keep it in mind.

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: La Liturgie des Heures is an eau de parfum that comes in a 100 ml/3.4 oz bottle that costs $180, €120, or £100. It is available directly from Jovoy Paris which also offers a smaller 1.7 oz/50 ml bottle for €80. In the U.S.: it is available at Luckyscent, MinNY, Aedes, and Aaron’s Apothecary. Outside the U.S.: in the UK, La Liturgie des Heures is available in both sizes from Bloom Perfume, with the smaller 1.7 oz bottle retailing for £70. The larger size is also available at Roullier White in the 100 ml size for £100, with a sample also available for purchase, along with Harvey Nichols and Liberty London. In Italy, Liturgie is sold at Vittoria Profumi and Sacro Cuoro Profumi for €120. In France, you can also purchase it from Soleil d’Or. In Russia, it is sold at iPerfume. For Germany and the rest of Europe, you can purchase it from First in Fragrance in Germany (which also ships worldwide and sells samples) but the price is €5 higher at €125 a bottle. Same story with Germany’s Meinduft. Samples: I obtained my sample from Surrender to Chance where prices start at $4.99 for a 1 ml vial. Many of the retailers listed above also sell samples of Liturgie.